Darling, doesn’t Rupert look just like Jesus Christ! Jo'burg's Jewish suburb, beautiful with Jacarandas For my self of the 1940s, 50s, 60s, there was a need at times to escape the stifling blandness of ethnically self-contained, self-satisfied Anglo culture, specially the colonial version. I was born, in Pretoria , into a South African baptised-Anglican family both sides, from English Australian New Zealand origins. But there were little admixtures here and there, thin chinks in the ethnic stitching that allowed in a little light to glimpse other angles by, a few hints of more pungent tastes and scents. There was Jewish, out there. I was never seeking to be a Jew, but Jew Ish, I liked. My father, who sold properties for Saul Berman’s agency in Pretoria, loved telling Jewish jokes with the full accent more than anyone, except Saul Berman himself, and later, my Jewish father in law. Do you remember the one about Abie in the train, who had a headache? Among my own lat
Left wing commentary from the heart and the head