The narrow window of escape

Karen Tolman’s mother and grandmother were on the very last ship of Holocaust-surviving Jews allowed into South Africa in 1938. They were onboard the Duilio, which docked in Cape Town. After that, the doors to Jews closed, she told the Yom HaShoah commemoration at the Pinelands Cemetery on 14 April. 

The theme of this year’s Cape commemoration was “Seeking Refuge”, and it marked the 90th anniversary of German Jewish refugees arriving in South Africa. 

Tolman, a second-generation survivor, spoke of her mother, Inge, who was born in Berlin in 1932. Within a year, the Nazis came to power. “Jews were no longer wanted in Germany,” she said. Her grandfather left for Cape Town in 1937. Her mother and grandmother followed. 

She spoke of how her mother survived, but the trauma remained. “Survival is not the same as healing,” Tolman said. Her mother never spoke about her early childhood. The impact surfaced decades later. Watching the film adaptation of Marcus Zusak’s The Book Thief at a cinema triggered a severe reaction in her mother, who was affected and deeply upset by images of Nazi brutality on screen. Yet her story also carried hope. “Refuge isn’t just a place, it’s a choice made,” she said. 

Daniel Gruzd, the head student at Herzlia High School, reflected on the idea of a closing window. In the 1930s, a narrow window allowed some Jews to escape. “This was a window of time, narrow, urgent, and closing fast,” he said. He warned of another window now closing. The window of living memory. “We are the last generation that will have the chance to sit across from a survivor,” he said. 

At the same time, denial and misinformation are spreading online. “We are the first generation for whom antisemitism arrives not in pamphlets but in notifications,” he said. His message was clear. “The window of memory is in our hands now, and we don’t get to look away.” 

Survivor Miriam Herzfeld, who was born in Germany in 1923, described her early life before the Nazis’ rise to power. In a recorded testimony, she spoke about the gradual tightening of restrictions. “Nobody wanted refugees. You couldn’t go to any other country,” she said. Her family eventually reached South Africa. “We were very happy to get away from Germany,” she said. 

Her account reflected a broader reality. In the 1930s, Jewish families across Europe faced impossible decisions. They had to choose whether to leave everything behind or risk staying. Many who tried to flee found borders closed. 

Simone Sulcas, chairperson of the Cape South African Jewish Board of Deputies, which organised the commemoration, described how persecution began with words and laws. “The victims did not die because of what they had done, but because of who they were,” she said. 

The theme of refuge, Sulcas said, pointed to a time before the camps. Families sat around kitchen tables asking questions no family should ever have to ask. “Do we leave? Where can we go? Can we bear to leave our parents behind?” 

Some reached Cape Town. In 1936, the SS Stuttgart arrived carrying Jewish refugees. They had already lost their livelihoods and security. They arrived with a simple hope. “Will you let us be human again?” 

Not all were accepted. Immigration restrictions soon tightened. For many, the window closed. Those who remained in Europe faced deportation and murder. 

Sulcas’s address drew a distinction between two groups of survivors. Some survived because they left early. Others survived ghettos and camps. “Together, their stories form a single torn yet unbroken thread of Jewish life,” she said. 

Cape Town became part of that thread. There, refugees rebuilt their lives. They brought culture, scholarship, and a deep commitment to justice. Their descendants are part of the community today.