Jacaranda season brings sweet memories

The Rosh Hashanah of my childhood started with a photograph. The family, including my grandparents, all freshly decked in our new clothes, stood in the garden of our house in Pretoria and posed for photos.

Then came the choosing of our machzors. We had a huge selection to choose from, passed down from previous generations. One was wood bound from Rukkishik, another, published in 1896, was written in Gothic script.

In the evening service, my mom and I would sit next to each other, and she would teach me to read it. We attended the shul at Carmel School. Shul was packed. Everyone knew everyone else (often for up to three generations).

Sitting in the female section, I would look down at my father, brothers, and grandfather. My brother had recently confirmed that, during the long services in the day, he would try and push my younger brother over or tie my father and grandfather’s tallaisim together to see what would happen next.

The next morning, the three Levitz kids – all 16 months apart in age – would walk to shul together. This was a highlight. Going as we did to a non-Jewish school, the knowledge that we had the day off, while my classmates were in school, was special.

One of my brothers would look at his watch, and say, “Nine-thirty am, I should be in maths.” My other brother would respond, “I’m missing science.” I would be most delighted. “I’m missing PT!”

We were avid listeners of 702 then, and I would, sneakily, throughout the day, turn on the radio just to make sure that John Berks, Stan Katz, and the other Jewish presenters had also taken the day off, and had a great sense of satisfaction that they were also not at work.

We’d choose to go past the Shingwedzi flats where our friends, the Silberman family, lived. Sometimes, we would meet up with them, and they would join us for the last stretch. But we had to tread carefully.

There was a “bad” man who lived in the flats next door to Shingwedzi. Rumour had it that he didn’t like Jews, and would shout at the children walking to shul. Thankfully, we never met him, but it created an added anticipation to the day.

At shul, we would meet friends, many of whom we saw only once a year. Some had already left Pretoria, but would come back for the high holy days to be with their families.

It was also a time when the kids from Carmel and the Jewish kids from government schools could meet on neutral territory. We would then head home, via Harlequins Club, often with a friend in tow, and have a delicious yom tov meal.

In the afternoon, my grandparents would sit under the avocado tree in the garden and drink tea with my parents, while us youngsters would run around completely carefree.

My association with Rosh Hashanah is that of the warmth of spring, the beauty of the Jacaranda season, being with family, eating delicious food, and all the anticipation and excitement of a new year.

Some things change. Some stay the same. WISHING YOU ALL A SHANA TOVA U METUKA.

• Charisse Zeifert is head of communications at the SA Jewish Board of Dep