On the other side of sorrow

TALI FEINBERG

Lynette’s story was documented in the book On the Other Side of Shame by Joanne Jowell, and it sent shockwaves through the South African Jewish community.

It told the extraordinary story of Langman (nee Zinn), who was forced to give up her child and keep her secret because it would have brought shame to her traditional Jewish family.

She went on to marry the father, Max Langman, raise three more children and keep her secret for 40 years – until one day her long-lost son, Antony, contacted her. The rest is revealed in this highly recommended read.

“I think the book gave many Jewish women a voice,” says Langman on the phone from Los Angeles, where she now lives. “Many women came up to me and said: ‘That happened to me too’, or that they were forced into having abortions. To hear that it wasn’t only me was a relief.” Others in the Jewish community, both in South Africa and overseas, told her it inspired them to find their birth mothers or to speak more openly about adoption.

And so, there are many more stories to tell, especially for Langman. Ten years later, she may have found a son, but she lost one too. “Soon after our reunion with Antony in Seattle, Colin (her eldest son after Antony) was diagnosed with leukaemia. He went into remission but soon relapsed,” she explains.

His brother, Jonathan, was a perfect match for a bone marrow transplant, “but Colin had to have strong chemotherapy to prepare him for the transplant, and the chemo, together with the fact that he had a stomach ulcer, caused him to bleed out. He was in and out of hospital for three years, and as sick as he was, he never complained,” says Lynette.

“It was so quick, and so devastating. It’s unnatural to lose a child. At first I felt like I was being punished – like G-d was saying: ‘I’ve helped you find one son, but I’m taking one back.’” Working through her life history in therapy has helped her find some peace. To other parents grieving the loss of their children, she says: “There is no closure, but there is acceptance.”

Colin was 42 when he passed away nine years ago. He left behind his wife, Judy, and two sons, Michael and Daniel. As much as she tried to be the rock at the centre of the tragedy, Langman and her husband ultimately decided to move to Los Angeles, where their daughter, Lara, and granddaughter, Micaela, reside, and to be closer to Antony and Jonathan and their children.

Both men live in Seattle, and knowing Antony was there was a major reason that Jonathan decided to settle there. “He stayed with Antony and René for six months when he first moved, and their children are all very close cousins.”

The relationship between Langman and Antony has developed into a warm and loving family one – “which was way more than I could have ever wished for”. While it may not be on the same level as with her other children, she knows that “he has always been my son, but I haven’t always been his mother”.

Langman derives great joy from seeing how similar Antony’s likes and mannerisms are to those of his brothers and father.

She’s deeply grateful to Antony’s adoptive parents, Joe and Selma Egnal, for all they did for him, and she knows Antony was their greatest gift. She is relieved that the one thing she requested when she gave up Antony was that he go to a Jewish family, as this led to him having a similar upbringing, and in many ways, kept him in her orbit.

We see this many times in the book – when both the Langmans and the Egnals lived in Camps Bay, when Antony worked with Dr Solly Lison (the Langman family doctor), and most incredibly, when Lara saw Antony’s wedding video and realised she had been at his wedding. “Lara called to tell me from Seattle, where she was visiting Antony. She said: ‘Mom, are you sitting down?’ and proceeded to inform me that she had been at her brother’s wedding without knowing it was him.It’s unbelievable that in a small wedding of a hundred guests, the bride’s cousin chose to take Lara as his date. I feel like someone was watching out for us.”

In the book On the Other Side of Shame, the city of Cape Town is like a character. We read about Muizenberg, where Langman and Max met; about Camps Bay, where she was sent to hide before having the baby; about the Gardens Shul, where she was the director; and about the University of Cape Town, where Antony studied medicine.

“It’s been hard – we aren’t youngsters and we didn’t know anyone,” says Langman about the move to LA. She now works as a receptionist at the school where her daughter Lara works, and she loves it.

But she misses being part of a community – “knowing everyone at shul, bumping into friends at the Waterfront or on the promenade, hearing someone call your name at the shop… a sense of belonging”.

Langman has no regrets about publishing her story, even though it “felt like walking naked down Adderley Street”, and she has never received one critical comment about her past. “The response was beyond my wildest dreams – the whole community just embraced me.” She holds no resentment towards her parents. “They did what they felt was best for me – they were trying to protect me.”

Yet she has not shared her background with many people in LA, and hardly anyone there knows her extraordinary story. And so, ironically, it remains a South African Jewish community story – one that should never have been hidden, but remains safe with us.