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<p>10 posts!</p>

10 posts!

Posted 17 minutes ago

Vandag in die Geskiedenis: 24 Maart 1842

Nederlandse skip verhaas Britse anneksasie van Natal

Die onafhanklike republiek wat die Voortrekkers in Natal gestig het, het kortstondig bestaan. Pas nadat die militêre mag van die Zoeloes gebreek was, het die Trekkers hulle in ’n stryd met Brittanje bevind wat die aanwesigheid van die Boere in Natal nie wou duld nie. Na aanvanklike welslae moes die Trekkers, onder aanvoering van Andries Pretorius die stryd ter verdediging van hul staat gewonne gee.

Op 15 Julie 1842 het die Trekkers hulle aan Britse gesag onderwerp. By sommige het die hoop egter geleef dat hul Nederlandse stamland ’n beskermende hand na hulle sou uitsteek. Gerugte van Nederlandse bemoeienis het ontstaan nadat die skip Brazilia op 24 Maart 1842 in Port Natal aangekom het. Aan boord was ene JA Smellekamp wat die Trekkers goedgesind was en verwagtinge van Nederlandse ingryping by hulle gewek het.

Hierdie gerugte het egter juis Brittanje sneller laat optree. Terwyl hy tevore wars van uitbreiding was, is die anneksasie van Natal eensklaps goedgekeur en het die goewerneur sir George Napier Natal op 12 Mei 1842 by wyse van proklamasie tot Britse kolonie verklaar.

’n Maand later, op 9 Junie, het Henry Cloete, wat as kommissaris in Natal benoem is, die proklamasie van 12 Mei op ’n byeenkoms van 400-500 Trekkers in Pietermaritzburg uiteengesit. Dit was ’n bra stormagtige byeenkoms. Weens weerstand onder ’n groep Trekkers het dit tot 8 Augustus 1842 gesloer voordat die Volksraad die proklamasie van 12 Mei aanvaar het. Vergeefs die bloed wat aan Trekkerkant vir onafhanklike bestaan gestort is.

Posted 29 minutes ago
<p>Eskom’s Technical Task Team<br/></p>

Eskom’s Technical Task Team

Posted 18 hours ago
<p>Eskom RaadopSaal<br/></p>

Eskom RaadopSaal

Posted 1 day ago

Vandag in die Geskiedenis: 22 Maart 1896

Ons Klyntji was die eerste en by sy verskyning die enigste tydskrif in Afrikaans. Die Patriot, wat in 1876 verskyn het as spreekbuis vir die taalstrewe van die Genootskap vir Regte Afrikaners, het mettertyd in ’n nuusblad verander en het ongewild geraak, veral as gevolg van die veranderde politieke beleid van ds. SJ du Toit.

Om die taalstryd voort te sit, moes ’n nuwe medium gevind word. Op die eerste Afrikaanse taalkongres gehou in die Paarl in Januarie 1896 ter viering van die twintigste verjaardag van Die Patriot, is besluit om ’n Afrikaanse tydskrif in die lewe te roep wat neutraal sou staan ten opsigte van die politieke vraagstukke van daardie tyd, met SJ du Toit as redakteur.

Die tydskrif is dadelik goed ontvang deur die Afrikaner. Na 1900 het dit egter finansieel, veral as gevolg van die Anglo-Boereoorlog, al hoe slegter met Ons Klyntji gegaan, en in 1906 het die laaste uitgawe van die tydskrif verskyn.

Posted 1 day ago

Vandag in die Geskiedenis: 18 Maart 1834

18 Maart 1834: Maria Koopmans-De Wet gebore Maria Margaretha Koopmans-De Wet is in Kaapstad gebore uit een van die vooraanstaande Kaapse families. As jong dogter is sy aangegryp deur die lotgevalle van die Voortrekkers, die totstandkoming van die twee Boererepublieke en die Anti-Bandietebeweging – almal gebeurtenisse wat bygedra het om ’n vurige patriotisme te ontwikkel.

Haar woning in Strandstraat 23 het die bymekaarkomplek geword van vooraanstaande Kaapse persone en selfs Boerepresidente. Sy het daarna gestreef om die Kaaps-Hollandse tradisies en leefwyse in ere te hou deur haar te beywer vir die bewaring van die volkseie, beskerming van die inheemse flora en die bewaring van die Kasteel.

Sy lewer ook ’n wesenlike bydrae tot die uitbouing van die Hollandse taal, maar dit was veral tydens die Anglo-Boereoorlog dat haar volksdiens tot ’n hoogtepunt uitgevoer is. Haar woning het terselfdertyd die versamelplek geword van goedere wat vir Boerekrygsgevangenes en die Konsentrasiekampe bestem was. Sy is op 2 Augustus 1906 oorlede.

Posted 2 days ago
<p>Suid-Afrika en sy ANC-Leierskap<br/></p>

Suid-Afrika en sy ANC-Leierskap

Posted 2 days ago
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Posted 2 days ago

Vandag in die Geskiedenis: 19 Maart 1906

Die Afrikaner wil voortleef

“Dit is asof die Here ons patriotisme nou dat ons uitgeroei is, beproef om te sien hoe sterk ons nasionaliteit is. Weet dit: as God u as Afrikaners in die wêreld gebring het, verwag Hy ook dat u as Afrikaner sal sterf.”

So het genl. Beyers, volgens ’n berig op die dag in De Volkstem in Pretoria gesê. Dit was kenmerkend van verskeie uitsprake deur politieke en kerklike leiers in die donker jare na die Anglo-Boereoorlog oor die Afrikaner se wil om voort te leef. Ds. HS Bosman sê in sy groeteboodskap van die Transvaalse Kerk aan die Kaapse Sinode: “Ons Kerk is onder, maar niet dood … ons volk is onder, maar niet dood.”

Ds. HC de Wet: “Wij blijven Afrikaners.” En genl. CR de Wet, die vasberade bittereinder, het met pres. Kruger se begrafnis op 16 Desember 1904 gesê: “Onze plicht is het te strijden voor de toekomst.”

Posted 2 days ago

Vandag in die Geskiedenis: 21 Maart 1881

Op Geloftedag 1880 het die eerste skoot van die Transvaalse Vryheidsoorlog op Potchefstroom geklap, en op 27 Februarie 1881 het die laaste geveg, ’n glansryke oorwinning vir die Boere op Amajuba plaasgevind. ’n Wapenstilstand het gevolg, en pres. JH Brand van die Oranje-Vrystaat het op die toneel verskyn om as onpartydige vriend en raadgewer die onderhandelinge tussen die Boere en Britse verteenwoordigers op 21 Maart 1881 in RC O’Neil se huis by te woon.

’n Ooreenkoms is bereik, waardeur die driemanskap van Transvaal, SJP Kruger, PJ Joubert en MW Pretorius, onderneem het om Britse susereiniteit te aanvaar. Op 3 Augustus 1881 is die Konvensie van Pretoria deur die lede van ’n koninklike kommissie aan die een kant en deur die Transvaalse driemanskap aan die ander kant onderteken. Van dié datum af het Transvaal weer selfbestuur verkry, onderworpe aan die susereiniteit van die Britse kroon, en hy sou voortaan as die Transvaalstaat bekend staan.

Deur die Londen-konvensie van 27 Februarie 1884 is die naam Zuid-Afrikaansche Republiek in ere herstel en het die republiek ’n soewerein onafhanklike staat sonder Britse susereiniteit geword.

Posted 2 days ago

Glo jy in wonderwerke ? - Nie? ... lees verder! (Marcel Sternberger)

Posted by Paul Joubert on Tuesday, June 27, 2017 Under: Geloofsoë

Glo jy in wonderwerke ? - Nie? ... lees verder! (Marcel Sternberger)


It Happened on the Brooklyn Subway

Marcel Sternberger was a methodical man of nearly 50, with bushy white hair, guileless brown eyes, and the bouncing enthusiasm of a czardas dancer of his native Hungary. He always took the 9:09 Long Island Railroad train from his suburban home to Woodside, N.Y.., where he caught a subway into the city.

On the morning of January 10, 1948, Sternberger boarded the 9:09 as usual. En route, he suddenly decided to visit Laszlo Victor, a Hungarian friend who lived in Brooklyn and was ill.

Accordingly, at Ozone Park, Sternberger changed to the subway for Brooklyn, went to his friend’s house, and stayed until midafternoon. He then boarded a Manhattan-bound subway for his Fifth Avenue office. Here is Marcel’s incredible story:

The car was crowded, and there seemed to be no chance of a seat. But just as I entered, a man sitting by the door suddenly jumped up to leave, and I slipped into the empty place. I’ve been living in New York long enough not to start conversations with strangers. But being a photographer, I have the peculiar habit of analyzing people’s faces, and I was struck by the features of the passenger on my left. He was probably in his late 30s, and when he glanced up, his eyes seemed to have a hurt expression in them. He was reading a Hungarian-language newspaper, and something prompted me to say in Hungarian, “I hope you don’t mind if I glance at your paper.”

The man seemed surprised to be addressed in his native language. But he answered politely, “You may read it now. I’ll have time later on.”

During the half-hour ride to town, we had quite a conversation. He said his name was Bela Paskin. A law student when World War II started, he had been put into a German labor battalion and sent to the Ukraine. Later he was captured by the Russians and put to work burying the German dead. After the war, he covered hundreds of miles on foot until he reached his home in Debrecen, a large city in eastern Hungary.

I myself knew Debrecen quite well, and we talked about it for a while. Then he told me the rest of his story. When he went to the apartment once occupied by his father, mother, brothers and sisters, he found strangers living there. Then he went upstairs to the apartment that he and his wife once had. It also was occupied by strangers. None of them had ever heard of his family.

As he was leaving, full of sadness, a boy ran after him, calling “Paskin bacsi! Paskin bacsi!” That means “Uncle Paskin.” The child was the son of some old neighbors of his. He went to the boy’s home and talked to his parents. “Your whole family is dead,” they told him. “The Nazis took them and your wife to Auschwitz.”

Auschwitz was one of the worst Nazi concentration camps. Paskin gave up all hope. A few days later, too heartsick to remain any longer in Hungary, he set out again on foot, stealing across border after border until he reached Paris. He managed to immigrate to the United States in October 1947, just three months before I met him.

All the time he had been talking, I kept thinking that somehow his story seemed familiar. A young woman whom I had met recently at the home of friends had also been from Debrecen; she had been sent to Auschwitz; from there she had been transferred to work in a German munitions factory. Her relatives had been killed in the gas chambers. Later she was liberated by the Americans and was brought here in the first boatload of displaced persons in 1946.

Later, she was liberated by the Americans and was brought here in the first boatload of displaced persons in 1946.

Her story had moved me so much that I had written down her address and phone number, intending to invite her to meet my family and thus help relieve the terrible emptiness in her life.

It seemed impossible that there could be any connection between these two people, but as I neared my station, I fumbled anxiously in my address book. I asked in what I hoped was a casual voice, “Was your wife’s name Marya?”

He turned pale. “Yes!” he answered. “How did you know?”

He looked as if he were about to faint.

I said, “Let’s get off the train.” I took him by the arm at the next station and led him to a phone booth. He stood there like a man in a trance while I dialed her phone number.

It seemed hours before Marya Paskin answered. (Later I learned her room was alongside the telephone, but she was in the habit of never answering it because she had so few friends and the calls were always for someone else. This time, however, there was no one else at home and, after letting it ring for a while, she responded.)

When I heard her voice at last, I told her who I was and asked her to describe her husband. She seemed surprised at the question, but gave me a description. Then I asked her where she had lived in Debrecen, and she told me the address.

Asking her to hold the line, I turned to Paskin and said, “Did you and your wife live on such-and-such a street?”

“Yes!” Bela exclaimed. He was white as a sheet and trembling.

“Try to be calm,” I urged him. “Something miraculous is about to happen to you. Here, take this telephone and talk to your wife!”

He nodded his head in mute bewilderment, his eyes bright with tears. He took the receiver, listened a moment to his wife’s voice, then suddenly cried, “This is Bela! This is Bela!” and he began to mumble hysterically. Seeing that the poor fellow was so excited he couldn’t talk coherently, I took the receiver from his shaking hands.

“Stay where you are,” I told Marya, who also sounded hysterical. “I am sending your husband to you. We will be there in a few minutes.”

Bela was crying like a baby and saying over and over again. “It is my wife. I go to my wife!”

At first I thought I had better accompany Paskin, lest the man should faint from excitement, but I decided that this was a moment in which no strangers should intrude. Putting Paskin into a taxicab, I directed the driver to take him to Marya’s address, paid the fare, and said goodbye.

Bela Paskin’s reunion with his wife was a moment so poignant, so electric with suddenly released emotion, that afterward neither he nor Marya could recall much about it.

“I remember only that when I left the phone, I walked to the mirror like in a dream to see if maybe my hair had turned gray,” she said later. “The next thing I know, a taxi stops in front of the house, and it is my husband who comes toward me. Details I cannot remember; only this I know—that I was happy for the first time in many years.....

“Even now it is difficult to believe that it happened. We have both suffered so much; I have almost lost the capability to not be afraid. Each time my husband goes from the house, I say to myself, “Will anything happen to take him from me again?”

Her husband is confident that no horrible misfortune will ever again befall the. “Providence has brought us together,” he says simply. “It was meant to be.”

Skeptical persons will no doubt attribute the events of that memorable afternoon to mere chance. But was it chance that made Marcel Sternberger suddenly decide to visit his sick friend and hence take a subway line that he had never ridden before? Was it chance that caused the man sitting by the door of the car to rush out just as Sternberger came in? Was it chance that caused Bela Paskin to be sitting beside Sternberger, reading a Hungarian newspaper'

Was it chance—or did God ride the Brooklyn subway that afternoon'

Paul Deutschman, Great Stories Remembered, edited and compiled by Joe L. Wheeler, Focus on the Family Publishers, December 1996.

https://bible.org/illustration/it-happened-brooklyn-subway

In : Geloofsoë 


Tags: daaglikse wonderwerke  god se wonderwerke  marcel sternberger  bela paskin  debrecen hungary  paul deutschman  great stories remembered 
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