(Author: Zita Nurok, Vol. 81, #1, Autumn-Winter 2026)
We lived across the road from the railway track. I often could be found standing at the fence watching people in the passenger trains going back and forth between Johannesburg and our small town of Roodepoort. Where were they coming from or where were they going to? Work? Home after a day in the city? Shopping? Visiting friends or family? Some appeared to be relaxed, reading books or newspapers, others chatting to people around them. If I waved, people waved back, perhaps recognizing the little girl standing at the fence watching the trains go by.
On many a Sunday afternoon my brother and I accompanied Dad on the half hour train trip to the city. The first stop was at the Jewish bookstore that was open on a Sunday, not far from the train station. The owner greeted us warmly, he and Dad speaking Yiddish to one another. Of special interest to Dad were books on Jewish topics, or the most recent Yiddish newspaper that he usually bought. There was even a corner for children’s books with stories about Jewish families, and we often met adults and children some of whom we knew, who were browsing as we were. When it was close to any of the holidays we found books about whatever Yom Tov it was going to be. Books about Shabbat were always available, and we bought candles if needed for Shabbat or the holidays. Samples of delicious Israeli halvah were at the cash register for customers to taste.
The next stop would be the deli. To get to the Jewish deli in a nearby suburb we would take a tram or a bus. The bus stop was just a few blocks away from the bookstore. If we took a tram my brother and I were excited to sit upstairs and look down at the passing ‘big city’ scenes. When time came to disembark, we let the driver know by pulling on the cord attached to the ceiling of the tram or bus, that ours was the next stop. We quickly hurried down the steps and Dad, who had been sitting downstairs, would be waiting for us at the door of the bus before we all got off.
How inviting the deli was with its mix of delicious smells of freshly baked kosher bread, rolls, bagels, kichel for chopped herring, hamantaschen, varieties of cakes, biscuits, pletzlach, and special white or brown taiglach if it was soon to be a Yom Tov! There were barrels of pickled cucumbers and covered dishes of chopped herring on the glass counter tops. The ladies behind the counters would welcome us enthusiastically, speaking Yiddish to Dad while encouraging us to try the samples. Cheesecake samples were always our favorite! Some of the ladies had also immigrated to South Africa from Lithuania, as had our parents, and so they all had much to talk about. Because Mom and Dad spoke Yiddish to one another at home, and often to us, we could follow and understand their conversations (that were, however, not always of much interest to us). They reminisced about the towns they had lived in. Dad usually mentioned the Venta River close to the town of Kurshan where he lived as a child, and he took pleasure telling how he and his brothers, who had also immigrated to South Africa, often swam in that river in the hot summers. The shop ladies enjoyed talking with Dad about the different foods they had on holidays, foods that were always ‘much better’ than anything they had in South Africa! After their conversations we bought whatever Mom asked us to get, said our goodbyes, and left to catch the next bus to the train station and the train that took us home.
At Chanukah time our family, together with another Jewish family in town who were Mom and Dad’s friends, caught the train to attend the service at the special Wolmarans Street shul – the Great Synagogue – in downtown Johannesburg. This was the biggest and most prestigious Jewish synagogue in the first half of the 20th Century. It came to be known as the city’s Mother Synagogue, the ‘crown jewel of Orthodox Judaism’ in South Africa at the time. We were awed when the service began with the cantor’s powerful voice, accompanied by the beautiful singing of the shul choir. Later in the service, the rabbi delivered a sermon that was always the subject of intense conversation among the adults. The best part for any children present as we were, was the music – the singing, and the grandeur of the building. On the train journey home Mom and Dad and their friends talked about the richness that they had just experienced!
Train travel enabled us to deepen our relationships with family who lived in different suburbs of Johannesburg, and families who lived in other parts of South Africa. The parents of those families had come as our parents did from Lithuania, Poland, and some from Germany, before and after the 1920’s. They had settled in suburbs of the big city where other Jewish newcomers from Europe lived. We enjoyed relationships with our cousins, some of the children being the same ages as we were, and so we all especially looked forward to our visits. The routine was always the same: the adults chatted enthusiastically about family stories, their latest news, and we – the children played outside. After a while we came in to fill plates with either slices of freshly baked cakes or tarts, interesting biscuits, tea for the adults, and juices for the children. How special and warm this family time was!
When it came time to leave, Uncle Dave as he was known to us even though he wasn’t our uncle, drove us to the train station by car, and we returned home saying as we always said, ‘until the next time.’
Train travel created special and meaningful times.
- Zita Nurok, a regular contributor to Jewish Affairs, is a former elementary school teacher who grew up in South Africa. In 2019, she retired after 48 years of teaching, nine of which were at the then Jewish Government School in Doornfontein.
