Working at home since the pandemic struck, it was easy to become absorbed in our own affairs, but sometimes we’re given the opportunity to break out of this narrow self-interest and give of ourselves for the sake of others.
I had this opportunity a few weeks ago when along with my 16-year-old cousin, I volunteered at The Harvest Project and Blessings School in Brakpan. I’m grateful I did.
Before doing so, I’d never heard of The Harvest Project nor had I ever visited Brakpan. My aunt sent me a message asking if I was available to accompany my cousin to do some charity work from the shul in Brakpan. He needed to do community service for school, and wanted a familiar face around to keep him company. For whatever reason, perhaps because I didn’t have anywhere better to be, I agreed.
I had no idea what to expect, nor the nature of the charity work being done. I, with my painfully middle class sensibilities, imagined we would be put to work ladling soup into the bowls of grateful homeless people and well-mannered school children.
And so, perhaps, it appealed to some bizarre cosmic sense of humour that my Google Maps route led us directly through one of the most impoverished and devastating-looking shanty towns I had ever encountered.
Driving along Main Reef Road coming toward the Brakpan town centre, we came across a stretch of land locals dub “Plastic City”. We drove for about a kilometre, with tyres piled high on the pavement, heaps of trash strewn on either side of the road, and the smell of burning plastic thick in the air. Interspersed among a sea of refuse were dozens of ramshackle corrugated iron shacks and shanty dwellings of wood and plastic tarp. Amongst them, we glimpsed the occasional inhabitant, their clothes and faces greyed by soot, ash, and dust.
Plastic City is inhabited primarily by desperate foreign nationals who used to collect and sell plastic for recycling until the municipality stopped buying their plastic. During the 2019 xenophobic attacks, these foreigners, mainly impoverished refugees from Zimbabwe and Mozambique, sought refuge in the town centre, and the Brakpan Shul was one of the few places available.
Since 2002, the Brakpan Hebrew Congregation has been maintained by Ernest and Jeffrey Waner. Until Jeffrey’s death in 2020, they kept a minyan by busing in Sandringham Gardens residents. Though Ernest still looks after the shul, I don’t believe there’s been a minyan since.
Yakima, his daughter, started The Harvest Project, an initiative to feed the local community sustainably using donations while also training people to grow their own crops. At the height of the lockdown, they provided thousands of free meals a day to those in need.
It was roughly at this time that Yakima joined forces with Jessie and Twinky, two local women who had been running a crèche in Plastic City for the children of foreign nationals. Yakima helped them create Blessings Academy, a charity school run on the shul grounds. They run classes in converted shipping containers on the shul lawns and makeshift classrooms for Grade 1 and Grade 2 in the shul foyer and small shul. In the interests of sustainability, the school maintains a vegetable garden on the shul grounds. The children are taught how to grow, tend, and harvest the garden.
The school now supports and feeds 87 children from toddlers up to Grade 2.
Over our two days in Brakpan, we got involved in helping some of the older children pick string beans from the garden and label the fruit-tree saplings they planted last year. We observed classes, and helped serve and make meals. My cousin and I were required to do manual work in the garden, de-weeding, tilling, and fertilising a patch of soil for planting.
But by far the most rewarding task was working with the kids. They were fascinated and so eager to interact with us.
On the second day, I decided to bring a wad of paper and a few pencils. What started off with me just doing a few doodles soon attracted a few curious kids, which quickly lead to requests from the audience. “Draw a lion!”; “No, a car!”; ”I want a snake!”
By the end of the day, my cousin and I found ourselves in front of a blackboard teaching the kids how to draw – a house, a butterfly, a flower. I still recall how their eyes gleamed with pride as they showed off their attempts. It felt good to inspire them. I guess this is the reward of charity work.
Looking back, I have a strange mix of conflicting feelings from visiting Brakpan Shul. Entering the shul building itself felt like entering a museum or the grand palace of some once great empire.
The brick walls, the benches, the ark, and bimah are all kept immaculate, yet our footsteps echoed in silence.
It’s not hard to imagine Brakpan Shul in its heyday, to picture the throngs of Jews who would attend Shabbat and yom tov services, to imagine the sweet sound of the chazzan, and the excited voices of children playing outside on the lawns.
And yet, all that remained was the shul itself, a monument to a community that no longer exists.
On Friday, I made the point of saying the shema and amidah inside the shul. I had the feeling it had been a while since the last time a Jew had done the same.
Apart from Ernest, Yakima, and a scattered few remaining Jews, there’s no longer a Brakpan Jewish community. But the shul still serves a purpose. The sound of children laughing and playing can once more be heard on the premises. They are taught to bless their food and learn about all forms of religion and spirituality, including Judaism. In providing a safe, loving, and sustainable environment for these children, the Brakpan Shul has found a new community.
- Adam Midzuk has a BSc in Archaeology and Biology. He is currently freelancing as a digital artist and designer.
- For more information or to make donations to The Harvest Project, please email Yakima Waner on theharvestp@gmail.com
