South African Jews’ Lasting Impact on Israel

From the sunburnt plains of the Karoo to the bustling streets of Tel Aviv, the story of South African Jewry’s bond with Israel reads like an epic of passion, grit, and imagination. For over 70 years, this close-knit community has stitched itself into the tapestry of Israeli life, shaping its birth, growth, and soul. Their tale, woven through war, nation-building, and unyielding advocacy, is a masterclass in blending Zionist ideals with South African tenacity.  

Founded in 1898, making it the oldest Jewish Organization in South Africa, the South African Zionist Federation (SAZF) has always been a passionate advocate for Jewish national aspirations, nurturing a deep connection between South Africa’s Jewish community and Israel for over a century. Through fundraising, educational programmes, and advocacy, it played a pivotal role in supporting Israel’s establishment and development. As Israel’s fate hung in the balance in 1948. The SAZF became a recruitment powerhouse. It rallied over 800 South Africans, Jewish volunteers and non-Jewish allies, rushed to join the Machal, the ragtag international force defending the fledgling state. Their influence defied their numbers. Take Harry “Smoky” Simon, a pilot who helped forge the Israeli Air Force from little more than scrap metal and determination. Or Arthur Goldreich, whose anti-apartheid guerrilla tactics in South Africa found new purpose in the Palmach. Even David Ben-Gurion, Israel’s founding father, hailed them as the diaspora’s “most vital gift” to the nation’s survival.  

But their legacy wasn’t written solely on battlefields. When Golda Meir visited Johannesburg in 1949, her plea sparked a miracle. The SAZF answered her call with audacity and South Africa’s Jews raised £1 million, a sum that doubled by 1958, to build Ashkelon from scratch. Through the Afridar company, they turned desert dunes into a haven for Holocaust survivors, complete with schools, hospitals, and roads named “Kaapstad” and “Johannesburg”. Dr. Henry Sonnabend, Ashkelon’s first mayor, and engineer Jack Schneider, both SAZF appointees, steered the project. Historian David Zwebner later dubbed it “Zionism in brickwork,” a diaspora’s love letter to nation-building.  

Less sung, yet no less stirring, was their quiet hand in Jerusalem’s revival. Back in 1969, the iconic Jaffa Gate in Jerusalem’s Old City got a much-needed facelift, thanks to the big hearts and deep pockets of South Africa’s Jewish community. They were all about keeping Jewish heritage alive and vibrant. Teaming up with Israeli authorities, they rolled up their sleeves to fix up the gate’s weathered stones and shore up its role as a beloved doorway to the city, a spot brimming with history and meaning. For the South African Jewish diaspora, this wasn’t just a repair job; it was a labor of love, a way to stay connected to Jerusalem and pour their energy into preserving a treasure that means so much to so many. To this day, the plaque recognising the South African Jewry’s contribution in the restoration still lies in the wall at the entrance of the Jaffa Gate. 

The SAZF didn’t just send fighters, it built lifelines for immigrants. After 1948, South African Jews kept shaping Israel through waves of Aliyah. By 2025, over 25,000 immigrants and their descendants had planted roots, bringing skills that reshaped the country. Doctors revolutionised hospitals; engineers reimagined infrastructure. In Ra’anana, cheekily nicknamed “Ra’anana-fontein”, their English fluency turned the town into a bridge between Israel and global markets.  

Behind this seamless transition stood Telfed, the SAZF’s Israeli wing, offering everything from bursaries to hostels. Even lone soldiers, often South Africans with military savvy-earned reputations in elite IDF units, their grit a living echo of the Machal spirit.  

Financially, South African Jews punched far above their weight. Per capita, they ranked among Israel’s most generous donors, bankrolling JNF forests and the Kadoori Agricultural School. Post-apartheid, their focus shifted to tech startups, water-saving innovations, and scholarships like the Ruth Ochberg Chair in Agriculture. Groups like the Union of Jewish Women and WIZO wove safety nets for vulnerable women, proving Zionism’s creed of tikkun olam (healing the world) knew no borders.  

Culturally, South Africans left fingerprints everywhere. Poet Olga Kirsch melded Hebrew verse with Afrikaans cadence; artist Irma Stern’s vivid canvases inspired a generation of Israeli painters. Even sports felt their sway, cricket pitches sprouted, rugby tackles flew, and Maccabiah teams swelled with each passing year.  

Yet their path wasn’t all triumph. As South Africa’s ANC government cooled towards Israel, the SAZF dug in. They hosted Nelson Mandela, journalists, and even BDS delegates on fact-finding tours, championing dialogue over division. When “Israel Apartheid Week” infected campuses post-2000, they countered with debates, pushing back against boycotts with stories of shared tech breakthroughs in water conservation and medicine.  

Today, the SAZF battles legal skirmishes, defending academic ties with Israeli universities and nurtures tech ties. But their true triumph lies in people: great-grandkids of Machalniks in the Knesset, entrepreneurs lighting up Silicon Wadi, teachers harmonising Hebrew and African melodies in classrooms.  

In a fractured world, South African Jewry’s saga whispers that nation-building is both a chorus and a solo act. From Ashkelon’s shores to Jerusalem’s ancient gates, their contributions pulse not as dusty history, but as proof of a bond unbroken.  

The SAZF still defends a simple truth: that solidarity, not politics, builds nations. Today, the SAZF remains a vibrant bridge-builder, fostering cultural ties and solidarity while honouring its legacy of uniting South African Jews with their historical and spiritual homeland.

Their story isn’t archived, it’s alive, argued over coffee in Tel Aviv, and whispered in the rustle of JNF forests they helped plant.  As dusk tints the Mediterranean gold, a Ra’anana café buzzes with laughter. A joke flies in Hebrew, tinged with a Johannesburg lilt. It’s a fleeting moment, yet another stitch in Israel’s ever-unfolding story.