Features
Was a Nazi war criminal living in St. James forced to hang himself by a Jewish “avenger” in 1960?
By BERNIE BELLAN The story of an alleged Nazi war criminal by the name of Alexander Laak, who was found hanging in his St. James garage in 1960, is one that has been revisited in this newspaper several times.
In October 1987, the late Gene Telpner first broached the story in our pages in one of his columns, when he wrote the following:
Quite a few columns ago I wrote about a book called “Forged in Fury”, which detailed the hanging in Winnipeg of an alleged war criminal by one or more Israeli “agents”.
They apparently had flown here, carried out the execution, and then caught a plane out of the city the same day.
At the time, the Free Press story reported the man’s death as a suicide, and the name given in the item was not his real one. His real name was Alexander Laak, and the wartime actions in which he allegedly participated took place in Estonia, near Tallin.
At one time, Laak worked at the RCAF base in Winnipeg. When he came to Canada from Europe he had received “clearance” from the British and Americans, but apparently the Russians wanted him back for further investigation.
Now all of this original story was in 1960, and not until 1970, when the book Forged in Fury was published, did the details emerge. Those details came as a shock to Arthur Drache, son of Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Drache of this city, for several reasons.
For one, Arthur was a Free Press reporter when the “suicide” was printed and covered the story. Asked about it, Drache said, “We wrote a couple of stories “which received page one play, but did not give his name because of libel laws.”
But when Drache, who is now Arthur Drache Q.C. with the law firm of Drache Rotenberg in Ottawa, read “Forged in Fury”, he got full details for the first time. He wrote to the Free Press to tell them about the book’s revelations, but says he never got a response from the newspaper.
One of the saddest parts of the story to Drache is the fact that he and Laak’s son were classmates at Gordon Bell, and played on the school football team.
Laak was never publicly identified in Winnipeg while he was alive. It is believed that there had been accusations from some sources, but he protested his innocence.
Arthur Drache explained, “Only his ‘suicide’ allowed fuller disclosures and until I read “Forged in Fury” I was quite at a loss to explain his actions.”
Subsequently, in a February 20, 1991 issue of The Jewish Post & News, Myron Love had this story:
Manitoba RCMP looking into 30-year-old suicide of alleged Nazi
The Royal Canadian Mounted Police have re-opened an investigation into the apparent suicide 30 years ago of an alleged Estonian Nazi living in Winnipeg. The new investigation was requested by the provincial Attorney-General’s Department, following an article on the case last winter in the Winnipeg Free Press, and a subsequent letter by a member of the public to the attorney-general, asking that this possible murder be investigated, in light of the war crimes prosecutions taking place in the country.
Alexander Laak was found hanging in his garage on September 6, 1960, according to Sargent Wes Border of the RCMP’s General Investigation Section. The section is looking into the matter, after a series of newspaper reports from the Soviet Union, alleging Laak was a Nazi collaborator. The Winnipeg police investigated his death at the time.
A coroner’s inquest, headed by Dr. I.O. Fryer, then the province’s chief medical officer, ruled the death an apparent suicide, and the case was closed.
In the early 1970s, an author named Michael Elkin published a book called “Forged in Fury”, in which he described how an Israeli agent named Arnie Berg came to Winnipeg from South America, and gave Laak the choice of committing suicide or having him and his wife killed by Berg.
Last February, Winnipeg Free Press reporter Dave Roberts wrote a story on the case, with reference to Elkins’ report. (Roberts is unavailable for comment. He is currently in the Middle East.) The article also led to the attack on retired journalist Keith Rutherford by a couple of Skinheads in Alberta last year. The Skinheads claimed they were paying him back for exposing Laak. One claimed to be Laak’s son, but there is no record of any family. (Ed. note: Gene Telpner’s story does disclose that Laak had a son – also someone whom Arthur Drache knew, so the notion that Laak’s son may have been part of a group that attacked Rutherford is certainly plausible.)
Sgt. Border isn’t optimistic the GIS investigation will turn up anything. “Thirty years is a long time,” he says. “People are dead. Reports are no longer available to us.”
He reports contacts have been made with the war crimes investigation unit in Ottawa to check their information on Estonian war crimes, and with Israel to find out if Elkin’s book was fact or fiction. “We’re waiting to hear back to see if we should look into this more seriously,” he says. “With everything going on in the Middle East, and considering this is 30 years old, I don’t expect this matter will be pushed to the forefront. It’s a case that will not be easy to investigate.”
We’re playing catch-up.”
In the summer of 2014 I had written about a book titled “The Avengers”, which was about a group of Holocaust survivors led by Abba Kovner (who went on to become a famous Israeli poet). Subsequent to that book review I was reminded of the story of Alexander Laak, and I decided to try to find out whether there was anything more I could find out about the story – which apparently had reached a dead end.
I decided to attempt to contact Arthur Drache who, Gene Telpner had written, had actually covered the story of Alexander Laak’s “suicide” in 1960. Arthur Drache has been one of Canada’s best known tax attorneys for many years, has been the recipient of many awards. Several years ago Gerry Posner profiled Arthur Drache in an article for our paper titled , which can be found on our website at .
I called Arthur Drache in 2014 – and was surprised when he answered his phone himself. In any event, I recall that Mr. Drache was quite obliging – and had vivid memories of his own personal involvement in the Alexander Laak story. Here is what I wrote in August 2014:
As Gene Telpner mentions in his story, in 1960 Drache was working as a reporter for the Free Press. Drache told me, during a phone conversation, that he was a student at Brandeis University at the time.
Drache says that his assignment editor had received a tip that Laak was living in Winnipeg. According to Drache, it came from a Russian source. The Estonian community in Winnipeg was quite small at the time, Drache said, and it was an easy matter for him to track Laak down.
He told me that he and another reporter went to Laak’s house in St. James and spent some time speaking with him. According to Drache, Laak downplayed the role he had played in the Jägala camp in Estonia, describing his duties as akin to being “the warden of Stony Mountain”, in Drache’s words.
As Telpner noted in his story, Drache went on to write about Laak, but without revealing his true name. Drache said to me that he found the notion that a Mossad agent tracking Laak down and forcing him to commit suicide highly implausible.
But, I suggested to him, the same information that had been given to the Free Press, presumably by Russian authorities, might also have been given to the Israelis.
Drache did concede that point. He went on to say that immediately after he wrote his story about Laak, which was in late August, 1960, he recalled, he drove to Boston to resume his studies at Brandeis. On the way he happened to pick up a copy of the New York Times, which published a major story about the suicide of Alexander Laak but, as was the case with the Free Press story about the suicide, the NY Times story did not reveal his true name.
Drache also mentioned his personal connection to Alexander Laak – through Laak’s son. As Gene Telpner had written, they had both attended Gordon Bell High School, were classmates in fact and even played on the high school football team together. It was the fact that he knew Laak’s son that led his assignment editor at the Free Press to ask Drache to go to Laak’s house to interview him.
When the book “Forged in Fury” was published in 1970, Drache says he was shocked at the allegations made in that book about Laak.
Drache told me, “We wrote a couple of stories which received page one play, but did not give his (Laak’s) name because of libel laws.”
But when Drache read “Forged in Fury”, he was made aware of the full details surrounding Alexander Laak’s alleged background as a Nazi war criminal for the first time. He wrote to the Free Press to tell them about the book’s revelations, but says he never got a response from the newspaper.
Laak was never publicly identified in Winnipeg while he was alive. It is believed that there had been accusations from some sources, but he protested his innocence.
Arthur Drache explained, “Only his ‘suicide’ allowed fuller disclosures and until I read ‘Forged in Fury’ I was quite at a loss to explain his actions.”
One final footnote to this story: In attempting to find out more about Alexander Laak, I came across this information on a white supremacist website:
Alexander Laak , former commandant of the Jägala camp in Estonia where a large number of Jews were supposedly massacred, is alleged to have committed suicide by hanging in his garage in Winnipeg , Canada. A number of Laak’s subordinates had at the time been given harsh sentences at a Soviet show trial. According to an article in Der Tagespiegel September 8, 1960, Laak had declared the Soviet allegations against him to be “99% lies and Communist propaganda.” In Michael Elkin’s book Forged in Fury (1971) it is claimed that a Jewish “avenger” named Arnie Berg travelled to Winnipeg to kill Laak, and that Laak hanged himself under Berg’s supervision in order to not have his wife shot by Berg.
This entire story was brought to mind again when I started to watch a ridiculous TV show called “Hunters” which, although it has a stellar cast, is really nothing more than a comic book fantasy about Jewish avengers pursuing Nazis in America. Still, the story surrounding Alexander Laak’s suicide could make an interesting movie. Maybe Jonas Chernick would be interested?
Features
I Speak “Jew”
By MARK E. PAULL I grew up in Montreal. Born in 1956. Anglo by birth, sure. But that never quite fit. I don’t speak “Anglo” the way they mean it. My real language is Jew.
And I don’t mean Hebrew or Yiddish. I mean the language of reading the room before you enter it. The code-switching, shame-dodging, laugh-first-so-they-don’t-pounce dialect we pick up early. It’s a language built on side-eyes and timing and ten generations of tension.
I speak French—enough to make myself understood. Enough to charm a dinner table, crack a joke, get someone’s uncle to nod. I’m not fluent, but I’m fast. Doesn’t matter. In Quebec, language isn’t grammar—it’s inheritance. It’s who your grandfather cursed out in a hardware store.
To the Francophones, I’ll never be one of them. My accent betrays me before I say a word. I’m just an Anglo. And not even that, really. Because when the lens tightens, when they look closely, I’m just un Juif. Just a Jew.
And to the Anglos? Same thing. I can wear the suit, speak the Queen’s English, order the wine properly—still a Jew. Even in rooms where I “pass,” I don’t belong. I’m not invited in to be myself. I’m invited in to behave. To be safe. To not say the thing that makes the air stiff.
We’re the only people still called by our religion. No one says “Orthodox” for a Greek. No one says “Vatican” for an Italian. No one calls a Black man “Baptist” before they see his face. But “Jew”? That sticks. That’s the label. Before passport. Before language. Before hello.
I’ve mostly made peace with that. But there’s still this ache—knowing you can live your whole life in a place and never really be from there.
Let me tell you a story.
We had this block party once—the folding-table, paper-plate kind. Kids zipping by on scooters. Music low. Everyone asked to bring something from “your culture.”
The Greek guy brought lemon potatoes and lamb—felt like it came with a side of Byzantine history. The Italians brought two lasagnas—meat and veggie—with basil placed like confetti. The Vietnamese couple brought shrimp rolls that vanished before they hit the table. Even the German guy—built like a fridge—brought bratwurst and a six-pack with gothic lettering.
And then us.
My partner made Moroccan fish. Her grandmother’s recipe. Red with tomatoes, garlic, cumin. Studded with olives and preserved lemon. I brought a bottle of white wine. Dry. Crisp. From the Golan Heights. Not Manischewitz. Not even close.
We laid it out. Someone leaned over: “Moroccan? But I thought you were Jewish.”
We smiled. “We are.”
Then: “So… where’s the brisket? Isn’t Jewish wine supposed to be sweet?”
That’s when it hits you. No matter how long you’ve lived here, how many snowstorms you’ve shoveled through, you’re still explaining yourself. Still translating your presence.
Because they don’t know. They don’t know Jews came from everywhere. That “Jewish” isn’t one dish—it’s a whole map. That we had Jews in Morocco before there was even a France. That some of us grew up on kreplach, some on kefta. That some of our mothers sang in Yiddish, others in Arabic, and some in both—depending on who was knocking.
They don’t know. And worse—they don’t ask.
And that’s the part that gets you. Not the slurs. Not the graffiti. Not even the occasional muttered cliché. It’s the blankness. The shrug. The image they already have of you that’s built out of dreidels and sitcoms.
“Jewish” as nostalgic. As novelty. Something they saw once on a bagel.
Sometimes, when those questions come, I float. One version of me walks out. Another turns into a mouse. One turns into a Frisbee. Just gone. Not mad. Just tired.
Because being a Jew isn’t cute. It’s not nostalgic.
It’s ancient.
Before Montreal.
Before France.
Before Poland. Before Spain.
Before pogroms.
Before ghettos.
Before Hitler.
Before even the word Europe.
We were there.
Go back to the 5th century. 2nd century.
Go back to Jesus—our kid, by the way.
Go further—Babylon. Persia.
Keep going—Temple. Exile. Wandering.
And still, after all that, I’m at a table in Quebec explaining why our fish has cumin in it.
It’s almost funny. If it didn’t wear you down a little.
I’m not looking for pity. This isn’t a complaint.
I’m proud. I know what I carry. I walk into any room with five thousand years behind me. I come from people who kept the lights on through every kind of darkness—and laughed through it, too.
But sometimes, I just wish I didn’t have to explain so much.
All I want is to put down my dish…
…and hear someone say:
“That smells amazing. Tell me the story.”
That’s all.
Mark E. Paull, C.A.C. is a Certified ADHD Coach – IPHM, CMA, IIC&M, CPD Certified
Writer | Lived-Experience Advocate | Type 1 Diabetic since 1967
He has been published in:
The New York Times, The Globe and Mail, Folklife Magazine, Times of Israel, CHADD’s Attention Magazine, The Good Men Project
Features
At 104, Besse Gurevich last original resident of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence
By MYRON LOVE At 104, Besse Gurevich is the last of the original residents of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence. She may also be the oldest member of our Jewish community.
Although her vision and her hearing have diminished considerably, her mind and memory are still intact. A few weeks back, this writer sat down with her in her suite as she recalled a life filled with highs and lows and her many contributions to her community, both in Winnipeg and Fort William before that.
The daughter of Jack and Rebecca Avit, her life’s journey began in 1921 in a home on Carlton Street near Ellice Avenue, near her father’s furniture store. He later operated a cap factory.
When she was ten, the family – she had two brothers and a sister – moved to Manitoba Avenue in the old North End. “My father had put a deposit down on a house on Scotia,” she recalls. “But my parents didn’t feel that the neighbourhood was Jewish enough.”
Her schooling included Peretz School and, like so many of her generation, St. John’s Tech (as it was known back then.) “I was actually supposed to be going to Isaac Newton for high school,” she says. We were living on the wrong side of the tracks for St. John’s. After one day at Isaac Newton, I found a way to transfer to St. John’s.”
In 1940, 19-year-old Bessie Avit married Jack Gurevich, a young man from Fort William. The wedding was marred though, by the sudden, untimely passing of her father.
Following the wedding, Besse moved with her new husband to Fort William where Jack Gurevich worked in retail clothing sales. “We lived in Fort William for 20 years,” she says. “Our three children (Judy, Richard and Howard) were born there.”
She recalls that there were about 200 Jewish families – including her sister and one of her brothers for some years – in town, during the time she lived there. “We were very well known in the community,” she recalls. “I was involved in everything.”
Her community activism continued after the family’s return to her home town. While Jack went to work as a salesman for Western Glove Works, Besse became an indefatigable community volunteer. At one time or another, she served as vice-president of ORT, Hadassah and National Council of Jewish Women in Winnipeg. She was also a long time B’nai Brith member.
In the business world, the highlight of her career was the building of Linden Woods. “I became involved in real estate development for a time,” she recalls. “I was hired by Genstar to develop Linden Woods. The company estimated that it would take about 20 years to complete. I got it done in two.”
She also taught hair dressing for a while. “I worked with many young Jewish brides,” she says.
Recent years have not been kind to Besse Gurevich. Her beloved husband, Jack, died in 2016 – after almost 65 years of marriage. Older son, Richard, passed away in Vancouver in 2018 and, most recently –six months ago – younger son, Howard, followed. She notes that there were 200 mourners at Howard’s funeral.
(Howard Gurevich was in marketing for many years before turning his talents to the art world. In recent years, he was best known for Gurevich Fine Art in the Exchange District and his support of local artists.)
Besse Gurevich celebrated her 100th birthday – which took place at the height of the Covid shutdown – quietly.
While she used to enjoy reading. she is unable to do so any more. She can still listen to television.
And while she has few family members to visit her any more, she does have a group of friends interesting enough from the local theatre scene. For many years, she was a close friend of the late Doreen Brownstone, one of the leading figures in theatre in Winnipeg for more than half a century. Besse became part of the group that would visit Doreen every week and, since Doreen passed on three years ago, the members of the group have continued to visit Besse on a weekly basis.
Features
Winnipeg author’s first novel gripping tale of romance, action and intrigue, set in 15th century Spain and Morocco
By MYRON LOVE “The Chronos of Andalucia”, a novel just released by first-time author Merom Toledano, is a historical romance set in late 15th century Spain and Morocco, filled with passion, action, intrigue, unexpected twists and turns – and, of course, with the requirement of any medieval story – a quest.
The easy-to-read, 190 page book follows the adventures of Catalina, a young woman living by her wits on the streets of Granada in the year 1487, (just after the Christian armies of Ferdinand and Isabella had recaptured all of Spain from the Moors) – while trying to evade the agents of the Inquisition, who had murdered her Jewish mother and Christian father 10 years earlier. She was left with an insatiable desire to learn about astronomy, along with a mysterious map and an astrolabe (an instrument formerly used to make astronomical measurements) – the importance of which will only be unveiled if she can get to the city of Tangier in Morocco.
Early on, there is a reference to Abraham Zacuto, a prominent Spanish rabbi famed for his knowledge of astronomy and astrology.
The action begins when she has a casual interaction with a former Spanish soldier, Diego. When the forces of the Inquisition approach, she flees with the soldier – who is also her love interest – and who helps her to escape. They turn for help to a childhood friend of Catalina’s – Roberta, a nun, who helps them on their perilous journey to Tangier – a journey that includes being captured by pirates, surviving a shipwreck, being separated for a long period of time and, of course, finding each other again and realizing the success of their joint quest.
In his writing, the author paints vivid word pictures of the different characters and beautifully invokes the colour, sights, sounds and scents of the time and the places.
What I found truly remarkable about the writing of “The Chronos of Andalucia” is that English is not Merom Toledano’s first language. The Israeli-born author – he grew up near Haifa – came to Winnipeg with his young family just eight years ago.
“I have had this book in mind for several years now,” says the satellite engineer whose working career takes him to many different parts of the world.
He notes that he has always felt a connection to Spain, Spanish music and literature – a reflection of his family’s modern origins in that country. His great-grandparents, he relates, lived in Toledo – hence the family name, Toledano. His parents lived in Meknes in Morocco while his father attended university in Tangier before making aliyah.
Toledano just published “The Chronos of Andalucia” in April on Amazon. He reports that the book – which is available here at McNally Robinson – has been selling well –close to 100 copies – with orders coming from a bookstore chain in England, a bookstore in Denmark, and one in Italy.
“I have had between 30 and 40 positive reviews so far,” he reports.
Toledano adds that he envisages “The Chronos of Andalucia” to be the first in a series – a la the writer Danielle Steele. He is already working on a sequel – which is hinted at the end of “The Chronos” and, he reports, he is establishing his own independent publishing operation.