Showing up is just the beginning

For me, commemorating Mandela Day this year was a wakeup call, an “aha moment”, when I came face to face with some of the most serious crises in this country that clearly aren’t being properly addressed by government. 

This weekend, I joined a group visiting Impilo, an extraordinary child-protection and adoption organisation in the heart of Johannesburg’s northeastern suburbs. I had for a long time been interested in what this nongovernmental organisation does for abandoned babies and children so I jumped at the chance to lend a hand there for a couple of hours. 

When you hear of an organisation saving the lives of abandoned newborns, you don’t really imagine people diving into dumpsters to retrieve newborns in plastic bags. You don’t think about babies left for days in boxes off the beaten track, where no one can hear them screaming for help. As we were told, first responders need to be debriefed after their attempts to save newborn lives because they aren’t trained for this kind of trauma. 

Do we ever hear about this? Maybe once in a blue moon. The truth is that an estimated 3 000 to 3 500 babies are abandoned every year in South Africa. Those aren’t the babies who are dropped off on the doorsteps of good Samaritans. No, they are dumped, and not just in rural areas and poor communities. They are also thrown away in our suburbs and backyards. 

At any given time, Impilo is looking after 150 such children and giving them the best possible chance at a good healthy life. It finds a family either to take them in or foster them until an adoptive family is found here or abroad. Those are the ones they are able to save. For every three babies found alive, two are discovered already dead. Around 65% of the babies found are newborns and 90% are under the age of one year. 

In Johannesburg alone, three to four babies are abandoned daily. That statistic alone should stop us in our tracks. 

These aren’t numbers on a spreadsheet. They are babies and toddlers, often at the most fragile stage of their lives, who need to be found, medically assessed, protected, loved, and placed somewhere safe. Impilo puts children in temporary safe care while doing intensive social-work and child-protection processes, with the aim of getting each child into a permanent family environment as early as possible. 

One of the hardest things to hear was that Impilo isn’t always able to help babies left at hospitals. We were told that government systems insist that they don’t need outside help. The result is unbearable: babies can remain in boxes in hospitals, waiting for an overburdened system to deal with them, while experienced organisations with the ability to help are kept at arm’s length. And those groups that can help, often land up closing due to lack of support. 

This isn’t just an Impilo problem. It’s a South African problem. No one seems to know the true scale of baby abandonment in this country because many cases are never reported, and some babies are never found. 

The law is meant to protect children, and the Children’s Act provides the framework for care, protection, foster care, and adoption. But the law on paper and the life of a baby in a hospital box aren’t the same thing. Delays in social-work follow-up, Children’s Court processes, and Home Affairs documentation can leave children in limbo. Hospitals are not homes. Babies cannot wait for bureaucracy to catch up with their needs. 

What stayed with me most, though, was the reminder that we cannot make assumptions about mothers who abandon their children. It’s tempting to judge. But the reality is often devastating. Many of these mothers are children themselves. Some are as young as 13, pregnant after being raped, sometimes by a family member. They are expected to survive unimaginable trauma and then care for a baby when they are barely able to care for themselves. 

That changes the conversation entirely. It shifts it from blame to compassion, from outrage to responsibility. It forces us to accept that this isn’t a crisis of abandoned babies; it is a national social crisis that is totally out of control. It is a total breakdown of our society. The root of this crisis is unemployment, poverty, rape, family breakdown, and lack of government support. 

For the baby, the hope is that the system moves quickly: a place of safety, proper medical care, a Children’s Court inquiry, and then, where possible, reunification with family, foster care, or adoption. For the mother, the path is often far murkier. Legally, abandonment has criminal implications. Humanly, it may be the desperate act of someone who sees no safe alternative and no one to turn to. 

As Jews, we speak about tzedakah (charity), chesed (kindness), and tikkun olam (repairing the world). We know that every life has infinite value. We know that caring for the vulnerable is a core responsibility. And we know, from our own community, how much can be achieved when people show up with purpose. We have organisations, schools, shuls, businesses, professionals, donors, volunteers, and networks that can move quickly and generously when we understand the need. 

For organisations like Impilo, that may mean raising funds, donating essential goods, offering professional expertise, helping to amplify their work, advocating for better systems, or simply refusing to let these babies and their mothers remain invisible. It may mean understanding that not every organisation needs our bodies in the room, but many need our voices, our networks, our wallets, and our staying power. 

Impilo is just one organisation doing G-d’s work and saving lives. There are so many others that need a shoutout and our support. I haven’t even heard of most of them. 

That was the gift of showing up for me. I left Impilo grateful for the people who do this work quietly and relentlessly, but also reminded of what we can and do do when we pay attention. We cannot fix every broken system, and we cannot carry every need ourselves. But we can learn, connect, support, advocate, and use the strength of our communal infrastructure to stand behind those who are already doing the work. 

If Mandela Day is to mean anything beyond 67 minutes, it should remind us that showing up is only the beginning. The real test is whether we allow what we have seen to change what we do next, and whether we use the power of community to answer the need that is actually there. 

Shabbat Shalom! 

Peta Krost 

Editor