Marvyn Hatchuel, Aged 14

Back in the 1930s living in London where I was at school, we had a pupil whom we shall call Leib Sade-Ashir . He was a bright and spirited pupil, two years my senior. In the days when the yo-yo was a craze he excelled and became one of its champions; whereupon he was engaged to demonstrate his prowess (for pay!) at Selfridges in Oxford Street. This he did at risk during school hours, until it came to the attention of the headmaster. He was called to order and severely reprimanded with a warning. A year later he got caught up in the craze of the diabolo, which was a shaped reel balanced on a string suspended between two sticks and by dexterous manipulation of the sticks the reel was tossed up in the air and caught in various maneuvers. Once again he became one of the champions and was invited by Selfridges to promote the product. Needless to say, his independent venture into the commercial world was viewed with serious consequences by the school head and he was asked not to reappear at the school.

Many years later, after the war, I came across Leib in South Africa, where he became a well known personality in the broadcasting world. He had a sister, Cissy, who was a schoolfriend of my sister at the girls' school across the road. We all belonged to the same Synagogue and attended its cheder (Hebrew school).

When I had reached barmitzah, my mother decided that I should continue with my Hebrew studies. There was no higher class and I found myself back doing the same course all over again. What does a young impish boy of thirteen do finding himself in a boring situation? Mischief! The Hebrew teacher (whom I shall call Moshe) had a habit of walking up and down between the rows of desks wearing his academic gown. One day I came to class with my pockets full of clothes pegs and each time Moshe passed me by, another peg was duly clipped on to his gown. The amusement of the pupils soon grew until Moshe discovered that he was the butt of the laughter and demanded to know who was the perpetrator of this prank. Silence prevailed until he threatened to hold the class back for another hour. This was my downfall and I was hauled before the headmaster and given a severe warning. A few weeks later Moshe set up a test on the blackboard in which we had to translate an English passage into Hebrew. Break-time arrived and the class withdrew except for yours truly who thought it would be fun to change some of the words and give it new meaning. The class returned and soon complained about the changes. Once again the threat was directed at the class. “Own up, or else…etc.” The chopper came down and once again I found myself facing the headmaster.  Moshe had finally claimed victory and I was asked to take my leave of the cheder.  Hooray!

After finishing matric, our family moved to Johannesburg, where I attended college and then returned to Southern Rhodesia where I was born in order to join the army and was seconded to the RAF. A few years after the war, having established a successful pharmacy in Johannesburg, I decided on an extended journey overseas, and only by chance landed in Tel Aviv during a stopover on my way home. It was here that I met Aliza, a Sabra whose surname was the same as mine (with a different spelling). I returned to Israel two months later and we were married. After living in Johannesburg for a couple of years, and not being happy with the political situation, we decided to move on to Southern Rhodesia. Soon after we had settled down, Aliza was approached by the Board of Hebrew Education and asked if she could “help out” at the Hebrew school for a term or two, or until they could find a replacement for the incumbent Hebrew teacher whose contract had not been renewed. This “help out” resulted in her  teaching Hebrew and Judaica in Salisbury (Harare) for the next 30 years until we came on aliyah.

The irony of this turn of events unfolded when I discovered that the Hebrew teacher whose position she was taking over was none other than the Hebrew teacher Moshe who had claimed his victory over me  at the cheder I had attended some twenty years previously, and had somehow followed me some 4000 miles to Rhodesia. It also turned out that he had married Cissy, my sister's friend.

In a strange way the two stories of how Leib and I were both asked to leave the respective schools we attended, and the circumstances through which all our lives were connected and resurfaced some 20 years later poses the question of how fate or destiny works.