This morning, we buried our Oupa at Westpark Jewish Cemetery
in Johannesburg, surrounded by Jacaranda trees in full bloom, a perfect goodbye
to a man who even in his final months was able to appreciate the simple
pleasures of nature and the beauty of flowers.
The rabbi told us last night how important it is to talk
about and share our memories and stories. As I board a plane to Rwanda unable
to spend the week of Shiva with my family, I feel the need to share some of my
memories, to keep them fresh and alive as a reminder of all the values and
wisdom I have gained from both my Oupa and Ouma, never by preaching, shouting
or telling us what to do but by living a life of integrity and kindness that
has influenced so much of who I am today and has touched so many people that
knew and loved them.
The story of my Oupa cannot be told without my Ouma, and
although she died 16 years ago, throughout my childhood there was no such thing
as Oupa without Ouma. They were a perfect couple whose love and devotion to
each other should serve as a model for us all.
My brother and I along with our cousins spent every school
holiday in Parys, where almost as soon as we were out the car, after grabbing
something Ouma had baked from the well-stocked glass jars in the kitchen we
were yelling “Oupa PushMe” waiting for him to push us on the swings in the
backyard. When we tired of that there were countless other things to do in the
‘round house’ (round because we could run right around it). Throughout the week-long
school holiday we would spend our time climbing the tree, bowling lemons down
the driveway, picking strawberries or ‘millies’ from the garden or shelling
peas (and me being terrified of finding worms). At night we would spend hours
playing cards - Kaluki, Poker or Casino or watching the cartoons that Oupa
diligently taped for us throughout the year before the 7am news.
Daily outings included sailing margarine tubs down the
furrows in the streets, taking our dog Bubbles to the golf-course and shouting
our lungs out at the ‘dog who has no ears’ while she sniffed ‘every blade of
grass’ or going fishing and miraculously
catching a fish the moment Oupa got ‘tired’ and asked us to take over his line.
On other days we would go jump on the rocks and laugh at ‘the crocodile’s
toilet’, throw stones from the swing bridge into the river and try make them
skip or play putt-putt at Mimosa Gardens (Going back with school on Shabbatons
everyone thought we were world class golfers given our skills on the Parys
Putt-Putt Course.) There was always a
new and fun activity.
We learned so much from our time with our Ouma and Oupa; business
skills (Oupa was always ready to give us your ‘less valuable’ silver Rands for
our ‘more valuable’ gold cents), science
and mechanics (from dissecting an old
washing machines and other kitchen appliances) or architecture and survival (from
building tents out of sheets on the veranda). Despite growing up in the heart
of Sandton I’ve always considered myself a “Parysie Meisie” at heart (and
through the tough soles of my bare feet) because of the many many holidays we
spent in Parys with Oupa and Ouma.
So much of who I am today was influenced by my Oupa, when I create
my cereal mixtures each morning or add cheese to my porridge, salt on my melon
or sugar to a half grapefruit I think of him. My first memory of drinking wine
is drinking sweat Late Harvest from a box carton in the fridge on hot Summer
evenings, today I grow strawberries and
herbs on my balcony that reminds me of the garden in Parys, and wherever I am
in the world going into an old shul, the smell of old wood and leather reminds
me of going to shul with my Oupa in Parys, kicking stones or coke cans on the
walk there or playing with his wooden stick.
There are also so many stories from before my time, stories
of a young Oupa in his youth, cutting up his father’s slippers to make a
catapult or climbing out of the window of Heder on Sundays. As well as stories
that are so typical of my Oupa and Oumas’ kindness, their open home that was
always full of people or new stories I learned this week at the hospital of how
they took in a child for a few years when they learned there was a Jewish child
in the Orphanage in Parys.
Both Oupa and Ouma where a paradigm for kindness that has
influenced everyone in their families - we
all share their love of animals and nature, appreciation for the small things
in life, a good sense of humor, excellent poker skills and recognition of the
importance of Jewish traditions and family.
I feel so lucky to have had my Oupa for such a big part of
my childhood, teenage and adult life, him leaving us is in many ways is the end
of an era, the last of his generation from Parys, yet he leaves such a strong legacy
for his children, grandchildren nieces and nephews and great nieces and
nephews.
Oupa and by extension Ouma’s spirit and memories will always be with us, every time we use one of
our many “Oupa design” challah covers, placemats, bags or beed-works, every time
we walk into a noisy restaurant and complain about it being ‘Klap and Kop’,
every time we mutter ‘Jingo’ in appreciation of a beautiful flower, hear "Parys' Turtledoves in the morning or edge an
opponent to “goeie, goeie, goeie” in a
poker or Kaluki game.
While even at 95 he still had no great grandchildren (much
to our parents dismay), one day we will impart to our children so much of what
we learned from our Oupa and Ouma who showed us that there is no need for
expensive toys or electronics but that margarine tubs, old sheets or a broken
washing machine are quite sufficient when mixed with a huge amount of love,
patience and kindness.
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When I applied to use my ROI professional development Micro Grant for a trip to Africa, I was not 100% sure what I had in mind. All I knew was that I needed to “get into the field” and to spend a brief period taking part in the day-to-day workings of a social enterprise operating in Africa. I believed, as I wrote in my grant application, that this would enhance my work here in Israel supporting Israeli entrepreneurs developing innovations for the African context.