Stories of Krugersdorp

30/08/2026

Of all the things my mother made us eat, I say “made”, I mean forced. I use this word because it describes the action accurately. It wasn’t actually necessary to force me to eat.

That kind lady didn’t have to use force, but she did, because nobody thought that kippers were delicious.

Ma thought that things we eat must be healthy not tasty. This being the case, showing enthusiasm for a certain dish meant that it wasn’t healthy.

Can you believe me when I tell you that I never knew that kippers and scrambled eggs tasted delicious.

Only now, after my fried salmon, for lunch, today, did the concept of kippers etc being tasty come into the slow grinding cogs called of my mind.

I loved that orange coloured fleshy seafood with fine bones that I pulled out from between my teeth and munched with the yellow scrambled gift of the hen.

At the time of breakfast some eighty years ago I never realised that my breakfast was delicious, neither did ma, I’m sure that many a time I wanted to groan “not kippers again ma”.

Of course if you think that I actually spouted complaints like this, you didn’t know my ma, she had a way of making you feel as guilty as a worm who didn’t say “thank you for not squashing me”.

By the way it’s true that we marry a woman because she reminds us of our mother. Sixty years of marriage is witness to the truth of that wise saying.

22/07/2026

Missed opportunities, growing up in Krugersdorp.

Can you believe it? Jews have a festival to celebrate suffering. Today is the day set aside for suffering. You spend your day, which begins at sunset this evening and ends at sunset tomorrow evening, 24 hours, searching for and enduring suffering. I was lucky, I didn't have to search for sufferings or for reasons. for suffering. I was born in Krugersdorp

Most people aren't as "blessed" as I was, so Jewish law provides them with a list of popular sufferings. The "best" of these is, "no s*x" the others don't count.

Those weren't the days of liberal education. The "S" word wasn't even mentioned. I grew up thinking that you made a girl pregnant by looking at her. Don't even consider speaking to her or touching her, even on the hand, definitely not anywhere else. Some foolish people call those the "good old days".

I would have liked to become a father. The thing that made "no s*x" so much suffering was that our parents would find out and the town would be scandalised. Scenes of me, an outcast from paradise, head down, eyes to the ground, dragging my feet along main reef road on my way to Johannesburg the city of sin (so called because, apparently boys and girls couldn't keep their hands or an other parts of their body, from one another.

It's ridiculous to speak of celebrating suffering, so, we call it Jt "the day of mourning for the destruction of the temple," a good excuse as any for making ourselves suffer.

Just to make sure we don't miss any tragedies we are permitted to add other reasons for mourning, Unfortunately most of these reasons involve missed opportunities for s*x and shall remain hidden from the public eye. My daring revelations don't extend so far.

21/07/2026

Every time I get round to thinking that I’ve run out of stories to tell, another one comes to mind. This time a picture of the humble synagogue in Lourenço Marques (now known as Maputo) on my page, caused stories to come tumbling down on my rusty head, like dusty old books falling from a bookshelf, that, at my extended age, I shouldn’t have tried pushing.

A budding rabbinical student, I taught Hebrew in 1961 at the Krugersdorp afternoon school (Heder)in Monument township. in the same building as the beautiful shull (synagogue) of red face-brick.

I used to park my black Hillman Minx outside the synagogue and walked up a few steps to my classroom. The windows looked out at the pine-ree covered hill, just below Nicholas Smit drive, along which I used to pedal to KHS about five years prior.

Mrs. Poswell taught in the class next to mine, a mild lady, I always wondered how the kids ever learned anything from her. Archie Tanenbaum was the chairman and used to accompany the inspector, Mr Klewansky once a month or so.

Teachers don’t interact with all the kids in the class, there were about ten of them. I remember the the ones with whom I mostly interacted, Barry Friedman and Anthony Vidergaz.

Barry became a mayor of Krugersdorp and Vidergaz played cricket for SA. Does that say anything about my teaching?I don’t think so, they would have achieved greatness without me. I may have encouraged them to learn Hebrew.

I confess that I loved them all and, they’ll be pleased to know that their antics amused me no end. The thought that teachers don’t show how much pupils amuse them saddens me somewhat.

I’m sorry that I lost contact with them, but I corresponded with Dot, Barry’s wife on Facebook, sad to say they’ve both passed on, but here is a picture of them, I found on facebook.

08/06/2026

Old Krugersdorpers may have heard the name Tanenbaum, renowned for Adcock’s pharmacy and their son, Stanley with me at KHS.

But Brian is someone not well known to others but to me, because he came from Roodeport, by train to Luipaardsvlei station and from there by bus to KHS. We were naughty boys in the same class, competing with each other to see who could learn less. I won and ended up failing STDIX and matriculating from Damlin college, famous for teaching matter in one year that other schools taught in two.

We even played in 4th rugby team. He played cricket also. He stands before me in my mind’s eye in his rugby sweatshirt, white with a broad cerise coloured band around the chest with a narrower darker band inside .

He looked much neater in his sports gear than he did in his grey flannel trousers, white shirt, and scruffy dark blue school tie.

My image of a schoolboy was based on William, one of my favourite characters in English literature, if William books by Richmal Crompton could qualify as literature.

Brian Tanenbaum was a real living William in my imagination. He was a sensible guy and I mistakenly saw him as a naughty kid, the upshot was that I ended up naughty and he successful.

26/05/2026

History of Paardekraal Monument https://www.citizen.co.za/krugersdorp-news/news-headlines/local-news/2026/05/26/echoes-of-krugersdorp-the-powerful-legacy-behind-the-paardekraal-monument/?fbclid=IwdGRjcASChyBleHRuA2FlbQIxMQBzcnRjBmFwcF9pZAo2NjI4NTY4Mzc5AAEe9LLzU5dAIcnH7jpdRExm5zGjJjtFAJNgV59A0ta5KxXq8ddoH4CBo_5TA7Q_aem_dLUD3BX1QqoKIoVZSpR40Q

From the First War of Independence to modern-day heritage preservation, the Paardekraal Monument continues to stand as one of Krugersdorp’s most important historical landmarks.

10/05/2026

The post on the link here isn’t directly connected to Krugersdorp, I put it here because it makes me sad to hear the story about an American CIA agent who betrayed Mandela and led to his capture.

How different history could have been and how much suffering could Mandela have been spared.

Some of us students, in 1960 attended an inter-racial party one Saturday evening at Rivonia where Mandela was staying at the Goldreich residence. The SAP wrote down the car licenses of the attendees. The next day they came to question my friend, in who’s car we had traveled to the party. He realised that the next step would be his arrest, and he fled the country.

https://www.theheritageportal.co.za/notice/can-anyone-help-me-track-these-photographs-down?fbclid=IwZnRzaARt9WVleHRuA2FlbQIxMQBzcnRjBmFwcF9pZAo2NjI4NTY4Mzc5AAEevtFJgbk32c3iU92xW0UivD0xSD5T3y24dOz1vX2RBUY1yhY8dIoRyMk25aA_aem_4fGypHQfpcWhLOVnFqQr9w

I've been doing some research for Stanford Uni recently, and one project concerns this Bryanston house. It still stands but the entrance is now on North Ave. I spoke to the current owner and he mentioned there was an article with photos. Click here to view.It turns out this property was once owned/r...

10/05/2026

10/05/2026

This interesting history is a continuation of a history told in a post on storiesofkrugersdorp about how Paul Kruger’s nephew Martinus Petrus Wihelmus Pretorius aquired the land where Paardekraal monument was erected for raising horses for the Boer army, hence the name Paardekra

Martinus Petrus Wilhelmus Pretorius. The founder of Krugersdorp.

29/04/2026

My friend Geoff Josman

The part of genealogy of the Josman family of Roodepoort, that interests me is the part about John (Jack) Josman, which fills a gap for me about my friend Geoff, his sister, Sheba and their half brother Cecil.

Geoff and I first became friends when he and Sheba were living with their mother, Freda and Cecil in Wentworth Park, Krugersdorp. They came there from Roodepoort, after their father, whose name, John I had always wanted to know, died.

I was then about fourteen years old, in STD VII with Geoff and Sheba at Krugersdorp High School in the beautiful suburb of Monument Ext. about 5 miles from Wentworth Park and six miles from Eastern Ext. where I lived.

My bicycle ride to school each day uphill along pine tree shaded Main Reef Rd found Geoff and Sheba peddling furiously, puffing and panting as we made our way together. We’d return joyously downhill after school. Geoff laughed his open mouthed guffaw even at the most strenuous moments.

I would often sit in the Josman’s sunny dining room doing homework with Geoff. He was always at the top of the class in every subject besides PT and I was always low down the list.

I think that I’d have succeeded in passing matric had I continued meeting Geoff and studying together, but tragedy struck, his mother died and Geoff and Sheba moved in with the Berkowitz family, who also had two children, Tony and Sheba. They also lived in Wentworth Park, on Main Reef Rd. We still rode to school together and Sheba Berkowitz joined our friendship, but my homework visits with Geoff, sadly ended.

https://chol.website/communities/roodepoort/Roodepoort%20Josman%20Family.pdf

12/04/2026

This article about a mosque in Krugersdorp, is a puzzle to me. I thought that I knew the dorp, but it appears that I didn’t. I never knew that there was a mosque in Krugersdorp, it must have been well hidden, and I can’t say that I blame them for hiding it.

In those gruesome apartheid days of my childhood Moslems/or rather Indians were classified as non/white. That was the absurd human environment in which I grew up. I use the word absurd because it was considered normal.

Despite this attitude, many of us patronised Indian businesses, like Amod and sons in Burgershoop where my mother sent me to get fitted out for school, shoes, trousers shirts and what not.

Nobody could miss Dadoos department store, in Commissioner Str. Cnr Market Street, I remember going in there once. I never went there again, the dark green colour inside looked gaudy and kitch to me.

I also passed by the Indian bicycle shop, next door, the shiny glitter scared me off, we weren’t used to flashy things in those days, I looked at them with suspicion.

Today, living in Israe I see mosques everywhere. I don’t go in, because they’re holy precincts where Moslems aren’t happy for non-Moslems to enter.

Perhaps it’s because the Moslems of Krugersdorp slso didn’t welcome Non-Moslems that kept me away.

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=1814701252996086&id=100033686869522