Herzlia HS Magazine 2021

Our pedagogical approach in the High School is designed to
promote an holistic all-round curriculum encouraging individual

development of each student, enabling them to thrive and to be
their best, encouraging lifelong learning and producing students

who possess self-esteem in the sense of being self-aware, confident,
courageous and resilient - students that are actively engaged,

excelling in what they do and in how they interact with one another;
the respect, empathy, inclusivity and leadership they show each

other and in the wider community.


Our Academic programmes are designed to engage all students in

the learning process through both innovative and sound teaching
methodologies. This includes encouraging participation in real-

world exploration through project based learning approaches in the
Junior High grades, developing content knowledge, encouraging

more engagement, and enabling greater reasoning skills than
students experiencing more traditional forms of instruction. For

teaching and learning to be most effective, devoting time and varied
learning spaces (such as “maker-space”) foster authenticity and
immediate application in an environment with a wealth of

opportunities for learning. The teacher’s goal is to motivate students
toward 21st century skills including critical thinking, creativity, and

collaboration along with the basic skills of research, reading, and
writing for a specific purpose



At the culmination of their High School experiences we want our

students to demonstrate enquiring minds that have developed
critical thinking and creative problem-solving attitudes and abilities
that thrive in the next phase of their lives after Herzlia and for the

long term as proud Jewish South Africans, able to contribute
positively in a global world.

Trouble in Malba



Raphael Colombo was a serious man. His stiff demeanour could
radiate silent fear throughout a room like the oscillating ripples

from a recently dropped pebble on water. Tonight, the Phoenix Bar
was the victim of this very spell, turning dead-quiet upon Colombo’s
entrance. Located on the lower east side of Malba, New York City,

the club was located just on the frontier of the Italian mobs’
influence and it was Raphael Colombo’s job as a mob strongman to

assert this dominance. It was an occupation in which he took much
pride and had had much success.



As the crowd of partygoers once again began to ebb and flow with

music and dance, Colombo and his partner, the great Hispanic
brute known simply as “Shark”, slowly swam their way through the
group of working-class patrons. After politely but firmly

manoeuvring their way through the throng, they found themselves
in the clearing around the bar. By this time, the owner-bartender,

Johannes “John” Stone, had spotted them and was visibly alarmed,
the light beads of sweat on his brow turning discernible in the dim

neon light. His attempt to avoid them by momentarily helping out a
couple on a late-night date directly to Colombo’s left was futile but

Colombo let it slide. Raphael didn’t mind. He had time and besides,
let the poor man sweat. Soup always tasted better when it had
been left to simmer, he thought to himself. Raphael turned to face

the crowd and let his back rest against the rough bar table.

Casting his eyes over the grungy club, he surveyed the scene
before him, calculating any threats that may lurk out in the neon

unknown. The club was washed in a luminous pink light, painting
every green surface a muddy purple, and making a pathetic

attempt at lightening the dance floor. Raphael could imagine that
at one point, perhaps four or five years ago, this club had

resembled something of an attractive destination; however, after
obvious years of neglect, the club had fallen into a sorry state of
disrepair. Nevertheless, none of this seemed to bother the

patrons and a large group of men continued to enjoy a game of
billiards on a pockmarked old table. Continuing his scan, Raphael

observed the dance floor, the booths and even the outside
smoking area, searching for anyone who may pose a threat to

him. Sensing Raphael’s roused interest, Brute wordlessly stood up
and inconspicuously meandered his way through to the outdoor

smoking area. Colombo watched as people shuffled out of Brute’s
way, like cars in front of an ambulance would do, but perhaps
more with more fear. Good, thought Colombo, let them be afraid.



“Can I help you?”



Colombo was startled out of his focused state and swiftly turned

around, meeting his addressor’s gaze.



“John Stone?” inquired Raphael. The man behind the bar looked
like a deer caught in the headlights, unsure of what to do or say.



“That’s me.” fumbled his short reply.



“You owe us some money.” Colombo said coldly. A few nearby
drinkers had noticed the interaction and had either shifted away

from the confrontation or, with ghoulish intent, crept closer to
watch.



“I’m not sure I understand Sir, maybe you have the wrong esta- “

“There has been no misunderstanding of any kind Mr Stone,”
Colombo interjected, “No, you have refused to pay the security money

that was required of you and now your account has fallen into
arrears.”



Colombo began to pace as his monologue gained momentum, “Yes

and now you see Mr Stone, men from my kind of trade are not like the
bank; we won’t repossess your property or possessions to cover
those debts. How you cover your debt is up to you.”



John Stone turned a sickly shade of pale, whilst the growing stream of

sweat gushing down his face refracted the awful pink lights with an
almost macabre mockery. Colombo heard a slight commotion behind
him but chose to ignore it as he knew Brute was a capable, if only

slightly challenged, man. He knew what to do when it counted.



“So, you will pay us what is owed, either by the end of tonight or by
tomorrow morning at the absolute latest. Am I clear?”



There was no response from John, only hesitant silence.



“Are you hearing me? There can be no misunderstandings this time. If
you do not pay, we will- “



THUD – Colombo was on the ground. He wasn’t sure what had hit

him, but he could tell it was a huge impact, something from behind.
The back of his head was killing him, and he could feel something

warm and sticky behind his ears. Before he could even begin to
gather his thoughts and pick himself up, there was another resonating

crash, and his world went black.


Benjamin Anstey

Wings


Man was not made to fly. Father’s harsh words echo in my

head in the quiet of the meadow, acid green grasses
coating the hills around me like moss.



The battered prototype before me is still creased with the

dents of my last failure. We rebuilt it slowly, carefully, but
the dim scars of previous crashes on the metal are never

truly erasable. Fresh diagrams are scrawled over the
weathered pages of my journal.



Will studies them now, crouching on his haunches beside
me, running his long fingers over my tight handwriting.

Loose pages flutter gently in the European breeze like
trapped butterflies.



I notice my father’s looping characters on the open page,
fading from years, seeming to wilt against Will’s scrutiny. It

means he has gone backwards, reviewing older
calculations. My father has not touched this journal in half a

decade, not since the last day I slammed the door of my
childhood home.

“Satisfied?” I ask my brother, somewhat tightly.



Will nods once, shutting the notebook between his fingers. “She’ll fly
this time.”



I swallow hard, looking up. The pale blue expanse of sky seems to
bulge and grow, beckoning as I tilt my head to meet it. Always

beckoning. This afternoon sees it crisp as a frozen lake, void of fluffy
companions to soften the harshness of the unending blue.



Will’s hand is on my shoulder, but I think the affection is more for his

sake than mine.
“History turns a page today,” he murmurs with a soft smile.



I ascend the ladder.



It is not doubt, exactly, that dries my throat and dampens my
clenched palms. Will and I built her together, a silver beast of a bird
with arms wide and hollow to keep me aloft. I know, this time, she

will not fall.



Perhaps it is a human fear of the unnatural. Of my father’s warnings,
bellowing that man was not made to fly as I had whirled from the

house of mourning like a hurricane.



You taught us to dream of flying, I had yelled, but by then we had lost
one brother to my father’s lifelong ambition and it no longer
mattered that he had taught us everything we knew, that he had

awakened this desire in us to exist above gravity and what mankind
believed possible. It had been ruled a fool’s mission. He had

forbidden thoughts of aeroplanes in his household for the terror of
one of his two surviving children becoming the next victim of his

impossible dream.

On this, we could never agree.



My knees hit my chest in the bubble shaped cockpit, a nest of buttons
and switches all shining for my attention.



Ironic how, at the end of a journey, one remembers the beginning.



The newspapers will print the accomplishment under my two brothers’

names; the consequences of being female in 19th century Europe.



The bird rumbles like thunder, like a predator. It is a primal vibration,
spreading through my body as I adjust the controls of my awakening
creature. She is hungry, desperate to reunite with the vastness of empty

space yawning above us. But then, so am I.



My world narrows to the tang of burnt metal in my nostrils, the warmth
of the engine beneath me. Air whips hair against my face. Makeshift

runway moves beneath me, tentatively at first, as if testing whether it will
be held back. Then faster, wheels grinding into the pathway. Gleefully

quickening its pace as it meets no resistance, blurring the gravel into a
belt of grey. All at once, the ground falls away. The nose of the plane lifts
towards the sky.



Man was not made to fly, my father swore to me once. But I am not a

man.


Blue gushes into me, flooding my senses until I’m breathing it in, tasting

it on my tongue. Not blue like the ocean, not gentle and serene. It is
blue like the hottest part of a fire. Alive. Electric.



Whoever said passion and danger were red has never met the sky.



Michaela Perkel

The Ungrateful Dead



There are wisps in the air along the dark forest path. In the faint
moonlight, you could be forgiven for seeing them as wisps of smoke,

or perhaps the will o’ kind, whichever you might choose to believe. A
dark figure moves along the path. A man, maybe five foot ten,
though it’s hard to say, in his black, hooded cloak. The sound of his

footsteps is not the silky stride of a magician, but of rugged boots
and the necromancer who wears them; forgive him for sacrificing

mystique for utility, as on this late autumn night, he is more
concerned about staying upright.



His destination, well, some might refer to it as a “hovel” or a “glorified

latrine shed,” but he would prefer you to think of it as something
more mysterious: perhaps his laboratory or his workshop. Within
the cracked and dirty exterior is a fairly cosy, albeit tiny, occultist’s

workshop. Books, shiny rocks, a fireplace that doesn’t seem to have
a corresponding chimney - he’s got it all.



First order of business: letters. He sits down at his small, rickety

table and thumbs through a sheaf of envelopes, deciding on a fairly
innocuous blue one and slitting it open with his decidedly

mysterious kitchen knife. “Blah, blah… mutter… mutter, aha, another
mourning widow… name of Tepesh… his name was Oliver… and she
sent me the lock of hair too. Perfect.”

The necromancer starts his ritual: filling the pentagram grooves of
his tablet with salt and sulphur (he holds his nose), placing the lock
of hair in the centre and finally the incantation. Sometimes he feels

fancy, but usually he just makes them up on the spot. Tonight's
incantation goes something like: “By this awful smelling powder, hear

my magic chant grow louder. Give to me, King of the Dead, this wretched
woman’s husband’s head.” (Yes it rhymes; he has class.)



And there it is, and quite solid too, although it does float there so

gently like a leaf on the breeze. The man (what was his name?) Oliver
Tepesh’s head, quite separate from his long dead body. “Hello Oliver,
your wife has asked that I contact you, she misses you dearly.”

“That hag? You can bugger right off cuz I don’t give a shit. I was busy,
you know!”

“Eating horse crap? That’s what your breath tells me.”
“Fuck you! Send me back you bastard!”

“As you wish,” he chants. “As I can no longer stand this smell, send
this idiot’s head back to hell.”

Sigh. And so it is gone, the hair too. He would make something up to
tell the widow.



Surprisingly enough, most of his recalls are like this. He has become
an expert dead person impersonator, though he tends to sugarcoat

their messages heavily. This is what he does every night. It may seem
menial but he finds his little joys. The necromancer is always tired,

but never lonely.



- Sammy Forman

REVENGE IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER



“Mrs Trent, I’m Officer Meghan Jacobson, “ she started. “ I regret to
inform you that there has been an accident...”



As those words tumbled out of her mouth - I knew. I knew with
absolute certainty that my plan had worked. Perfectly. Over the

pounding of my own heartbeat I was able to piece together words
like “Single-vehicle collision”; “Crashed into utility pole” ; “dead on site”. I

fought hard to contain my chagrin smile and ironically, the
redheaded policewoman seemed to be more visibly shaken than I

was. Stuttering through her sentences with her eyes slightly glossed
over.



Never one to be outdone, I turned on the waterworks. Salty tears
streamed down my cheeks. I had to sell it, sell my grief, my anguish.

Officer Jacobson eventually left, but not before reminding me that
she had to make a few more follow-up visits while continuing to

express her deepest sympathy for my loss.



My husband, Joey Trent, died on-site by crashing his car into a utility
pole. Joey Trent. An aspiring “New York Times” journalist - with his

curly hair, lanky figure and glasses that were always just the slightest
bit crooked. Joey Trent, my husband, who called me Lizzie, instead of
Elizabeth, and didn’t know the difference between a turtle and

tortoise. Joey Trent, my husband - my scheming, lying, adulterous
husband...was dead.

And I was responsible.



I felt no remorse. Our marriage survived, thrived, because of the
mutual understanding that Joey Trent was undeserving of me. And
so day-in and day-out of his pitiful existence - he fought to be worthy

of me. It was inevitable that he’d be drawn to another: someone to
whom he didn’t need to grovel for worthiness.



I found out about the affair underwhelmingly - Joey loved clichés. I

despise citrus perfume. Hate it. Never worn it. And so when Joey left
his shirt on the dresser two months ago, I happened to catch a

pungent whiff of a poisonous, tantalising orange scent (one I
wouldn’t be caught dead wearing). And I knew then and there, that
my dearest husband was a lying cheat. Instead of me, Elizabeth

Trent, he settled for someone else.



A doting bimbo who donned ‘Hugo Boss Orange Sunset’ perfume - how
cheap.



In retaliation, I concocted the perfect revenge plan by using liquid

Phosgene oxide. A corrosive agent that causes severe skin and
tissue damage. It was simple really. I mixed it with Joey’s contact
solution- just the right amount. He always put his contacts in last

before racing out the door to G-d knows whom. With retinas bathed
in Phosgene Oxide - driving would’ve been impossible. Within 15

minutes of his commute, the agent would’ve caused a sickening
burn to infiltrate his eyes, resulting in his retinas tearing. He would

have been almost completely blind and lost control of the vehicle.
And low and behold - he did. My adulterous scum of a husband

didn’t see that coming.

There was no investigation. How could there be? With half his face

battered to a pulp by the sheer force of impact. Still, that didn’t stop
Officer Meghan Jacobson from being a looming shadow in my
presence for the next month.



Clearly, my all star crocodile-tear performance when she delivered

the news of Joey's passing, meant she felt some sort of responsibility
towards me. She thought we were friends. Which was why she sat at

my kitchen island, two weeks after Joey’s death, sipping a glass of red
wine from my cellar. Somewhere in the middle of our trivial

conversation, I shed a spontaneous tear about Joey. It felt like the
appropriate reaction. “Grieving” widow and all. And before I knew it,
Meghan moved around the kitchen island and engulfed me in her

embrace. That was new. Usually physical affection was limited to the
squeeze of a hand or a pat on the back. And it was rather

unprofessional; she was investigating my dead husband’s case
afterall. But clearly my case seemed to be affecting her too- she

seemed to crave the hug more than I did.



But that’s when it hit me. That pungent, poisonous citrus scent. And
it clicked. She sure did need that hug more than I did, because it
turned out Ms Meghan was grieving too. Trapped in her embrace, I

realised that Meghan Jacobson was wearing ‘Hugo Boss Orange
Sunset’ perfume. Meghan Jacobson was my husband’s mistress.



I could feel the rage almost bursting from my chest. But I schooled
my face into a neutral expression. I needed to think. She eventually

released me and returned to her spot at the kitchen island. That’s
when I noticed it. The small circle of plastic that rested beside her

wine glass stem. A contact lens. “Oh! Meghan your contact,” I stated
nonchalantly.

“Oh my word. I didn’t even notice,” she chuckled- rosey cheeks on
display- I bet Joey loved those.

“I always find it fascinating how people are reliant

on little pieces of virtual plastic to see.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have any contact

solution, would you?” She inquired.
“ I do!” I replied, sickeningly sweet. “It's in my main

bathroom, left cabinet”.



Take the bait. Take the bait you adulterous
whore.



“Ah! Thank you so much Lizzie. You’re a lifesaver,”
She called out to me.

“ Oh- the irony” I thought to myself.





Mila Smith

Our grade 12 students were instructed to create an
oral presentation on Quality of Performance. In his

rendition, Benji shared a creative and fun oral that
sparked interest in this subject matter.

The EMS PBL (Project Based Learning) topics included

topics covering the various subjects that make up
EMS namely: Accounting,Business Studies and

Economics. Pupils were given the option to choose
any of the following topics:

WAVE Accounting - using Accounting software to
record transactions and compile a report

Product design - design and make your own
product
Economic systems and automation - which

economic system is best suited to handle the
challenges of the future

Has the Rand lost value over the past 20 years?





Consumer Studies is an interesting and captivating

subject in which you learn about The Consumer, Food
and Nutrition, Housing, Clothing, and The Production

and Marketing of Food, as well as essential life skills.
This subject combines theory and practical work - giving
students both knowledge and hands-on experience in

sections such as cooking - which creates fun, engaging,
and enjoyable lessons for everyone. This year for Grade

11 we have focused so far on the consumer and
budgeting, design and fashion, and food and nutrition.

We have done many exciting and delicious cooking and
baking practicals - such as souffle, cakes, and choux

pastries - and are in the process of creating our dream
room in a shoebox for our term 3 project. Consumer
Studies is a really great subject and every lesson,

project, and practical is exciting.

"The arts, it has been




said, cannot change




the world, but they




may change human




beings who might




change the world." ~




Maxine Greene

This year has seen some changes in the way things happen in Art in the
Junior High as we have changed to having a semester of Art in Grade 8 and

9, instead of doing it all year. This has been a positive change as there are
more lessons in the 10 day Cycle and we have focused on more meaningful

projects.
The Grade 7s have continued to rotate between all the Creative Art
subjects and choose their elective in the final term.

The Grade 8s have been introduced to the formal Elements of Art by
making a fun book cover where they illustrate their understanding of the

work. They also learnt about Impressionism and did lovely self portraits in
the style of the Impressionists.

The Grade 9s engaged with a Holocaust project with a theme of
remembrance as they researched the Shoe Memorial along the Danube

River in Hungary. They made drawings and paintings of their own
contemporary shoes and in this way thought about the personal story that
one's own shoes have, whilst remembering the footsteps of the past. They

also studied the movement in Art history; Surrealism and made exciting
three-dimensional sculptures from a Surrealist painting of their choice. The

Grade 9s collaborated with the Esteam pupils to create three dimensional
cubes using Minecraft. The Art pupils introduced the Esteam pupils to the

movement of art; Op Art and the Esteam pupils took the initiative with the
Minecraft.application. Together they created an incredible digital image.

In Grade 10 pupils select Visual Art as one of their elective subjects,
engaging with both practical and theoretical components. This year, pupils
have developed an understanding of tone to create form in both drawing

and painting. The third term project introduced colour theory to translate
tone to colour.



The Grade 11 pupils, like the Grade 9s engaged Holocaust themes as part

of our preparation for Yom Hashoa. More recent projects focus on the
formal elements of colour to generate conceptual possibilities, and focus

on process work in visual diary.

In Grade 12, pupils prepare for their final exhibition, this year to be
held at the South African Jewish Museum. It is a privilege to

continue this tradition of a professional public exhibition to mark
the end of their high school art journey.



As always, it is a privilege to work with such invested and engaged

pupils, whose commitment is visible in the work on these pages.


There is only a small selection of pupil work included in the

magazine and it was wonderful to be able to show all of our pupil
work at exhibitions and prize-giving this year.



Lynn Arnold and Lauren Palte

















We are always encouraged and challenged by the

way our Herzlia pupils dive into research and engage
with the world around them. We are currently living
through a moment that feels ‘like history’. A number

of pupils have reflected that these times will be the
subject of later generations of pupils’ studies. The

COVID crisis is one aspect of this but so are the social
and economic inequalities it brings to light in our

context and also across the world. Through engaging
with the past, our pupils are also challenged to think

about their role in shaping the world around them to
make an impact on the future.



The Grade 12 'Women in the 20th-century study
encouraged the pupils to ask questions about why

History has neglected the significant role of women
and also to engage with issues of gender in history.

Pupils had complete freedom to choose a topic that
interested them. This was a lengthy piece of research

and required pupils to engage with university level
sources.

The Grade 11 Nazi eugenics project asked pupils to

engage with the origins and implementation of racist
and eugenicist ideas in Nazi Germany. Pupils had

attended an outing at the Cape Town Holocaust and
Genocide Centre and engaged with a presentation on

the Nazi's ideas of eugenics. The pupils worked in pairs
to create an online exhibition experience which allowed
them to think about issues of curatorship. They also

needed to write a personal reflection on the process of
working on this difficult history.



The Grade 10 heritage project gave pupils the

opportunity to research a family heirloom. They also
needed to engage with how historians think about

objects as historical sources and the impact of material
culture on our understanding of history.



The Grade 9 Social Science students presented their
PBLs linked to the UN Sustainable Development Goals

(SDGs). They have been working on researching one of
the SDGs and then developing an action plan which

would allow them to contribute towards the
achievement of one of the SDGs.



Kirstin Kukard







Nazi Eugenics
















Eugenics



Exhibit



Whilst 2021 has been another challenging year full of
unknowns and unforeseen circumstances, the Music
pupils have produced and shared some meaningful,

creative work this year. Projects ranging from essays to
live performances, exploring and understanding online

platforms and recording techniques are just some of
the many ways that the pupils have expanded their

knowledge this year.


The landscape this year has also provided opportunities
for pupils with different passions and skill sets to come
together and collaborate in ways that they may not

have before.


We are incredibly proud of the pupils of the Music
Department as a collective and individually for their

perseverance, positivity and passion.



Danielle Wynter

Benjamin Anstey
The Motis of West




Side Story



Drei_Sonaten



Arrangement

Able Sisters

Amidst the pandemic, has been an engaged and productive year

in Drama.



In Grade 7. Pupils alternated between the three Arts and Culture
electives. In Drama, pupils were introduced to the basics of

Drama, focusing on storytelling and how we use expression to
bring our stories to life.



In Grade 8 pupils explored character work, as well as scene
creation. The Breakfast Club served as a text and film study,

engaging pupils on all levels from acting technique and character
analysis to costume design and ideas on reconceptualising the

film for a modern audience.



In Grade 9 pupils studied filmmaking. They explored various film
techniques through a number of short film practicals such as

silent film, stop animation, drone filming and split screen filming.
They also created a CGI film in collaboration with the ESTEAM
pupils.



In Grade 10 ,we explored the history of theatre, highlights were

examining the functions of and performing a Greek Chorus piece,
as well as exploring Shakespeare through learning about the

Elizabethan Era and working with Shakepearean texts.

In Grade 11 we explored Realism and modern theatre, and

focussed on performing solo pieces such as monologues and
poetry.



Much of Grade 12 was occupied by preparing for the Final
Practical externally marked by the Department of Education. As

was the case last year, pupils filmed solo theme programmes
which were filmed, but still had to display their theatre acting

chops.



This year, our pupils were able to take part in the virtual
Stellenbosch Drama Eisteddfod. We had a large number of

entries covering poetry, monologues and dialogues. Our pupils
coped beautifully with the virtual set up and excelled in their
pieces.



The biggest challenge that Drama pupils have faced this year has

of course been the fact that we have not been able to attend live
theatre, which is a huge part of enrichment and enjoyment in this

subject. We were devastated at the closing of The Fugard
Theatre, the site of our last theatre outing in 2020, where we saw

Master Harold….and the boys. This will now be a historic moment
in time that we will never forget, seeing an Athol Fugard play at
the theatre named after him...for the last time…



We have managed to find other ways of analysis, enrichment and

engagement through the medium of film, which has produced
exciting explorations and project work. We look forward to next
year and continuing to extend ourselves..



As of 2021 the PE program for Gr10-11 was replaced by

what we call a Wellness period. The aim of the Wellness
program was to introduce our pupils to a variety of life

skills such as self-defense, training and life saving
methods, amongst others. Skills were also developed in

sports such as Hockey, basketball, Futsal. It proved to
be a fun-filled program.



The Matrics followed the original PE program as they
need to complete assessments in Term 1 and 2. I have

to commend the matrics on the enthusiasm with which
they attended their PE lessons this year.



Tina Brenzel



We have continued to offer interested students a wide

choice of mind-stretching activities this year ranging from
various subject-based olympiads, arts and culture
Eisteddfodau, business challenges, Sirius Club, Book Club, i-

Centre opportunities, World ORT competitions and an array
general knowledge quizzes.

World Knowledge Olympiad
A hearty mazeltov to the following pupils who excelled in the

final round of this national competition:
Grade 8: Samuel Bagraim (finished in 5th place) and Jacob

Ramsay (finished in 10th place). Well done boys.
Grade 9: Ethan Nowitz scored the highest mark in South
Africa! Well done, Ethan! We are extremely proud of you.


Grade 7 Astro-Quiz

Mazeltov to the following boys who won through to the third
round of this national competition where they finished in 3rd

place in the Province, narrowly missing out on a spot in the
national finals: Hosea Cole, Connor Epstein, Anthony Abel,

Neo Hermus and Kaine Lipschitz-Rosenstein.