Features
Former Winnipegger Zev Cohen publishes book of short stories: “Twilight in Saigon”

Former Winnipegger Zev Cohen, who now lives part of the year in Israel and part of the year in Calgary, has just published a book of short stories titled “Twilight in Saigon”. The book is available for purchase on Amazon. Here is how the book is described on Amazon: This eclectic collection of stories crosses genre lines – war, crime, romance, espionage, science fiction, fantasy –
as it moves in time from World War II through the present and into the distant future. Its common thread is humanity and love in the face of adversity.
A journalist finds love and misfortune in the upheaval of the Vietnam war.
Working for the West, a spy is saved from the hands of the KGB.
A straight-laced British accountant finds the love of his life and evil in Hong Kong.
Immigrants grapple with despair, love, and the vicissitudes of life in new surroundings.
Politics, love and tragedy in the life of a president.
Stationed on a distant world, a Terran ambassador adapts to an alien culture as love overcomes sentient diversity.
A loyal android fights for his cruel leader.
Teenage romance during the Six Day War.
A day in a dog’s life.
…and much more
We present here one of the stories from the book, titled “Gulfs and Pleasures”:
I DO NOT RECOMMEND HAVING SEX WHILE WEARING A GAS MASK. BEYOND the empirical fact that it prevents kissing from being part of the act, it’s difficult to breathe during the strenuous effort. Within a couple of seconds, the mask fogs up, and you can’t see a thing. Moreover, the waves of giggling break your concentration. Try imagining what a naked woman and a naked man look like while wearing gas masks. You’d have to agree with me that it looks funny if not grotesque. But when there’s no choice, you do what you must do and enjoy it, if only in a limited way.
I called Orna’s cell phone as soon as the siren went off in the middle of the night. She picked up after the first ring.
“Are you alright? Is he at home?”
“No. Two hours ago, he was called up and ran off to join the guys and play war. I don’t believe that he’ll be back today. Who knows how long it will last? It’s scary, and we didn’t even prepare an airtight room. He insists that there’s no chance that it will hit us of all people. Anyway, what does he care? He’s sitting in the underground bunker ogling the girl soldiers. Nothing will happen to him.”
Orna was one of the regular participants in my first-year course on the history of European art since the Renaissance that I ran in the large lecture hall of the Gillman building. She used to sit in the front row with the other “stenographers.” Those were the co-eds who conscientiously scribbled down every word that came out of my mouth, including flat jokes and burps. She was older than them, mature and sure of her intelligence amid those Barbie dolls. As opposed to them, she would, from time to time, fire a challenging comment that proved she was listening carefully and under- standing. To my shame, or not, I wasn’t attracted to her brains, although they did arouse my curiosity. As I droned along, lecturing on autopilot, my look wandered from her hazel-green eyes to the swell of her breasts and her shapely legs. What could I do? Even a professor is a human being, isn’t he? On a depressing winter’s day, between perusal of desolate seminar papers on the play of light and shadow in Venetian painting and suicidal thoughts, I ran into her in the cafeteria. The usually hectic and packed room was unusually quiet. We were alone, not counting Sonia behind the counter. Perhaps the atmosphere of impending doom chased the regular café denizens away.
I’ll jump forward because there’s not much to say about the develop- ment of our relationship. We didn’t go for in-depth discussions about art, politics, or interpersonal relations. There was no sophisticated seduction or so-called love at first sight. We were two lonely people with their eyes open, who found something in each other that had been missing up to that specific moment. We went for it. For me, her presence filled a void that was characteristic of my life here since returning from New York and a string of what Erica Jong called “zipless fucks.” She never revealed what she found in me. I doubted that it was about my less than god-like physique. I didn’t ask for fear of bursting the bubble. I didn’t want to find out that I was just a reasonable alternative to Amnon, her here again, gone again husband. And the sex was great.
“Amnon will always be Amnon,” I replied with a tinge of baseless hypocrisy. “With or without Iraqi ground to ground missiles, he’ll always look out for number one. Anyway, you always know how to take care of yourself.”
I couldn’t help adding a bit of pretentious and hollow male know it all superiority, and I said, “But he’s right about one thing. The chance that a missile will land on top of you, in Ramat Gan of all places, is tiny.”
“Yes, definitely, Mr. Professor of art history and great international expert on ballistic missiles,” she shot back, taking me down a few notches. “Do you suggest that I drink a glass of water and calm down? In a minute, you’re going to replace Nachman Shai.”
I tried another tack.
“I can be over at your place in a few minutes to set up an airtight room. I’ve been hoarding plastic sheeting obsessively for months, and I’m sure there’s a technical drawing by Da Vinci that could guide me through it.” She giggled. It worked. She could have guessed that my building skills were negligible, but there was nothing like a bit of self-deprecating humor to bring her around and hide the truth. She accepted my generous offer, and I was on my way before she put down the virtual receiver.
The streets were abandoned at that early hour. The oily puddles left by the rain reflected the brake lights of the few cars on the road. On the radio, there was an endless stream of talking and talking. Nobody could say what was happening. Were we hearing distant explosions or just echoing thunder? Should we put on our masks or take them off? It all just went by me. My thoughts focused on expectations of Orna – hot caresses, electrifying touches, sweet breath, erect nipples, wet, wet, wet.
Here’s another suggestion for my male friends. Don’t come to your lovers tight as a spring, heart beating rapidly with passion and sweaty palms. And it doesn’t matter if it’s the first day of war or any other circumstance. You’ll come, in every meaning of the word, and it’ll be over in seconds. Much too quickly.
We were getting ready for another round when the second siren went off. Being good citizens, we put on our masks and checked the limits of human sexual capabilities under the threat of chemical attack. Between bursts of muffled laughter and the pungent smell of rubber, we got a passing grade for the efforts invested.
The cell phone rang, and Orna answered. “It’s him,” her lips expressed silently. Amnon.
“Yes, I understand. I’ll think about it. I’m not sure that it’s a good idea. She must already be hysterical, and she’ll make me crazy too. That’s the situation. Yeah, it’s disgusting, but I got them out of the attic, and if they tell us to, I’ll put on the mask. Be careful. Call me when you can. Kiss, kiss. Bye.”
She looked pale. “It looks as though it’s serious this time,” she explained after the short conversation with her loving and concerned husband. “His unit is moving, and for the next few days, he’s not coming home and won’t be available on the phone.”
“Where is he going? Somewhere around here?” I wasn’t asking because of some sudden fear for Amnon’s safety. I just wanted to weigh the chances that he might show up by surprise and see what the civilians were doing in the rear…at his home.
“He said that it’s secret and he can’t talk about it. He wants me to move in with his mother in Jerusalem until things calm down. You heard what I told him. It’s out of the question.”
Amnon’s secret location was troubling. My plan to get comfortable in Orna’s bed for the next few days has a whiff of danger about it now. Suddenly he calls. Suddenly he’s worried about her and wants to send her to Jerusalem. What is he scheming? He might even show up unannounced to see if she was okay.
There wasn’t much time to consider the options, as the undulating howl of a siren broke the silence. This time we could distinctly hear the distant boom that followed it. The minute that the all-clear sounded, we were in the car on our way to Eilat. We even sang “Heading South to Eilat” loudly on a childish high at 4 a.m. On the Arava highway, we joined a slowly crawling jam of vehicles. It appeared that others, lots of them, came up with Orna’s brilliant idea to get out of the bull’s eye and as far outside of the missiles’ range as possible.
Orna wanted us to move into a holiday apartment in the southern town owned by her former schoolmate, best friend, and current neighbor, Rachel. Thanks to her outstanding bodily dimensions, Rachel had taken up a modeling career that frequently brought her to Paris, London, and New York. She changed her name to Tiffany and, when traveling, left the keys to her apartment and the Eilat hideaway with Orna. She often invited her and Amnon to use the Eilat domicile. I tried to convince Orna to come to a hotel with me to survive the war in bed with room service.
Near Beer Ora, Amnon called again. He heard as we did that a missile had hit Ramat Gan, destroying his and my low probability theory.
“Calm down. I’m still at home, and nothing happened on our street,” she told him. “There was a giant explosion, pretty close by, and the walls shook, but nothing more than that.” The lies slipped off her tongue smoothly. What else could she say?
“I might go to your mother’s later. In the meantime, if you can’t reach me on the phone, it’s because I’m down in the shelter. I don’t trust that plastic sheeting that we don’t have anyway.”
After saying goodbye with kisses, she reported no chance that he would make it home in the coming days. He must make do with the underwear he took with him. I breathed easier.
In Eilat, we dragged from hotel to hotel, the bed and room service plan falling to pieces. The same scene played out everywhere. Lobbies had turned into battlefields between separate Jewish combatants. Israel war-time solidarity gave way to exchanges of curses, pushing and shoving, and an awakening of Sephardi-Ashkenazi infighting. Never did hotel managers discover so many long-lost close friends from school and the army, relatives on the side of granny from Afula, and various other people with exclusive rights. Everyone was squeezing up against the reception desks trying to get hold of even the smallest partially furnished closet. It was a nightmare. In one of the luxury properties, the security guards were unsuccessfully attempting to take apart an outpost of suitcases and sleeping bags established by two families with a hive full of nervous brats.
Again, it’s Amnon on the phone. Orna shouldn’t try to reach him at his unit. He won’t be available due to radio silence and communications security. That’s fine, I thought. The walls have ears.
We dredged up Orna’s original plan. In a few minutes, we found the holiday apartment building. It was a nondescript structure with balconies overlooking a dilapidated neighborhood minimarket. The elevator was out of service, so we climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. On each landing, we stopped for a couple of moments of hurried necking, expecting what was coming. Hands were sent out to intimate parts, lips locked, tongues writhed. As Orna tried to fish the keys out of her bag while loosening my belt, I was busily unbuttoning her blouse to get at her bra.
The door opened, and we fell into the apartment. A pleasantly cold gust of air from the air conditioner welcomed us in. Someday had left it on since the last visit. We couldn’t wait for the bed. Clothes were rapidly removed and thrown aside, and the plush carpet hosted our vigorous sexual duet.
Eventually, things calmed down, and we could hear muffled, unidenti- fiable voices coming from somewhere else in the apartment: mumbling, quiet moaning, a cadence of creaking. We got up to check the noises that seemed to be coming from behind the closed but flimsy door of the bedroom. Just in case, I picked up a thick rolling pin in the kitchen. I pushed the door open, and no terrorist jumped me. Only Orna’s somewhat hysterical laughter penetrated my consciousness. Amnon pulled back from between Tiffany/Rachel’s legs spread wide as though bitten by a snake and stared at us incredulously.
Features
Digital entertainment options continue expanding for the local community
For decades, the rhythm of life in Winnipeg has been dictated by the seasons. When the deep freeze sets in and the sidewalks become treacherous with ice, the natural tendency for many residents—especially the older generation—has been to retreat indoors. In the past, this seasonal hibernation often came at the cost of social connection, limiting interactions to telephone calls or the occasional brave venture out for essential errands.
However, the landscape of leisure and community engagement has undergone a radical transformation in recent years, driven by the rapid adoption of digital tools.
Virtual gatherings replace traditional community center meetups
The transition from physical meeting spaces to digital platforms has been one of the most significant changes in local community life. Where weekly schedules once revolved around driving to a community center for coffee and conversation, many seniors now log in from the comfort of their favorite armchairs.
This shift has democratized access to socialization, particularly for those with mobility issues or those who no longer drive. Programs that were once limited by the physical capacity of a room or the ability of attendees to travel are now accessible to anyone with an internet connection.
Established organizations have pivoted to meet this digital demand with impressive results. The Jewish Federation’s digital outreach has seen substantial engagement, with their “Federation Flash” e-publications exceeding industry standards for open rates. This indicates a community that is hungry for information and connection, regardless of the medium.
Online gaming provides accessible leisure for homebound adults
While communication and culture are vital, the need for pure recreation and mental stimulation cannot be overlooked. Long winter evenings require accessible forms of entertainment that keep the mind active and engaged.
For many older adults, the digital realm has replaced the physical card table or the printed crossword puzzle. Tablets and computers now host a vast array of brain-training apps, digital jigsaw puzzles, and strategy games that offer both solitary and social play options.
The variety of available digital diversions is vast, catering to every level of technical proficiency and interest. Some residents prefer the quiet concentration of Sudoku apps or word searches that help maintain cognitive sharpness. Others gravitate towards more dynamic experiences. For those seeking a bit of thrill from the comfort of home, exploring regulated entertainment options like Canadian real money slots has become another facet of the digital leisure mix. These platforms offer a modern twist on traditional pastimes, accessible without the need to travel to a physical venue.
However, the primary driver for most digital gaming adoption remains cognitive health and stress relief. Strategy games that require planning and memory are particularly popular, often recommended as a way to keep neural pathways active.
Streaming services bring Israeli culture to Winnipeg living rooms
Beyond simple socialization and entertainment, technology has opened new avenues for cultural enrichment and education. For many in the community, staying connected to Jewish heritage and Israeli culture is a priority, yet travel is not always feasible.
Streaming technology has bridged this gap, bringing the sights and sounds of Israel directly into Winnipeg homes. Through virtual tours, livestreamed lectures, and interactive cultural programs, residents can experience a sense of global connection that was previously difficult to maintain without hopping on a plane.
Local programming has adapted to facilitate this cultural exchange. Events that might have previously been attended by a handful of people in a lecture hall are now broadcast to hundreds. For instance, the community has seen successful implementation of educational sessions like the “Lunch and Learn” programs, which cover vital topics such as accessibility standards for Jewish organizations.
By leveraging video conferencing, organizers can bring in expert speakers from around the world—including Israeli emissaries—to engage with local seniors at centers like Gwen Secter, creating a rich tapestry of global dialogue.
Balancing digital engagement with face-to-face connection
As the community embraces these digital tools, the conversation is shifting toward finding the right balance between screen time and face time. The demographics of the community make this balance critical. Recent data highlights that 23.6% of Jewish Winnipeggers are over the age of 65, a statistic that underscores the importance of accessible technology. For this significant portion of the population, digital tools are not just toys but essential lifelines that mitigate the risks of loneliness associated with aging in place.
Looking ahead, the goal for local organizations is to integrate these digital successes into a cohesive strategy. The ideal scenario involves using technology to facilitate eventual in-person connections—using an app to organize a meetup, or a Zoom call to plan a community dinner.
As Winnipeg moves forward, the lessons learned during the winters of isolation will likely result in a more inclusive, connected, and technologically savvy community that values every interaction, whether it happens across a table or across a screen.
Features
Susan Silverman: diversification personified
By GERRY POSNER I recently had the good fortune to meet, by accident, a woman I knew from my past, that is my ancient past. Her name is Susan Silverman. Reconnecting with her was a real treat. The treat became even better when I was able to learn about her life story.
From the south end of Winnipeg beginning on Ash Street and later to 616 Waverley Street – I can still picture the house in my mind – and then onward and upwards, Susan has had quite a life. The middle daughter (sisters Adrienne and Jo-Anne) of Bernie Silverman and Celia (Goldstein), Susan was a student at River Heights, Montrose and then Kelvin High School. She had the good fortune to be exposed to music early in her life as her father was (aside from being a well known businessman) – an accomplished jazz pianist. He often hosted jam sessions with talented Black musicians. As well, Susan could relate to the visual arts as her mother became a sculptor and later, a painter.
When Susan was seven, she (and a class of 20 others), did three grades in two years. The result was that that she entered the University of Manitoba at the tender age of 16 – something that could not happen today. What she gained the most, as she looks back on those years, were the connections she made and friendships formed, many of which survive and thrive to this day. She was a part of the era of fraternity formals, guys in tuxedos and gals in fancy “ cocktail dresses,” adorned with bouffant hair-dos and wrist corsages.
Upon graduation, Susan’s wanderlust took her to London, England. That move ignited in her a love of travel – which remains to this day. But that first foray into international travel lasted a short time and soon she was back in Winnipeg working for the Children’s Aid Society. That job allowed her to save some money and soon she was off to Montreal. It was there, along with her roommate, the former Diane Unrode, that she enjoyed a busy social life and a place for her to take up skiing. She had the good fortune of landing a significant job as an executive with an international chemical company that allowed her to travel the world as in Japan, Hong Kong, New Zealand, Australia, Mexico, the Netherlands and even the USA. Not a bad gig.
In 1983, her company relocated to Toronto. She ended up working for companies in the forest products industry as well the construction technology industry. After a long stint in the corporate world, Susan began her own company called “The Resourceful Group,” providing human resource and management consulting services to smaller enterprises. Along the way, she served on a variety of boards of directors for both profit and non-profit sectors.
Even with all that, Susan was really just beginning. Upon her retirement in 2006, she began a life of volunteering. That role included many areas, from mentoring new Canadians in English conversation through JIAS (Jewish Immigrant Aid Services) to visiting patients at a Toronto rehabilitation hospital, to conducting minyan and shiva services. Few people volunteer in such diverse ways. She is even a frequent contributor to the National Post Letters section, usually with respect to the defence of Israel
and Jewish causes.
The stars aligned on New Year’s Eve, 1986, when she met her soon to be husband, Murray Leiter, an ex- Montrealer. Now married for 36 plus years, they have been blessed with a love of travel and adventure. In the early 1990s they moved to Oakville and joined the Temple Shaarei Beth -El Congregation. They soon were involved in synagogue life, making life long friends there. Susan and Murray joined the choir, then Susan took the next step and became a Bat Mitzvah. Too bad there is no recording of that moment. Later, when they returned to Toronto, they joined Temple Emanu-el and soon sang in that choir as well.
What has inspired both Susan and Murray to this day is the concept of Tikkun Olam. Serving as faith visitors at North York General Hospital and St. John’s Rehab respectively is just one of the many volunteer activities that has enriched both of their lives and indeed the lives of the people they have assisted and continue to assist.
Another integral aspect of Susan’s life has been her annual returns to Winnipeg. She makes certain to visit her parents, grandparents, and other family members at the Shaarey Zedek Cemetery. She also gets to spend time with her cousins, Hilllaine and Richard Kroft and friends, Michie end Billy Silverberg, Roz and Mickey Rosenberg, as well as her former brother-in-law Hy Dashevsky and his wife Esther. She says about her time with her friends: “how lucky we are to experience the extraordinary Winnipeg hospitality.”
Her Winnipeg time always includes requisite stops at the Pancake House, Tre Visi Cafe and Assiniboine Park. Even 60 plus years away from the “‘peg,” Susan feels privileged to have grown up in such a vibrant Jewish community. The city will always have a special place in her heart. Moreover, she seems to have made a Winnipegger out of her husband. That would be a new definition of Grow Winnipeg.
Features
Beneath the Prairie Calm: Manitoba’s Growing Vulnerability to Influence Networks
By MARTIN ZEILIG After reading Who’s Behind the Hard Right in Canada? A Reference Guide to Canada’s Disinformation Network — a report published by the Canadian AntiHate Network that maps the organizations, influencers, and funding pipelines driving coordinated right wing disinformation across the country — I’m left with a blunt conclusion: Canada is losing control of its political story, and Manitoba is far more exposed than we like to admit.
We often imagine ourselves as observers of political upheaval elsewhere — the U.S., Europe, even Alberta.
But the document lays out a sprawling, coordinated ecosystem of think tanks, influencers, strategists, and international organizations that is already shaping political attitudes across the Prairies. Manitoba is not an exception. In many ways, we’re a prime target.
The report describes a pipeline of influence that begins with global organizations like the International Democracy Union and the Atlas Network. These groups are not fringe. They are well funded, deeply connected, and explicitly designed to shape political outcomes across borders. Their Canadian partners translate global ideological projects into local messaging, policy proposals, and campaign strategies.
But the most concerning part isn’t the international influence — it’s the domestic machinery built to amplify it.
The Canada Strong and Free Network acts as a central hub linking donors, strategists, and political operatives. Around it sits a constellation of digital media outlets and influencer accounts that specialize in outrage driven content. They take think tank talking points, strip out nuance, and convert them into viral narratives designed to provoke anger rather than understanding.
CAHN’s analysis reinforces this point. The report describes Canada’s far right ecosystem as “coordinated and emboldened,” with actors who deliberately craft emotionally charged narratives meant to overwhelm rather than inform. They operate what the report characterizes as an “outrage feedback loop,” where sensational claims spread faster than journalists or researchers can contextualize them. The goal is not persuasion through evidence, but domination through repetition.
This is not healthy democratic debate.
It is a parallel information system engineered to overwhelm journalism, distort public perception, and create the illusion of widespread grassroots demand. And because these groups operate outside formal political structures, they face far fewer transparency requirements. Manitobans have no clear way of knowing who funds them, who directs them, or what their longterm objectives are.
If this feels abstract, look closer to home.
Manitoba has become fertile ground for these networks. Our province has a long history of political moderation, but also deep economic anxieties — especially in rural communities, resource dependent regions, and areas hit hard by demographic change. These are precisely the conditions that make disinformation ecosystems effective.
When people feel unheard, the loudest voices win.
We saw hints of this during the pandemic, when convoy aligned groups found strong support in parts of Manitoba. We see it now in the rise of local influencers who echo national talking points almost in real time. And we see it in the growing hostility toward institutions — from public health to the CBC — that once formed the backbone of civic trust in this province.
CAHN’s research also shows how quickly these networks can grow. Some nationalist groups have seen membership spikes of more than 60 percent in short periods, driven by targeted digital campaigns that exploit economic uncertainty and cultural anxiety. These surges are not organic. They are engineered.
The document also highlights the rise of explicitly exclusionary nationalist groups promoting ideas like “remigration,” a euphemism for mass deportation of nonEuropean immigrants. These groups remain small, but Manitoba’s demographic reality — a province where immigration is essential to economic survival — makes their presence especially dangerous. When extremist ideas begin to circulate within mainstream political networks, they gain a legitimacy they have not earned.
Even more troubling is how these ideas migrate.
CAHN warns that concepts once confined to fringe spaces are now being repackaged in sanitized language and pushed through influencers, think tanks, and political operatives seeking legitimacy. When these narratives appear alongside conventional policy debates, they gain a veneer of normalcy that obscures their origins.
None of this means Manitoba is on the brink of political collapse.
Our institutions remain resilient, and our political culture is still fundamentally moderate. But sovereignty is not just about borders or military power. It is also about information — who controls it, who manipulates it, and who benefits from its distortion. When opaque networks shape public opinion through coordinated disinformation, that sovereignty erodes.
CAHN’s broader warning is that trust itself is under attack. Farright networks intentionally target public institutions — media, universities, public health agencies, cultural organizations — because weakening trust creates a vacuum they can fill with their own narratives. A democracy becomes vulnerable when people no longer share a common set of facts.
The danger is not that Manitoba will suddenly adopt the politics of another country. The danger is that we will drift into a political environment shaped by forces we don’t see, don’t understand, and cannot hold accountable. A democracy cannot function if its information ecosystem is captured by actors who thrive on outrage, opacity, and division.
The solution is not censorship. It is transparency. It is rebuilding trust in journalism. It is demanding higher standards from the organizations that shape our political discourse. Manitobans deserve to know who is influencing their democracy and why.
We are not immune.
And believing we are immune is the most dangerous illusion of all.
