The 2025 Chronicle

sary. I was an unorthodox Jew with an identity that was more inherited than deeply personal. For most of my childhood, Judaism was a label rather than a conviction. That changed at age 12, when I followed my eldest brothers to King David Linksfield. That was my first assignment. The mission was clear: learn to understand the identity that I had never fully connected with, absorb the customs, learn the prayers, and be surrounded by the environment needed to prepare for my Bar Mitzvah. And yet, despite the uniform and the routine, I never truly felt like I belonged. I prayed every morning, attended religious studies and sur rounded myself with friends who lived and breathed Judaism. But I was an operative out of place, never quite as devout, nev er fully committed to the role. By Grade 9, I recognized my own misalignment. Among Jews I felt like the least Jewish. It was then that I was presented with the opportunity for a new mis sion: an infiltration operation at Michaelhouse, an Anglican in stitution. A mission I had inherited from my eldest brother who had paved the way, and now it was my turn. Phase Two: Behind Enemy Lines I must admit, the transition into Michaelhouse was smoother than expected. Perhaps it was the adaptability I had honed in my first operation. Regardless, I slipped seamlessly into my new environment. But a curious thing happened when I did. The more I observed, the more patterns I noticed. At King David, the leader of prayer and all services was known as the rabbi. At Michaelhouse, it was the reverend. Different figures, different doctrines, but the same conviction. Both spoke with unwavering belief, both preached with absolute certainty, both were convinced that their truth was the truth. It was not just the clergy; the students mirrored this same certainty. At King David my friends prayed with devotion, and at Michaelhouse so did my new classmates. Different prayers, but the same faith. And that’s when the real question emerged. If every religion believes it holds the ultimate truth – Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Buddhism and so forth – then by definition, someone must be wrong. Or, and this was the thought that truly unsettled me, no one was wrong. Debriefing: The Final Revelation Pondering this thought for days, I arrived at yet another Sun day-night Michaelhouse chapel service. But this time it was different. I wasn’t a participant – I was an undercover agent, holding knowledge no one else in the room seemed to possess. My heart pounded. The weight of my realization made the moment feel almost… trivial. The reverend’s voice echoed through the chapel. I scanned the faces of my peers, their faith unshaken. My fingers gripped the prayer book, the words slipping through my hands like sand. Then came the final hymn. Six hundred and fifty-two voices rose in unison, pouring their souls into a belief they held with

through the mouthed words of my cold incantations.

I feel the dragon’s searing pain and see the sceptre poised above my head while I sit in stony coldness of words and words.

The asphalt stretches straight into the powder-blue horizon Free State veld flickers in flashes past my window: Hollow outlines of mud huts;

Rippled dams fringed with reeds; Clay-coloured cows feeding in fields; Hay bales swiss-rolled on the verges; Coots bobbing in weedy waters;

Mielie fields cropped like Zulu braids; Poplar trees, thin and tall, with branches Folded close to the stem like plastic Christmas trees Waiting to be boxed for another 364 days. This world beyond the bus window Seems peaceful in the late yellow light But long shadows stretch against the hills bringing the eternal note of sadness in And sudden tears well in my eyes Bearing my soul’s carefully concealed sadness to the surface. Topic: “There are no facts, only interpretations” – Friedrich Nietzsche They called me 007, or sometimes Jehudah Bond. My mission? Infiltrate one of the most elite institutions in the country, gath ering intelligence, earning trust and, most importantly, staying undercover. I was sent from King David Linksfield, a bastion of Judaic Zionist thought, to Michaelhouse, a prestigious Anglican school steeped in its own religious traditions. It was my first assignment in deep cover. Back home I had been for the most part an observant Jew, raised in an environment where our faith was unquestioned. Here, I had to adapt, acknowledge Christianity, respect it and even admire it, all while ensuring my true identity remained in tact. My cover was nearly blown more than once. To blend in, I found myself doing things I had never imagined, things that would have once seemed unthinkable. Phase One: Training Ground To understand my mission fully, some background is neces ENGLISH ESSAY Aras Apteker (A Block)

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