From the Ashes of Tragedy - A Miracle
It is at precisely the moment, when we are at our lowest ebb, that the tide begins to turn.
Unknown
6 October, 2003
It seems that when all is lost, G-d sends a message that hope is there for us to reach out and touch. We have had our precious shul taken away, but our Torahs are back.
Our grounding is gone, but we must come together to build something new.
Tonight brings the start of the holiest day of the Jewish year, Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. Tonight, for the first time in almost one hundred years Bulawayo’s Jewish community will not share the ancient rhythm of the Kol Nidrei in its grand old Synagogue.
On the swelteringly hot Sabbath afternoon of the 5th of October, the Bulawayo Synagogue was engulfed in flames, then tragically burnt to its outer shell, taking with it the joy and pain woven into its long and eventful history. Nobody is yet sure as to the cause of the fire, but it seemed to have started in a service lane behind the Synagogue.
Within half an hour many of the city’s Jews had gathered to witness the death of a building we were so proud of and which held the precious memories of so many. It took less than a couple of hours for the total devastation of the Synagogue, firefighters bravely attempting to quench the inferno.
At around 5pm, whilst some were attempting to break into the back of the Aron HaKodesh, the Holy Ark which houses the precious Torahs, Rodney Lepar and Raymond Roth, both committed and dedicated members of the community decided to rush in through the front entrance to save the six Torahs which were housed in the Ark.
They stood at the window, Raymond shouted he could see the red Torah, Rodney, the white. Yet when Rodney did dash in, with the aid of a firefighter, he had to kick in the metal doors of the Ark. What had they seen? Both were elated to see the tiny room had miraculously survived the heat.
Against all odds, the Torahs were saved by these brave men. Young boys helped to carry them to safety, slightly sodden, yet unscathed. Those gathered hugged and cried for a miracle had happened. The closest emotion I have felt to seeing the Torahs being carried through the smoke and spray, was when I held my first child safe in my arms after a long and difficult birth.
They also managed to rescue the many sumptuously decorated Ark curtains and cloths and the silver ornaments used on the Torahs. One of the curtains dates back to the year 1725 and although permeated with smell of smoke it is proudly intact. I have tried to establish its origins but no one seems to know how it came to be in Bulawayo.
Each of our Torahs tells a story and their history echoes the journey of Jews around the globe. Many were carried to safety from the flames that consumed our Nation in the holocaust. How remarkable it is that they still lie in our thankful hands, saved yet again.
We stood together, lost for words and mourning the death of our keeper of memories. One man cried that he promised his daughter that one day she too would be married there, another lamented that her children were named there, and I also was lost in the memory of my own wedding, my childhood and the ghosts of all who have passed through our small town.
Uncle Lazar Abrahamson, a dignified and gentle soul whose days span three centuries of Jewish life, born in Russia in 1899, still attends every service and is often called upon to read from the Torah. He lost both his prayer shawls in the flames and was grief stricken, asking what he would be buried in when his time comes.
The Jews of Bulawayo have unerringly and lovingly protected their heritage since the community was formed back in 1894. For the last three years this tiny, yet determined community has been reeling under the effects of a country in political turmoil. From its heyday in the 1960’s when our numbers boasted over 2800 souls, we have dwindled to a standing community of under 150.
Despite the distressing effects of losing friends and family, who have fled to more stable countries, the community continued to maintain the vigil of morning and evening prayers with its quorum of ten men over the age of 13, in the beautiful old synagogue until very recently. It was with a heavy heart that we voted to hold morning prayers only twice a week and, of course, on the Sabbath for there are no longer enough people to keep up daily prayers. Prayers are now held at Savyon lodge, with its male residents there to help, at all other times. Savyon Lodge remains a safe and beautiful haven for our older community; Carmel School, where I teach maintains its Jewish ethos despite having so few Jewish children.
7 October
It has been a couple of days since the fire and I am still left with a great void. We have endured so much pain in our small community over the past three years, watching democracy crumble and this poor country collapse. This last assault leaves me feeling violated and robbed of the last remnants of “good”.
The service at the Sinai hall was poignant, an air of sadness pervaded the normally solemn Yom Kippur service. But, the positive was there to be found.
For the first time in twenty years I sat in a full synagogue, we set out 100 chairs, erected a make shift “bimah”, we brought in the old Ark from the children’s shul, from the days when there were enough children to have their own service, and all seats were filled. Men and women divided, yet together.
By lunch time of the eve of the Fast we had received incredible donations of Tallesim, books and even a blue box, from communities in Johannesburg and Cape Town, many of them gathered by my brother and young Saul Baron. Not one man was left without a Tallis to honour Yom Kippur.
The city street sounds around the old shul, that used to distract me and anger me, were replaced with the silence and peace found at the Sinai Hall in suburban Kumalo. The Torah’s silver gleamed reflectively, filling me with pride that my 8 year old daughter had spent the whole day polishing it and erasing the stink of smoke that it carried just one night before. My son’s shofar, a gift from Israel, ended the fast - Rodney Lepar fittingly chosen to breathe strength from the ram’s horn.
Our new Rabbi conducted the service with dignity and warmth, he certainly has started his stay here with “trial by fire”!
Bulawayo has always prided itself on its community spirit, and on our holiest day I found that sense of belonging returning and strengthening.
8 October
I finally plucked up the courage to take my little Carly to see the burnt out shul today. She still had not seen it. How she cried. Then she stated that it’s time to build a new one, how could I tell her that her wishes are dreams, probably too hard to make true.
One of the humbling things to come out of the weekend’s tragedy is the incredible sense of loss to so many in Bulawayo - Jew, Christian, Muslim, Hindu, every race and colour. At the fire itself, Ibrahim Jassat, from a strong Muslim family, sat on the back of my truck outside the burning Shul, jealously guarding the Torahs we had stowed in it. Our wonderful family doctor, Hemant Patel, a Hindu, joined us to end the fast in shul, visibly moved by our loss. Churches burnt candles on Sunday in their services to join us in our grief. At the Island Hospice fund raiser on Saturday night, a candle was lit to honour the death of our Shul. Flowers have been left at the gates of the Shul. I have been inundated with calls from schools, fellow teachers, school children, all wanting to help. My answer is – help us by uniting as a larger community. The knowledge of their concern makes the burden I carry a little lighter to bear.
I think it is time to send this rambling account out to friends, family and loved ones. Thank you, one and all, for your great support, I know you weep with me over the loss of our precious Shul. I also know that G-d gave us eyes in the front of our heads so we may go forward at all times. I am sending you all some of the pictures my good friend Vikki took on Sunday and a repeat of my new year message.
SHANA TOVA
HAPPY NEW YEAR
May sweetness and love, joy and light guide you through the year.
Hold on to freedom, cherish your days and may you always know the warmth of family and friends.
Life continues in Zimbabwe, good days and bad.
Although you may not hear from us often enough,
our friends and family scattered about the earth remain a gift and treasure.
Have a happy, successful, adventurous and loving year.
With much Love from
David, Shelley, Benji and Carly
