Sally Hanna Levin

Frankel: Good afternoon. I will ask you to start by stating your full name, and your place and date of birth.
LEVIN: My name is Sally Hanna Levin, Sorah Henna [Yiddish version of name, sp?]. I was born in a little town called Raguva in Lithuania.

Frankel: Do you want to give me a date?
LEVIN: I think it was 1926.

Frankel: What was your maiden name?
LEVIN: Glaser [spells out]. On the certificate it was Glaserine. Coming to South Africa, it was changed to Glaser.

Frankel: Who lived in your household? How old were you when you left Lithuania?
LEVIN: My father died when I was six months old. My mother had two brothers in South Africa who had left [Lithuania] many years ago. Originally, they went to London. From London they came to Cape Town. One was a master tailor, which he had learned in London, and the other was a storekeeper. He had a string of stores about ten miles out of Cape Town in a place called Elsie’s River. My father died of pneumonia when I was six months old, so my mother was left alone. Apparently she got married, what they considered late in life at that stage. She’d had an understanding with somebody who had died from the flu epidemic, so they sent for her, and I came to South Africa when I was ten months or a year old, somewhere around there, and I came to my uncles in Cape Town.

Frankel: What were the names of your parents?
LEVIN: My father was Shlomo, and my mother was Freide-Basha, Freidel.

Frankel: You were an only child? There were no other children?
LEVIN: No.

Frankel: Were your grandparent still alive when you were born?
LEVIN: I have no idea. I really can’t tell. I know that my mother lost her mother when she was six years old. Her father then remarried, and she had a step-mother.

Frankel: What were the names of your uncles in South Africa?
LEVIN: It was Maurice [Morris?] Isaacson and Ruben Isaacson.

Frankel: That was your mother’s maiden name?
LEVIN: My mother’s maiden name was Isaacson.

Frankel: Do you have any idea when they left Lithuania and came to South Africa, the two brothers?
LEVIN: No, when you’re very young you are totally disinterested in that sort of thing.

Frankel: Did your mother travel alone with you?
LEVIN: Yes. We have a photograph somewhere of me on board ship. I don’t know if Ruthie [Levin’s daughter] has it, or if I’ve still got it. You know how you pack your photographs away. It was a German ship. In fact, Stanley [Levin’s son] has got a lot of documents that I gave him pertaining to that period, and my father’s last will, which I think is interesting. I was ten months, a year old, and my cousins, my uncle’s children, were teenagers — 18, 20, and younger — and of course they made a tremendous fuss with me. I was their little baby, and I grew up much loved and taken care of.

Frankel: Did your mother actually live with one of her brothers?
LEVIN: We lived with Maurice and his family. In those days, family was family. There was no question about it. Then when I was about four or five, my uncle Ruben, who lived in Elsie’s River, his wife died giving birth to their fourth child. The eldest son, at that time I think was 18, and there was a 15-year-old and a little 2-year-old. So my mother and I moved to Elsie’s River to be with the other brother, and my mother became the mistress of the house. My cousin, called Jackie Isaacson, who subsequently became an actor and changed his name — in fact, his name was — I’ve got it here. I’ll take a look. He became, as my husband said, a shtickel actor. We used to call him Kopie because kopie is little hen. He was a very, very tiny child and a little delicate. As an adult, I don’t think he was more than 5’1”. He always said that he would have liked to have written a book, Oh, But for a Couple of Inches Taller.

Frankel: Was he the older cousin? The oldest child of your uncle?
LEVIN: He was the youngest son. The eldest son was Hymie. And the second boy, I remember him very vaguely, because he subsequently died.

Frankel: As a young man?
LEVIN: As a young boy.

Frankel: How far was that town outside of Cape Town?
LEVIN: About eight to ten miles. Kopie and I were brought up like brother and sister, I being the elder. I was always a resilient child, and I was considered tall for my age. We used to walk to school together. The school was in a place called Parow. I think of the way children are spoon fed now. We became independent at a very early age. We used to walk along the main road until we reached the main road going to where the bus was, or the train. And this was from the age of seven. We used to take the bus or the train and go to school.

Frankel: Can you describe the household when you were growing up?
LEVIN: Oh, yes. It was a very nice household. It was a nice house. There were the bedrooms, and the dining room and living room together, and then the kitchen and the bathroom, and then the servants’ quarter. Next door to it my mother ran the café. It was a series of shops. There was the house, then next to it there was a little sort of alleyway, and then the shops started. There was the café, there was the butcher shop, there was the jewel store, and then there was, I remember vaguely, a clothing or general or something. And Hymie, the oldest boy, had his own shop across the road.

Frankel: What type of shop?
LEVIN: They used to sell everything. I remember Kopie and I — in the summer months, there was always watermelons and things like that, so now in the front — what we called the stoop, the front, the veranda — the watermelons used to be set out. We were taught that how you find that a watermelon is ripe, you put it on your head and if it cracks then you know it is ripe. I remember that as a young child, coming home from school, I used to be in the cafe while my mother went through the backyard to get to the house to give him something to eat. And I must have been so young because I remember standing on a box so that I could reach the till to help her. Of course, if anybody came in, it was all poor people, the Cape Coloureds and also the Europeans. They lived in a small house, basically in what we called the veldt. They used to come in and ask for a sixpence worth of butter, so you gave them a little sliver. I used to be there in the shop and went to the back and called my mother to come. In the meantime, they could have cleaned out the whole shop.

Frankel: When you say the Europeans, do you mean the Afrikaners?
LEVIN: Afrikaners, yes. Afrikaner whites.

Frankel: The community that you lived in was not all Jewish?
LEVIN: Not at all. We were Jewish. We still had a kosher house. I remember the shohet coming to the house because we had chickens in the back, killing the chickens. I used to run and hide. I couldn’t bear it.

Frankel: So what were the relationships between the black Africans and the white Africans?
LEVIN: [Inaudible.] They kept to themselves and we kept to ourselves.

Frankel: So there was no apartheid at that time?
LEVIN: Yes, they were. They were separate, but they shopped where we were. It was not the apartheid; that only came in later. We all lived together [inaudible].

Frankel: Who were your servants?
LEVIN: The Cape Coloureds. The Cape Coloureds are a mixture of whites and blacks. Don’t forget, everybody was an immigrant, starting with the Portuguese, and then there were the Dutch, and then the English, and they intermarried. These were what we called the Cape Coloureds.

Frankel: Did they live with you?
LEVIN: We had a maid. She had a bed next to the bathroom, and that’s where she slept. Then she had her days off or whatever. When you’re a kid, you never really thought about it much.

Frankel: Did she have a family who lived elsewhere?
LEVIN: Yes.

Frankel: Were they allowed to live where you lived?
LEVIN: I don’t know anything about their family. I was a child, right?

Frankel: Did you have neighbors who were colored?
LEVIN: No, not where I was. It was a small little area.

Frankel: What about the school you went to?
LEVIN: The school we went to was about five miles away in Parow, and that’s where the synagogue was as well. We became pretty hardy. As I said, Jackie — Kopie — was a very delicate child. I must have been six and he must have been four, and I remember walking from Elsie’s River to shul with him in a big pram and me walking alongside. And I remember the rabbi, on Simchas Torah he used to gather us under the big tallis, all the children.

Frankel: Who were your classmates? Boys, girls, colored?
LEVIN: Boys and girls together.

Frankel: All white?
LEVIN: All white.

Frankel: Not a Jewish school?
LEVIN: Not at all. We did not know about a Jewish school. We kept our own yiddishkeit. I remember when it came to Pesach. I remember going with my uncle, my mother, going around looking for bread on each little thing with a candle, and then sweeping it off and burning it. We kept kosher.

Frankel: Did you get any type of Jewish education?
LEVIN: Yes, very slightly in later years, when I was about eight or nine or ten. We didn’t learn Hebrew; we learned Yiddish.

Frankel: In a special school?
LEVIN: No, we had a teacher who came to us and taught us. There were no special schools to my knowledge. There might have been in Cape Town, but not where we were. We knew we were Jewish, but it was not as accented as it is today here.

Frankel: Was it different in Cape Town where there was a larger community?
LEVIN: It was exactly the same. I don’t remember Cape Town having Jewish schools. It was actually when I came to Portland and I saw the Orthodox and the way they dress, for me it was a revelation. I had never seen this before. It didn’t exist.

Frankel: When you mention the rabbi, was he also from Lithuania?
LEVIN: I have no idea.

Frankel: What languages did you speak in the house? Did your mother learn English?
LEVIN: A little, as much as she needed to, but they spoke Yiddish.

Frankel: Were you considered well off?
LEVIN: I think so. When you say well off — they earned a living, we were never hungry, we were clothed. I have photographs where we look like ragamuffins, wearing what we called sand shoes with the toe sticking out, and wearing a sweater which was a little grubby. There was no impetus on how clean we were, or how tidy or anything like that.

Frankel: Did you have family who remained in Lithuania?
LEVIN: I have no idea.

Frankel: You don’t remember letters coming?
LEVIN: They did. They came to my mother. I didn’t deal with it.

Frankel: When WWII broke out …?
LEVIN: We’re going back a long way before WWII. Subsequently, when I was about ten, my Uncle Ruben remarried. Now my mother had a cousin in Johannesburg. The two of them had had grown up together. She was about eight years older than my mother, and apparently my mother spent a lot of time at their house, way back in Lithuania before my mother got married. This was her favorite cousin, and she moved to Johannesburg. This must have been during the Depression years when I think about it now. So my uncle got married, he got rid of the business, and he came to Cape Town. 

My mother’s cousin in Johannesburg, they had a café, a fish and chips shop, where they sold fish and chips, and also cigarettes and pastries and cold drinks. In the front, they had about four tables that they used to serve kosher meals. It was like an industrial area where they were. There were a couple of carpentry shops and things like that across the way. There were a number of Jewish men who used to come to her to have lunch every day. 

So he wrote to my mother — they must have been in constant touch — asking her if she could come to Johannesburg to help, and so my mother and I went to Johannesburg. I remember so clearly being at the station and my cousin Kopie crying bitterly. You know she was like his mother. “Don’t you love me? I want to come with you.” I remember so, so clearly, and he never got over that feeling, because I saw him over the years.

Frankel: How old were you when you moved to Johannesburg?
LEVIN: Ten or 11. We moved to Johannesburg, and I hated it from the moment I got there.

Frankel: Why?
LEVIN: Because they lived in a house in the middle of town, and next to them was one other house with Jewish people who I never really knew, and next to them there was a row of houses with Indians in it. That was about two blocks away from where they had their shop, so meals were taken at the shop at lunchtime. As a child I hated eating there. It was the first time I really had seen a very black person, smelly and dirty, coming in to buy while you were sitting and eating.

Frankel: The cousin you joined in Johannesburg, was she married with children?
LEVIN: Not only that. Her son was my husband eventually. He was 13 years older than I. I hadn’t met him when I first got there because he stayed in a place called Benoni, which was a number of miles away, and he worked in a store with his Uncle Max. He seldom came into Johannesburg. They had a room in the house for him, but I never saw him because I was a kid and he was a grown man. It was only a year or two later that he came back. My uncle had what we now call a supermarket, one of the first supermarkets, and he worked for him there.

Frankel: What was the name of their supermarket?
LEVIN: I did know it. I’ll think about it.

Frankel: What was the name of the cousin you moved in with?
LEVIN: Shayne Esther Levin.

Frankel: The reason that your cousin asked your mother to come was connected to the fact that your uncle had remarried?
LEVIN: Yes, it was. My mother didn’t quite know where to go. All I know is that, as a child, you go.

Frankel: Besides the son, who was to become your husband, were there other children still at home?
LEVIN: No, they were all older. I was the kid. There was Fanny, a brother and a sister. Their story is also interesting.

Frankel: How so?
LEVIN: Because apparently there were three children. There was Fanny, the eldest, Jules, and there was another little girl. I think they lived in [inaudible]; I’m not sure. And this little girl — American cars were very unusual in those days — there was a motor car parked where she was. She climbed under the motor car to look at it, and the driver did not know she was there and so she was killed. I don’t think that Shayne ever got over that.                         

Frankel: What was the difference in the schooling when you moved to Johannesburg?
LEVIN: I went to a school. They must have arranged that. A Jewish government school.

Frankel: What did that mean?
LEVIN: It means that it was a Jewish school for Jewish children, but because it was also subsidized by the government they had to have non-Jewish children as well. I have photographs of myself there. It was a very, very nice school, and also the principal was the principal of the Jewish orphanage.

Frankel: There was a Jewish orphanage in Johannesburg?
LEVIN: Yes, there was [inaudible — seems to be describing location]. 

Frankel: If it was called the Jewish school, did you study anything Jewish-related?
LEVIN: Not at all. It just had Jewish children. There was the suburb called Turffontein where you had most of the merchants, and these were the merchants’ children. Where we lived, just up the road there were some houses there, and in the houses there was always a room where a Jewish family was. So we used to meet up and walk to school together.

Frankel: Did your cousin also have servants?
LEVIN: One man. A man servant. He helped in the shop, slept in the yard, had a room at the back, and in the morning he used to make up the cold stove so we would have some hot water, bathing and all that sort of thing. That was it.

Frankel: What did you do for leisure? Did you have time to do things other than work?
LEVIN: You went to school, you came home, and you had lunch in the café. Then back to the house and do your homework, and do a lot of reading.

Frankel: Were you close to a synagogue in Johannesburg?
LEVIN: There was a synagogue a couple of blocks away, but the only time we went was Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and that sort of thing. We also had Pesach in the house. Those two that you see there [pointing to some objects or photos], like Japanese, this comes from that house. In Pesach, that was when you said with the wine. 

Frankel: Elijah? Oh, yes.
LEVIN: Yes.

Frankel: Did you have any non-Jewish friends?
LEVIN: Yes, I had [inaudible], and I had a Jewish friend, [inaudible name], who subsequently married. She used to be [inaudible, maybe maiden name]. Her father was one of the guys who had the big lumberyard across the road. Her mother had died, and she had a younger brother. We became friends. We used to walk back together at lunch, and she would come back to our house. She became my best friend. She lived in an apartment in Turffontein, and I would often go with her, especially on the weekend, and sleep over there. Her father’s name was Harry. He used to say to us, “Children, we have a lovely supper tonight. We’ve got salmon, and bread, and butter, and tomatoes. It’s the best meal we ever had.” It was in Turffontein. The older boys were sitting. 

And then we also had [name of another suburb], which was also a predominantly Jewish suburb. There was the butcher, the greengrocer, and the baker, and all that sort of thing. Yiddishkeit was not as if you studied it. I certainly didn’t. Some of them went to shul on Saturday. Not for us. It didn’t exist. It might have for some people. What we considered, my folks were religious. I remember my uncle Ruben every morning laying tefillin. The elder son laid tefillin as well.

Frankel: Did you encounter antisemitism growing up?
LEVIN: No. It was a funny thing. We knew we were Jewish and everybody just accepted them. It was not derogatory in a certain way. I remember when Stanley went into the army he was already very conscious and only wanted to eat kosher. Where he was in the army in this little town in Middleburg, it was one of the women who used to give him kosher food. Every day the black African cook said to him, “Hey, Jew boy, what do you want today, chops or steak today?” It wasn’t derogatory. Nobody took offense.

Frankel: Did you eventually get used to Johannesburg?
LEVIN: Yes, to a certain extent. I was a bright student. And then in those days, you went into high school when you were age seven.

Frankel: Age seven you went to …?
LEVIN: No. You started school when you were six, and then you went into high school from what we called standard seven, not standard six as they do here [she means grades]. So I went to Commercial High School, which was the best thing I could have done. It was there you learned history, geography, commerce, bookkeeping, typing, and English. It was just amazing, it really was. And after what we called Junior Matric — I don’t know what they call it here — it’s like standard eight. I must have been 14. I was a bright student and they put me up one, they rose my level. When I was that age I was never first, but I was always second or third. I remember one girl, she was the bane of my life. She was always first. 

And my mother said I couldn’t continue; I must now go and finish off at a special school because I had to earn a living. I remember the principal wanted to see my mother, so my mother came along in a halting English, and she said, “No, my kind must go and work because I am a widow and she’s got to earn a living.” So I then went to the other high school and did commerce again — shorthand, typing, a lot of English. It was the best thing I could have done because I could read a balance sheet. And with all due respect, you’ve got a lot of B.A.’s here who know nothing about commerce. 

When I was about 15, I finished. I was approached by somebody — during the holidays I used to go — there was a Jewish newspaper, and they needed somebody to write addresses, to fold the newspapers and to send them out. The letters. So I worked there for a month. I got six pounds a month, which was a tremendous sum of money [inaudible]. Then I finished that course, but I still had to do a couple of things at night. I finished my high school education at night school.

Frankel: And during the day you had a job?
LEVIN: I then got a job with a legal firm. I stayed there for about six or seven years. I was there when I got married, and only after I had Lydia, and then when I fell pregnant with Stanley, that was it. Jules was doing better and we moved on, but the [inaudible name] always stayed with us. Wherever we were we were together.

Frankel: So by then, when you finished high school, the war in Europe had started. Do you have memories of the war?
LEVIN: The memories of the war in Europe was what we saw [inaudible].

Frankel: Did you have cousins who served in the army?
LEVIN: I didn’t have cousins [who served], but I knew young boys who served in the army. They went to North Africa; that was where the fighting was. We were very worried for the reason that the Germans were in German-based Africa, so it would have been very difficult. We knew nothing about the Holocaust.

Frankel: Were you affected in any way by the war?
LEVIN: The only way we were affected by it that I remember is that we couldn’t get white flour. Everybody stocked up on what they could, but there was no shortage as such or [inaudible].

Frankel: During the summer months when you were still in school, was it customary to go away?
LEVIN: Yes, of course. We went to Cape Town again and stayed with my Uncle Morris and family. As a kid it was wonderful. We had a marvelous time; we used to go down to the beaches. Uncle Morris, the tailor, he used to pack up a suitcase with sandwiches, and he always had to have a little schnapps, and we used to take that to [place name] and sit and have a meal on the beach. It was fabulous.

Frankel: Would you take a bus?
LEVIN: Most definitely. We would take a bus. I remember when I was about ten —that’s when I had to finish my school year in Cape Town before we came to Johannesburg — I remember taking the train, getting off the train and taking a bus, and going up to where they lived near [inaudible name — Rodney?] Road.

Frankel: Do you have memories of an organized Jewish community besides the synagogues?
LEVIN: No. In our lives it didn’t exist. It might have existed in Cape Town. I don’t know.

Frankel: But in Johannesburg?
LEVIN: There might have been, but not that I knew of. All my life I knew there was a Jewish organization, and in later years, of course, when we moved into the house in the suburb, we had our Jewish organization and we used to collect money for Israel and all that sort of thing.

Frankel: That was the next question I wanted to ask. Was Zionism ever discussed in your house, before 1948?
LEVIN: Yes, we used to discuss it and collect money for it. We were Zionist, and we knew who the figures were and that sort of thing, but we just carried on with our lives. It was not a life and death thing for us, let’s put it that way.

Frankel: As far as you remember, did all your family live in South Africa, or did you have knowledge of relatives living either in England or …?
LEVIN: I knew of relatives. Shayne’s sister lived in Boston. And I remember so clearly in pillowcases we used to pack clothes, and we used to send them — we had relatives in Israel. At one stage, one of them came out to visit us. We used to send clothes to Israel.

Frankel: Hmmm. So how did you get to know Jules better, and how did your romance blossom and …?
LEVIN: What actually happened was he came to work, and I was really impressed. A good-looking man with a lovely [inaudible]. Of course, he did not take much notice of me, but when I got older I used to have to walk back from night school. It was a long walk and my mother was worried, and on one or two occasions she asked Jules to come and fetch me, which he did. I was very impressed by that, and then gradually he started looking after me, let’s put it that way.

Frankel: How old were you when you got married?
LEVIN: I was 18 and a half.

Frankel: Can you describe your wedding?
LEVIN: It was a beautiful wedding. I’ve got my wedding photos.

Frankel: Did you have a lot of relatives? Was your family a big family?
LEVIN: It wasn’t. There was just Shayne — Jules had his friends who were groomsmen — and there was Fanny and Uncle Max and his wife and children. We were very close. Uncle Max was always part of our lives. He was the one who took me to the chuppah. He played a tremendous role in our lives.

Frankel: Did you get married in the synagogue?
LEVIN: Yes, in the Grand [?] Synagogue. In fact, the rabbi, Rabbi Rabinowitz [Louis Isaac Rabinowitz] subsequently became Chief Rabbi of South Africa.

Frankel: When Jules, your husband, moved back, what did he do? Did he have his own business, or …?
LEVIN: It was all interwoven with families. Julius’s father was brought to South Africa by Uncle Max, by the brother, and he set him up in a predominantly Jewish community. This was where the Jews gathered in [inaudible, place name].

Frankel: Where was that?
LEVIN: A suburb of Johannesburg. He set him up in this area. He had this shop, and behind it he had a room where he had a primus stove and a bed. That’s where he lived. Then, don’t forget, when Julius reached a certain age, they had to go into the Russian army.

Frankel: Back in Lithuania.
LEVIN: Yes, of course. He came from Latvia. Boys of that age were sent away. So he came to South Africa, went to Cape Town, then came to Johannesburg to his father. I remember him saying he was so embarrassed. Here he was a 16-, 17-year-old boy, and he went to the Jewish Government School. He had to learn English with 12-year-olds. This is what he did. Then he read to his father. He lived with his father in this room, and he used to deliver on Saturdays, which was a big day, on bicycle. He used to deliver flour and butter and sugar, and all that sort of thing, to the houses. He always used to go through the backyard, not the front, because he was the delivery guy. On one occasion they had a dog in the back who bit him, and he was so embarrassed. [Inaudible] came up, said, “Come, sit down.” He was so embarrassed because he was bloody. Then they sent for the mother and sister. 

And on board ship she met this young man, Efrayim Gerber [spells out last name]. This is the story of how this came about. He was from Poland, but he lived in France. Then he became a women’s tailor and a designer. Fanny met him on the ship, and when they came to Johannesburg, Max had got a house ready for them. This guy did not have anywhere to live, so they gave him a room in the house, and they started a friendship. He was very gifted, and he wanted to start a business of his own. So Uncle Max took security for him for a hundred pounds so that he could buy materials and make up beautiful suits and coats and start selling them. Then they decided to get some employees. They started a business called the French Model House. Fanny worked for him as his secretary, and then Jules joined them and became the traveler, going into the country, and sold to various firms in Johannesburg. He became very well known. Fanny and Frank got married the year that I came to Johannesburg, when I was ten. They were already married. Jules joined them later in the business. That’s how the business developed.

Frankel: So when you got married to Jules he was still working in that business?
LEVIN: Yes.

Frankel: How long did he continue to work for …?
LEVIN: What actually happened was the business was very successful, and Frank decided that he’d had enough; he was going to retire. There was a difference of opinion with him and Fanny. He was a sophisticated European. Fanny was lovely person, but not to his standard. He was the sort of guy who liked to do horse riding. He used to have his own horse, with the jodhpurs, very British. We were British. We were brought up with that sort of thing. They got divorced. I was pregnant with Lydia at the time, and they lived in a beautiful apartment. I remember going with Jules. So she came. That’s when we moved to another house, a lovely home, and she [Fanny] came to live with us.

Frankel: Did they have children?
LEVIN: No, they didn’t have any children. So Fanny lived with us for a number of years in the house. I have photographs of Lydia, Jules, Fanny, and the two boarders. Lydia was a year old.

Frankel: What did your husband do after he gave up …?
LEVIN: What actually happened was one of the big stores, Graterman’s [?], they felt they wanted an interest in the building because the war was on and they couldn’t get anything from Europe. They had to use the local supplies and theirs was of a certain standard, so they offered Jules a partnership and Jules became sole owner in partnership with Harry Gerber, that was his name, and he became the owner of the French Model House.

Frankel: Who made the clothes?
LEVIN: By that time he used to get designers from England, had a number of designers. I remember there was a Mister Scher, an Englishman, who came with his wife and children [inaudible]. The climate was so bad, and the war, and one thing and another. He had a fresh start. It was very difficult for them. They subsequently went back. Then there was another young man there. They had excellent designers. I used to go in; I used to be the model.

Frankel: So after Lydia was born you had stopped working?
LEVIN: I stopped working, and after Lydia was born I was doing all the conveyancing. Conveyancing is when you form a new company and you have to — there was a new suburb, and I was doing all that when they asked me to come back. I went back, and I used to nurse Lydia. I used to [inaudible] and I used to go. I used to take the bus. We already lived in our home in [inaudible place name]. At 2:00 PM I used to come dashing back. I used to leave a bottle, just in case I was late.

Frankel: Did you have servants as well?
LEVIN: Yes, we had a maid. There was no shul at the time. The shul used to be in a certain school. They used to have a room there that they used to have as a shul for Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur and for Simchas Torah. The Greenside Shul was built in the subsequent years. That’s where the boys went, and that was our shul. The boys used to go to shul on Saturday mornings.

Frankel: Every week?
LEVIN: Yes, on Friday nights and Saturday. Jules used to go play [bowls?] and I used to go to my business.

Frankel: How come the boys used to go? Was it their choice?
LEVIN: I don’t know. It was one of those things. Boys at that age went. They went to shul. There were other boys in Greenside. There was a big Jewish community, and they went to shul.

Frankel: When South Africa became a republic …
LEVIN: Those were difficult years.

Frankel: Why? And how so?
LEVIN: Because it was then that it became a republic. These were the Afrikaners. The pound was removed and it became the rand. I was home, so it didn’t affect me that much, but it was difficult to a certain extent. We never knew what was [inaudible]. That was when the apartheid was put into place.

Frankel: Did the status of the Jews change after the establishment of the republic?
LEVIN: Not to my knowledge. The thing is that a lot of the Jews during the apartheid era became what they called Communists. It was a case where they were anti-apartheid. So anybody who was anti-apartheid was automatically a Communist.

Frankel: Were you aware of many Jews leaving in the early ’60s as a result of the republic?
LEVIN: Yes. My family left because when they started to go to the university, the boys had to go into the army, mixed with Afrikaans boys and everyone else. It was just natural to mix. Then they went to university and their eyes were opened to a great many things. When you’re going to university it’s a different ball of fire, and it was always, “The Blacks should have more privileges” and all that sort of thing.

Frankel: Was your family politically involved?
LEVIN: I don’t think so. You should speak to Lydia. She was in Cape Town. She got married to Derek at that time. She got married in 1968.

Frankel: So Lydia was born and then Stanley?
LEVIN: We moved into our house on [inaudible name] Road — I’ll show you a photograph — when I was three months pregnant with Stanley, and all the children were born there.

Frankel: How did life change? Did it change at all, in terms of being more successful in business?
LEVIN: Yes, it did. We had a marvelous life. We had a wonderful group of friends, and because we had staff we had lots of dinner parties. We lived a very much English gentry life. It was beautiful. Silverware and cut glass. The tables were always beautifully set, an African waiter, a white jacket with a red sash and white gloves. I had my two maids, Edie and Mary. They were absolutely marvelous. They were with me all the time until I left Johannesburg for America, for 40 years.

Frankel: And after you got married did you still keep a kosher home?
LEVIN: I always had a kosher home, and that was due to the bobbes. Jules and I, we [inaudible word], we ate, we did everything we wanted, but the home was kosher. There was a kosher butcher in Yeoville. We used to phone, give our order, and it used to be delivered. We had a Mr. Scher who — before you had the markets and the supermarkets, there was Mr. Scher who used to come with his wagon with all the fruit to the house. Mr. Scher used to come in through the back, sit down with the [inaudible word]. It was their highlight of the day. They’d come out and choose whatever they want, and it used to brought into the house. 

Then there was a marvelous store, like you’ve got Zupan’s now, with really beautiful stuff. It was called Bailey’s. I used to buy fish from them. I used to give my order over the phone and everything was delivered. As far as meat was concerned, there was a butcher in Yeoville who delivered it. In Yoeville as well, there was a special delicatessen place where we’d get marvelous roast turkey and roast beef and stuff like that. Kosher stuff. And there was a wonderful bagel place.

Frankel: Did your mother and Jules’ mother live with you?
LEVIN: Yes, like sisters.

Frankel: That was common. They were related.
LEVIN: Yes, cousins. Jules and I were second cousins.

Frankel: Did your children receive a Jewish education?
LEVIN: The boys went to cheder and they had the brises. I think they automatically went. I don’t know how Stanley became involved. As I told you, when he went into the army at 18 he wanted kosher food. He had that aptitude.

Frankel: Was there anyone in the community who influenced him?
LEVIN: Yes. When Lydia got married, she got married at the Oxford Shul. It was a beautiful new shul, and the rabbi was an American rabbi. He was a young man with children, very highly educated and very Orthodox. He had a tremendous influence on Stan. Stan was already going out with Lindy. They had met at university. The two of them used to go — I was very upset with them — to Rabbi Lew for lunch. They used to walk there and have lunch. It was the first Stanley had ever met a young rabbi who wasn’t an older man with a grey beard. Here was a man with an attractive young wife, with young children, highly educated, and he was a tremendous influence on his life.

Frankel: Both Allen and Stanley had bar mitzvahs?
LEVIN: Yes.

Frankel: But the girls, Ruthie and Lydia, didn’t have any Jewish education? 
LEVIN: No.

Frankel: And they didn’t have bat mitzvahs?
LEVIN: No, nobody had bat mitzvahs. The women sat upstairs and the men sat downstairs. There was no question; this was the way it was. There was no such thing. I used to take them to shul and fetch them from shul.

Frankel: Who was the first to leave South Africa and why?
LEVIN: The first to leave South Africa was Stanley. He wanted to pursue his religion. He went to Kfar Chabad in Israel, he and Lindy. Prior to that he was in New York on his own.

Frankel: He wasn’t married yet?
LEVIN: No. Stanley got married in 1971. He wasn’t married, but he was in New York. I remember him telling me at the time that he used to walk home — he’d write to me and say that he was carrying a knucklebuster because the yeshiva was in the Bronx. 

Lindy’s parents came from England. They were in England. Frank had had a bad heart attack in South Africa, and they went to live in England. The reason he came back to South Africa was because he couldn’t take the climate. Now Frank’s mother was a great friend of my business partner’s, so I knew Selma — she used to buy from me. When I came back there she said to me that her daughter, Lindy, was going to university but she didn’t know anybody. She knew that I had a son who was going to university and thought it would be nice if they met. It so happened that Stanley, who very, very seldom came to the store, happened to come in then and Lindy was there. He didn’t know why, but he asked if she’d like to go and have a cup of tea, but she couldn’t. That’s when they met.

Frankel: You never told me about your business. How did that get started?
LEVIN: My business was also very, very strange. I was home, and the kids backwards and forward. I belonged to the Jewish Federation [inaudible word] branch. I was secretary at the [inaudible word] Town boys’ high school, for the meetings. So I attended the meetings, and then I went to a pottery class, and then I did flower arrangement. That’s the sort of thing you did. There were always events that you had to go to, or that you wanted to go to. You’d meet friends for the movies. You’d meet friends to go out for lovely dinners and stuff like that. It was all very up market. 

One year we went to a beautiful place in the Cape called [inaudible name]. We rented a beautiful, beautiful house. It had a flat roof and a beautiful garden. It was absolutely gorgeous. I had taken my two servants with me, which we always did, and in Hermones [?] the men used to play golf together, and we women — after golf they would come and we would have a drinks party, which was a big thing at 5:00 PM, in each other’s house. One of the couples who was also on holiday, Myra and Jeff [last name?] — he was an accountant, and she had a little business called The [inaudible word], which sold mostly children’s clothes. 

When we came back to Johannesburg it was yontif, and I thought, “Oh, I’ll go and to see what she got.” I walked in there. It was a little place, one room. She had beautiful things, and I thought to myself, “It’s so expensive, especially for boys!” All the pants came from England, shirts from England, and blazers, and she also had school uniforms for certain schools. We sort of became friendly, not very much. She was a very clever girl. Her mother was a great Zionist from Cape Town, and a comfortable woman. She used to come to Johannesburg frequently to attend meetings. And we became friendly with another couple from the [Oaklands?] branch. So we were always together and that sort of thing. I also became friends with — what was her name? Anyway, the woman I became friendly with, her husband worked for Myra, and she used to do the books for her. 

So one day when I wanted to buy a baby gift — in those days when you bought a baby gift, it had smocking and a little collar and the whole works — and Myra said to me, “Oh, my God. I don’t know what I’m going to do because” — I’ve forgotten her name — “she’s going to Israel because her daughter had gone to Israel and she’s having a baby.” She didn’t know what she was going to do because she was going to Europe to buy for the shop. She had about three things that she bought in Europe. European clothing, women’s clothing. Three houses, in Italy and in England. 

By that time Ruthie was eight, and Lydia was 15 and was getting — I had nothing much to do. Also during those years, during the ’50s, Julius invested in the retail store called Gunther’s because he was a customer. He was a German-Jewish fellow. He did very well, but he needed a little help, so Jules [inaudible] a nice way to improve. So I used to go in. I used to go to gym first and go in to take the cash at the shop. Then, Jules and I, we were in Europe in 1953, and Gunther had a heart attack. When we came back, I took a more active role. I used to go there every single day in the mornings. Lydia was then dancing. The studio was downtown. She used to come to the shop and drop her suitcase, and we used to have lunch together next door, then she would go down to the dance studio and I would pick her up and take her home. So I was occupied. 

Then things got to a stage when Gunther couldn’t handle it. Jules had stood security for him, and so we had to make the business more solvent. At that time Jules lost £16,000, which was a lot of money. It really was. I was sort of at loose ends, so she said, “I know you’ve had experience,” — I had been to Europe with Jules and all that sort of thing — “why don’t you come in and give me a hand?” So I said, “I suppose I could, but I can only come in the mornings because I need to fetch the kids in the afternoon.” That’s what I arranged. 

Anyway, I was there for about two weeks and she was the most disorganized person I had ever known. Very clever girl, very competent. What did I know about children’s clothes? I remember on the first or second day I was there somebody came in and wanted a dress for her little girl. So I went through the racks and said, “I think this is very pretty.” The mother said, “Do you think it will fit?” I said, “Just a minute.” I turned her around, put it up against her back, and said, “I think it will. Why don’t you try it on?” That day I did the most turnover that anybody had ever done. Myra thought she had died and gone to heaven. 

After a couple of weeks — her husband, as I said, was an accountant and we were friendly — she said, “I’d really like you to become my partner.” I said, “Come on, I haven’t even thought about it.” She said, “Then let’s talk about it.” That night she arrived, lay down on the green settee that I’ve got there, and she said, “I want Sally to be my partner.” Jules said, “Let’s think about it.” So Jeff, being an accountant, said, “Sally can have 49% and Myra will have 51%.” Jules said, “No way. If she’s a partner, she’s 50%.” And so I became a partner with her. 

The first trip we did together, she introduced me to the people that she knew, and I introduced her to the shippers that we knew. Jules [inaudible] and having his own shippers, which we could use, made a tremendous difference. So we were together for 13 years. We decided that we would each do our own trips. The first trip we did together. Then subsequently she would do the winter, which was a shorter trip, and I would do the summer. The first year that I went I found two beautiful houses. We had what they called the pret-a-porter. Then there were also suppliers that were at the Hilton Hotel and places like that. It was highly successful. We went from strength to strength. 

Then after 13 years, Jeff got into a bit of financial trouble and they decided that they were going to Israel. Her mother had gone. Her mother who was in Cape Town was over there. So I took over her share of the business and I continued for another 17 years. 

Frankel: Back to Stanley, who was the first to leave, when he went to New York he was studying in a Chabad yeshiva?
LEVIN: Yes.

Frankel: Was that before Israel or after Israel?
LEVIN: Before Israel, as a youngster.

Frankel: He had finished university?
LEVIN: He came back. He had to do one more subject and he did that. In the meantime, Lindy’s parents – and Lindy became interested as well. I remember going to London. She was in London doing her O levels. She was staying in a little basement flat. She took me and showed me that she had milk dishes and meat dishes. There was also a family — he was the Chabad rabbi in a very religious section of London. What’s its name? I was never away from home for yontif or anything like this, but on this occasion, it was just after Yom Kippur, and she invited me to come and break fast with her.

Frankel: Was she married yet?
LEVIN: No, they were not married yet, but she used to come and have lunch with us every day because she and Stanley were at university. They used to come home together.

Frankel: What did Stanley study?
LEVIN: He studied psychology and — I really can’t recall the other two subjects he studied.

Frankel: When did they get married?
LEVIN: They got married in 1971, in South Africa. Before that Stanley went to Israel, by himself. He was at Kfar Chabad. Jules and I went to visit him there. I met the rabbi, a gentile who had converted. I met him there, and I saw the room he [Stanley] was in and thought, “Oh, my God!” A little bunk bed and no place for anything. So we went and took him away on tour. We went to the Dead Sea and all that sort of thing. Then he came back home and continued, and he and Lindy got married in Johannesburg.

Frankel: They had decided already that they would leave Johannesburg after the wedding?
LEVIN: Yes, they went to Kfar Chabad.

Frankel: Together? After they got married? How long did they live there?
LEVIN: Their first son, Boruch, was born there.

Frankel: Then why did they decide to leave Kfar Chabad?
LEVIN: He was coming back home.

Frankel: Home, meaning South Africa again?
LEVIN: Yes, they weren’t quite sure where they were going to live. So they wrote to the [Lubavitcher] rebbe in New York, and the rebbe in New York told them — because her parents had gone back to London, had a house in London — and the rebbe, after great consideration said, “You must go back to London because you are an only child, and your duty is to be with your parents in London.” That’s how they settled in London.

Frankel: And the next person to leave Johannesburg, or South Africa? Of your children?
LEVIN: Ruthie.

Frankel: Was it for political reasons?
LEVIN: Ruthie married Neville. Neville was a young medical student from [place name], from a very down-to-earth Jewish family. They were nothing very special. I can only tell you that Neville came to the house for two years. He was just one of the boys. “Where’s Ruthie?” “Oh, she’s at the pool.” “She’s upstairs in her room.” Eventually they decided to get married, so they got married at my house and they lived in a lovely little apartment they set up for themselves. 

One of their very good friends, I think, was going to Toronto. Neville had an uncle who was an attorney and subsequently became a judge in Toronto, and he decided — one didn’t delve into children’s lives to that extent. The next thing they were going to Toronto, and that was a tremendous blow. When Ruthie got married she was 21, and at 22, 23 she went off to Toronto. 

The next to leave — that was of course unbelievable — that was Lydia and Derek, who lived in Cape Town, who had a four- and a six-year-old. Jules and I were always in Cape Town. One of the kids. They left.

Frankel: Why?
LEVIN: I think Lydia was politically involved.

Frankel: And so Allen was the only one …
LEVIN: Allen was one who remained. He always did his own thing. He had this business. He had that business. Then he teamed up with a very successful business [name], which was in a suburb that was very, very popular. It was a hippie suburb, an artist suburb, and they were the only ones [inaudible]. Allen Pick was the partner, and him and the two owls [?], they were the ones who stayed late. The restaurant was open until 2:00 AM at night [inaudible]. He was an adult man.

Frankel: He still lived at home?
LEVIN: Yes, he still lived at home. If he wasn’t coming home to sleep, I never asked questions. I just said to him, “Phone me and tell me to lock up.” I’d lock up the upstairs gate because I had a gate upstairs that I locked. Anybody who came downstairs could be downstairs, but upstairs was locked up. Those were the precautions you took. Then he met Louise. He was coming and going and God knows what. 

Apparently one day — Jules and I were in Paris — a Jewish fellow who had a [inaudible] in Century City in Los Angeles came to Allen’s. He was a frequent visitor there. He said, “These are the best steaks I have ever eaten. You should come to Los Angeles. There’s a restaurant that I have that isn’t doing very well. I won’t charge you for the first year,” and all that sort of thing. I really don’t know what the conversation was about. All I do know is that I got a phone call from Allen to say, “Mom, I am going to Los Angeles. I don’t know how long I’ll be away for.” I said, “What?” He said, “Yes,” and he told me the story. I said, “If you’re going, you’re going.” I think Louise went with him. They weren’t married, but that was the way it was. 

She went with him, and the next thing was — there were two, Uncle Max’s grandsons. Uncle Max was dead by then. Uncle Max’s grandsons who were really at loose ends, and Allen had had them to come and help in [inaudible]. They were helping out there. He took the two boys with him, so they became American, they came to America because of him. And they landed in Los Angeles, near Century City. They set up this beautiful restaurant, and they rented a big apartment. They all lived together. 

When Jules and I came to visit, this was our room in the house, and that’s where we were, and this was their room, and this was Darrell’s room, and this was [inaudible name]’s room, and that was that. I’ll never forget the first time I went into the restaurant at about 11:00 AM. There was a lineup of women there, and I said, “What are these women doing?” They were waiting for the bar to open at 11:00. I couldn’t get over that women were drinking at 11:00 in the morning. That’s how Allen came to Los Angeles. 

Subsequently, he was there for a number of years, and then he opened another place and another place, and the little bit of financial assistance he needed, we gave him. The next thing I knew, “Mom, Louise and I are coming to get married.” He didn’t know that she was being converted. For two years she studied to be converted, and eventually she was converted legally in the Orthodox way. She came to Johannesburg and went to the mikveh. I had never been to the mikveh in my life.

Frankel: So they came back to get married?
LEVIN: They came back to get married. I gave them the same wedding at my house that everybody else had had, with no difference. I met her parents. Her mother was Scotch; her father was Italian. Jules got on with them very well. They’d come and have a drink together, and we’d meet at the restaurant for lunch and for dinner, and that was that.

Frankel: So when did you decide finally …?
LEVIN: No. What actually happened was always Jules’ and my plan. We discussed it always. Whoever survives would come with the children — because we were alone; we had nobody else. We had a marvelous life. We used to [inaudible phrase] business to come and visit the family, to do the circuit. Jules used to meet me in London. I used to do my shopping in Europe. I’d meet him in London and [inaudible phrase]. We’d go to Toronto, come to Lydia here. From Lydia here we’d go to Los Angeles. We used to come at yontif and Pesach.

Frankel: You felt safe in South Africa?
LEVIN: The point is it’s not a matter of feeling safe. There are certain precautions you have to take. In our house, the windows had bars. You locked your doors. When you travelled you locked your car at night, during the day. You never walked around with your purse flung over your shoulders. Your purse was here or held in your hand. And you were aware. I remember very clearly, Jules was in an office, in the factory upstairs. He would take the elevator. He’d come to the elevator, and there was a Black standing there. He looked [inaudible], without a question. I wouldn’t take that elevator. I’d wait for the next one. You were aware and you — I didn’t take chances. I must tell you, I never, ever had an incident. I never felt the antisemitism. 

Jules had a couple of adventures. When Jules retired in 1977, he used to go to the stock exchange. The stock exchange was downtown, and it was near a sort of Indian section. He used to leave home every morning. He had [inaudible] three times a week. He used to belong to the bowling club and the golf course. He was busy. He had his hobbies and his mates. He used to play on Saturdays and Sundays and Wednesdays, and during the week he’d go to the stock exchange. He had an office with his stockbroker there, and then he’d come back at 4:00 PM in the afternoon. So he was busy, and I was busy in my business. 

But one day I had a phone call from one of the Indians in the shop to say, “Your husband has been attacked. Will you come and get him?” So we’re tearing up there. He’d been walking along. Before he knew what happened, he’d been surrounded by a couple of guys. He didn’t even know it, but they’d taken his beautiful — I used to buy him these beautiful Philippe Patek watches — and taken his wallet. He sort of staggered and fell, and this Indian ran out of the shop and picked him up and helped him in. Of course I came to fetch him, and I was really upset. I took him home, called our house doctor, who was a great friend of ours. He came and examined him. Thank God, there was nothing, just a little a shock. So there you go. But really, I never felt it. I really didn’t.

Frankel: So was it hard for you to leave South Africa after Jules passed away?
LEVIN: Yes and no. My business had deteriorated for the simple reason that so many young people left home, and young people who left home, their parents travelled, as we travelled. So their lifestyle changed completely. They didn’t need the clothes that I had for them because in America you don’t wear those clothes. It’s a whole different ball game. Fortunately, we sold our house in 1990, and that was by sheer chance. I came home one day, and Jules was entertaining a young woman. They were having drinks. Apparently, she’d passed by the house on a number of occasions and liked it, and wanted to know if we were prepared to sell it. People were looking for homes like this. And Jules said to her one day, “Why don’t you come in and look around?” So she did. He happened to be home at 4:00 PM. I used to come home at 5:00 or 5:30 PM. So we got talking. I said, “OK. Why don’t you tell us what you think you could get for it.” It had reached a stage where either we sold it or we did certain repairs. You know how a house deteriorates. 

I said, “OK, but we’re not moving until you find us a nice apartment.” There was a lovely, lovely — she said, “Where?” I said, “I would love to have it somewhere in Kolony [sp?] Park,” which was a beautiful area. What I liked about Kolony Park, it was only two stories, long, white, and it faced a park. Beautiful avenue of trees, and it was fabulous. It was near a shopping center, which was so convenient for me. Jules used to walk down to the shopping center, meet me while I was shopping, help me load up, especially in the winter months, so that I wouldn’t be on my own. 

So she said to me one day, “Yes, I’ve got a lovely apartment for you.” She took me up. It was really a beautiful apartment, really. It was a two-story, beautiful staircase, entrance hall, big living area, a porch facing the park, and upstairs the main bedroom with a dressing room and a bathroom, another two bedrooms, and a big study. I furnished the third bedroom with a pullout couch and a television and books. The family used to come and visit. I had room for it. Jules loved it because we had people that we knew in the building. They used to pop in to us for a drink, and we used to pop in on them. That’s when Jules started not being well. There was always company, and I kept my two maids. One came on one week. One came on the other. I never knew who I’d find in the morning, but they were there.

Frankel: When you made a decision to leave, was it clear where you would move?
LEVIN: I had a choice. I really enjoyed London, but I realized that — firstly, a son is not a daughter, with all due respect. I love my children. Stanley is a fabulous guy, and Lindy has been fantastic. She really is. But much as I love London, it’s a really difficult city to live in. It’s overcrowded, overpopulated. To travel three miles, whether you go by bus or by car or anything else — the narrow little streets, cars parked on all sides. And very expensive. I realized I could never make my home there. I love London. I love Toronto. I love the fact that it is so cosmopolitan. I love the British influence. I love the French influence. And it’s so ethnic, beautifully ethnic. Great! But I cannot be under snow for five months of the year. Then secondly, Allen came here. Lydia and I have always had a marvelous relationship. I’ve had it with all my children, Ruthie as well. I have always been very, very close to Allen, and he’s always been very protective and all that sort of thing. We’ve always had a very enjoyable relationship, and Louise and I get along very, very well. So it seemed the most logical place.

Frankel: What was the hardest thing to adapt to when you came here? Was there such a thing?
LEVIN: Yes, there was. The American way of life.

Frankel: Can you be more specific?
LEVIN: When I say more specific, the casualness of it, especially Portland. Portland 20 years ago, even now. It’s a village compared to the rest of the world. I’m sorry. I know everybody thinks it’s a great city. But with all due respect, I have lived a very sophisticated life, and I’ve met people who have been more than kind. Lydia is, Derek  [inaudible], and Allen and everybody else. I’ve been very happy and very, very comfortable. Fortunately, I’ve been able to get out and travel a great deal. This is what I feel I need. I just need the adaptation and the different way of life, different interests. 

I was very lucky in the friendship I formed with Claire Westerman. The two of us did some wonderful trips together. I also did a couple of trips together with the Jewish Federation. I went to Israel with them on a couple of occasions. I went to Prague and Budapest, so I met all that crowd. I attended all the functions, and living here I met a lot of fabulous people. There was Pearl Gotesman, who subsequently passed away, who I was really friendly with. And a number of other people. Even now I’ve got a couple here, a couple of non-Jewish friends. I belong to two book clubs. 

Besides, as you get older, you’re a little more limited in your activities. I’ve travelled extensively doing a lot of things. Please God, there’s another baby coming in Toronto in June. I’ve been very fortunate. I’ve attended every bar mitzvah, every bris, every wedding, and Jules, until he died, had attended every, every bris, whether it was in London, Toronto, God knows where.

Frankel: Would you say you’re more involved Jewishly since you moved to Portland?
LEVIN: I’ve become more aware of the Jewish involvement. I don’t think I’m involved personally. I mean, even the Jewish Federation, it’s a mixture. I’m very happy with that mixture. I find it very difficult to relate to. I enjoy Kesser Israel, but I cannot relate to Rabbi Brodkin as much. I can relate more to Rabbi Fischer. I can relate more to him. But even the women there, I look at them and I think, “We’re living now in 2017. You are living in the modern age. You are using the cell phone. You are doing this, that, and the other. Why are you wearing a wig? Why are you wearing your clothes down? What is it? So you keep Kosher, OK. I keep Kosher at home.” I do it because it’s part of my existence, and mainly because of Lindy and Stanley who come visiting. I don’t bring any meat into the house, but I do have milk products. If it’s milk or dairy, I buy it. It doesn’t have a label on it.

Frankel: What would you say of the role of women? Is it different in America than in South Africa today?
LEVIN: I am not a very good judge of that because our role was so different. First thing, we had staff. It makes a woman’s role so much easier. I don’t pride myself in being a fabulous housewife or a great cook, or a wonderful baker. I’ve never done this. I can make a meal. I can bake a couple of things, big deal. But I am more inclined to the way you set a table or the way you behave. I find the behavior of the children, the youngsters, appalling. I really do. They all look, with their slovenly ways — what are they trying to look like? We were brought up in the British way, rightly or wrongly. You being a European, I think you can appreciate it more than anybody else. 

But I’m here and I’m happy, and God willing I’ll end my life here. As long as I can move. There is a baby coming in June, and a bat mitzvah, please God, in London in September. I’ve had a couple of hurdles along the way, but you do what you can. I do what I can. I assist where I can. I’m a member of the shul. I will support them when I feel they need support, but at times I feel like, “Come on. Wake up.”

Frankel: Anything else you wish to add about life here or in South Africa?
LEVIN: I can only tell you that the South Africa I knew is not the South Africa of today. Wherever you are you make the most of it because you’ve got one life to lead and that is your life. The only thing that belongs to you is your life. You’re the one who can take care of it, with assistance of course, but if you don’t, nobody else will. It might be selfish, it might be vanity, call it what you like. That’s my theory. My family are of prime importance to me, and I’ve been truly blessed with them. They are great people. Each one is an accomplished individual. I have great regard for them, and they have great regard for me. I get phone calls from all over the world. I got a call from Boruch recently. He’s the one who’s got six sons, in London. He’s got his own shul. And Stanley is very, very revered. I’ve still got the little notice you sent me years ago from Saks [Jonathan Saks, former chief rabbi of England], do you remember? I’ve got it here because it was so fantastic. And I’ve met all these people over the years. 

I’ve been very fortunate, I really have, and I’ve been lucky because I’ve made incredible friendships all over the world, with non-Jews, with Italians, with Frenchmen, and we maintain relationships with correspondence. There was no such thing as Facebook [inaudible]. I like to maintain my privacy. I’m not interested in what somebody else has done, and I’m not interested in them. That’s the way I live, and please God, may we all just be well, and may the future hold a good future for us and for our children. Not so much for me, but for my family. As far as Israel is concerned, I will support it, and please God may it exist, but I would have no desire to live there.

Frankel: Thank you very much.
LEVIN: I want to tell you, Lydia has always asked me. She wants to record my memories. I’m going to tell her to come and listen to this because I’ve spoken to you more about it than I have ever done with her.