Features
Bygone Winnipeg: A fictitous story based on true events: University of Manitoba Faculty of Medicine 1932-1944
By DAVID TOPPER Call me a witness. I was there and heard almost everything that’s relevant to this story.
Yet, thinking deeper, I guess you could call me a spy – well, at least, some may say that, for there was an element of skulduggery in my employment situation. It was all because of my father, who changed my name when I was born. Of course, we’re all born with a surname, but―
Wait. Let’s first go back to my grandfather, Moshe Levinstein, who was born in Russia, and who as a young man experienced a small pogrom – small in terms of later ones – which was enough to convince him to emigrate as fast as he could. Several people were killed, a house was burned down, and there was a rape – that ‘small’ event drove him to leave Russia, forever. He never looked back, even when Winnipeg, Canada turned out not to be quite the paradise he expected. Because he quickly found that anti-Semitism was endemic.
My father, Solomon Levinstein, while growing up, saw the struggle his parents went through being Jews in a Christian country (with the English majority Protestant, and the minority French Catholic), and he wanted to protect me as best he could when I was born. He wanted me to fit into the social fabric more than he ever could. And since I turned out to be a girl, there were even more barriers on my horizon – ‘closed doors,’ he called it. He told us that he was thinking about all this when I was still in my mother’s womb. You see, he liked to ‘plan ahead,’ which was another of his favourite phrases.
Oh, speaking of being in the womb: my grandmother died when my mother was eight months pregnant with me, and so I was supposed to be named some variation of Minnie Levinstein, as is the Jewish tradition. But since my father was obsessed with my fitting in better than he did, and he also wanted me to get through some otherwise ‘closed doors’ – I was named Mildred Evans. He said Evans and ‘Levins’ rhyme, and so do Millie and Minnie. It was also a nice Aryan-sounding name, “as the Germans would say,” he said.
Mind you, while growing up as Mildred Evans, I nonetheless didn’t hide my Jewishness. Indeed, I often went to synagogue on Saturday/Sabbath. But then, I also often went to church on Sunday and―
Um, I guess I need to explain that. You see, my best friend was Mary O’Brian, which tells you that she was probably Irish Catholic, which she was. Now, here’s my perspective in all of this. I was very precocious and very smart and I read a lot. I liked languages. On weekends I enjoyed Hebrew in the Synagogue and Latin in the Church. Two ancient languages, one dead except for the Christian Mass, and the other kept alive in prayer and Torah study. Plus, you must remember that Latin was still taught in schools at this time; it was part of a Liberal Arts education in the first half of the 20th century. Many universities required High School Latin for entrance to their freshman classes. As well, to me, the Mass was like an opera, with singing and those glorious organ pipes vibrating and echoing throughout the church. Mary and I, by-the-by, went to the beautiful Cathedral in St. Boniface, with the astonishing and huge Rose window. You see, there were no organs in any synagogue. And so, it was not so strange for this Jew to enjoy the Catholic Mass as a musical event. Think of Bach, a devout Lutheran, who wrote his wonderful Mass in B-minor.
Anyway, to me the Mass was a show, and it was free – well not completely free, since the church always passed around a collection basket near the end of the service – a sort of pay-what-may type thing, you could say. I remember that Mary, when I took her to her first synagogue service, was surprised that there was no collection at the end, especially since after the service there was an oneg in the social hall, with food galore. But I digress.
The service of the Mass, to me, was not entirely unfamiliar, since there were many prayers and texts that borrowed passages from what they called The Old Testament: many of the sayings of the prophets, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and others. “But what about the stuff on Jesus?” you may be asking, eh? Well, you see, I read a lot of history, as I told Mary – and I must say she was shocked when I first told her this; although eventually she (well, sort of) agreed with me – well, I told her that Jesus was not a Christian, but a Jew named Yeshua, and he always was; ‘Jesus’ was the later Latinized name. He had some differences with the Jewish hierarchy at the time, along with problems with the Romans who occupied the Holy Land, so much so that they (the Romans) crucified him. It was after his death that Christianity was born, due in large part to the preaching and writing of a Jew name Saul, whose name was later Latinized to ‘Paul’ after he had a vision of the resurrected Yeshua/Jesus. Saul/Paul made a strong case for rejecting many Jewish practices (such as circumcision), so much so that his sect broke free from its Jewish root. They became known as ‘Christians,’ since Paul preached that Yeshua was the real messiah (or ‘anointed one’), which in Greek is ‘Kristos,’ later Latinized to ‘Christus.’
Mary laughed when I said that therefore you might call the birth of Christianity a Jewish conspiracy. “Oh Millie,” she said. “You’re so smart it sometimes scares me. What is going to happen to you?”
Good question.
So, what did happen to me? Well it helped being smart, that’s for sure. Very smart, indeed. But not pushy. No, not pushy or impudent in any way. Not at all. You see, I was (and still am) happy with less – a lot less than I probably could have had. Yes, I lived (and still live) parsimoniously.
Well, I got a university education with excellent grades (as you might expect) but I didn’t go any further, although I could have, and was encouraged to do so. But I saw the university system as a barrier to women. And I was not inclined to fight the system. As I said, I was satisfied with less. While still a student at the University of Manitoba, I got part-time secretarial jobs, since I was a fabulous typist and proof reader. Even before I graduated, I was offered a full-time position as a secretary in the English Department, since their long-time-serving woman was thinking of retiring. And in the end, after graduation, I got the job.
It was the best decision of my life, looking back on it. You see, in this job I could go home at 5pm to my modest house not far from the university and forget about the job until the next morning. In the warmer weather I could walk to and fro; although in the dead of winter I took the short bus ride. After all, it was Winnipeg. And at home I could read whatever I wanted. Play the piano. Do my art work: drawing (pencil and/or pen & ink) and painting (only watercolour). Listen to the radio. And I read as much as I wanted: lots of books, magazines, and newspapers. I got the New York Times Sunday edition in the mail every week; it was a bit late, of course, but there were so many articles of interest that it was a source of almost endless reading throughout the week. For example, I recently came across this quote from the famous Albert Einstein in an article about him: “Perhaps it is due to anti-Semitism that we can preserve ourselves as a race; at least, this is what I believe.” I’ve been thinking a lot lately about this, especially in light of what I am going to tell you later. Incidentally, when I was a student, there were no Jewish professors on the faculty. Even as late as the mid-1940s, there were still only four Jewish professors.
In contrast to my life, my boss’s home life was filled with lectures to prepare, and even on weekends there were papers to mark, exams to compose and later to mark. And so it went. He often told me I was fortunate to be able to start a book and just read it at my leisure, right through if I wished. He confided in me that he seldom had time to read half of what he wanted to. I believe he liked talking to me, since I was smart. He often asked my advice regarding even the content of the texts that I was typing for him. We got along swimmingly, as you might surmise. We had a very good rela―
Okay, before you start fantasizing further, let me stop you. There was nothing beyond our professional relationship. Nothing at all. Throughout the university, in all my jobs – nothing. No flirting, never. I had no affairs in those years in various secretarial positions, if that’s what you’re thinking. And here’s why: I am not attractive. I knew this in High School, and was satisfied with it. Remember, I like a simple life, and I discovered that this unattractive state makes life uncomplicated – or, at least, less complicated than it otherwise might be. I could see among my classmates in school that the (let’s call them) ‘attractive’ girls had a life that was a roller-coaster ride. Up, happy, being gleeful; down, way down, when a guy dumped them. Yes, I saw some girls get really down; had to take pills; some even admitted to hospital. I thought: who needs this crap? I don’t want those ups and downs; I want a straight ride, flat. “Yes, just flat,” as I told Mary. She laughed, “Well that’s not the only thing that’s flat for you, huh”? We both had a good laugh at that. Remember we were best friends, and each could take a joke.
So, I tell you: my so-called ‘unattractiveness’ was a gift. Which I took and ran with, you might say. Today, you see: I wear no make-up, have a simple straight hair-do extending below my ears but not touching my shoulders, wear loose and non-flashy blouses, have only skirts far below my knees, and I wear sensible shoes – namely, flats (oh, that word again). All this ensured that my relationships with the men under whom I worked at the university would remain strictly professional. Let’s put it this way. I always had a good night’s solo sleep, if you know what I mean.
Of course, this is not to say that I never had an intimate relationship with anyone, but rather that it was not with any of my bosses – and I will leave it at that, for this has gone far beyond the original topic. But – and I emphasize this – all this is not a digression, for I very much want you to know about me and my life at the University of Manitoba, so as to put this story into context and to show how and why what I am going to tell you should not only be believed, but also taken seriously.
Further, to set the stage: I got along well with my fellow all-female secretaries and other staff at the university. My plainness was interpreted as a sort of prissiness, which is not true, but they didn’t know that. As Mildred Evans, I was asked what church I went to, and I told them St. Boniface Cathedral, since I did go to it when my friend Mary and I were kids, so strictly speaking my answer was no lie. Although I know their question had a different meaning. (Incidentally, Mary is now married and living in Toronto, raising her four kids.) They then asked why I go all the way to the other city to attend church and I told them it was about the music and the organ. They understood, and asked no more.
Also, due to my modest behaviour, they questioned why I was not a nun, and it led to them jokingly calling me Sister Millie. I said there was no such St. Mildred, although this may not be true, but then what do Protestants know about saints? – since Luther, Calvin, and the others eschewed them, along with the Virgin Mary, from their theology. And speaking of joking: being ‘Sister Millie’ among these Protestants, I was in an opportune position to reprimand them when they occasionally told anti-Semitic jokes or made similar remarks. And I did. As an art-lover, I also took the occasions to lecture them on the destruction of so much art by the Protestants during the Reformation: defacing and burning paintings, smashing statues, destroying stained-glass windows, and more. They knew none of this; it was a shock to them. They were not taught such things in Sunday-school, they said.
And that brings me to the reason for telling you all this in the first place. For, as I began, I said I was a witness, or even a spy. But for what? Well, for what may be called the backroom conversations. The secret disc―
Wait, I’m getting ahead. Uh, let’s start here: After many years with the English Department, I was promoted to being secretary for the new Dean of Medicine, Dr. Warren Matthews. It began for me at end of term in late May 1932. Although the Dean’s term began in September, he occasionally came around during the summer months to bring things (books, files, and such) so that his office was ready in the fall. He got to know me a bit and seemed very pleased and comfortable with me. His wife, Eleanor, even came with him one summer day – I believe, to check me out. She was nicely dressed, looking very Anglo-Saxonish prim and proper, if there is such a thing. When she saw me, she first looked me straight in my eyes and, while she was saying some pleasantries, she panned down my body to my feet and back up to my face, and ended with a self-assured smile on her face. I passed, since I was clearly no threat to her sexuality, whatever there was of it.
I spent the summer getting adjusted to the new office, going through the files and sometimes reorganizing them my way, and changing some things around in the physical space of the office. For one thing, I preferred keeping my office door to the university closed, but with a COME IN sign, when I was there. I didn’t like the constant background noise and chatter, as well as obtrusive eyes walking past an open door. That summer, I also had lots of typing to do both for the new Dean and for others in the Department of Medicine.
By the fall, when the Dean came in for the new term, we could get right to work. And we did. We quickly developed a good working relationship. He was obviously comfortable with me, for he shortly said that I should just call him ‘Warren.’ Interestingly, he liked me keeping my door closed, since he preferred keeping his door open. He said he was a bit claustrophobic, plus he liked to hear my typing – it had a musical rhythm that he found restful. Importantly, this meant that I was privy to confidential remarks by the Dean and those who ran the administration of the university when they were in his office. In short, I was able to eavesdrop. And eavesdrop I did! And that’s why I’m telling you this.
But this spying came later. The reason I am telling you this is because of an event that took place not long after he got settled into his new office. I can still remember the day. It was first thing in the morning, and after the “how are you” etc., he told me to look at the records of students admitted to the Medical School in terms of their ethnic origin, particularly noting how many of them were Jews. “We already have too many Jews, Millie,” he said. It was a jolt, and although I’m sure I showed no visible signs of my reaction, internally I was shaken. So much so that I almost blew my cover. Yes, even as Mildred Evans, Sister Millie, it―
Well, it’s hard to explain. I was tempted, of course, to ask why, … but, of course, I didn’t. “I’ll get to it right away, Warren,” was the best thing I could say at the time, and I turned away walking toward a filing cabinet, as any loyal Anglo-Saxon secretary would do, but with shaking hands that I hid from my boss.
I found that on the application form there was a line for ‘racial origin,’ and so I was able to do my job. I discovered that throughout the 1920s there were usually about 64 students per year admitted, with 18-25% being Jewish. Other ethnic groups also came – Ukrainian, Polish, German, and so forth, but in smaller percentages. Most, not surprisingly, were Anglo-Saxon – good English stock, according to Warren. When I presented my finding to him, I added another category, and I prefaced it by saying that I hoped he didn’t think I was being impudent in doing so. It was the number of women admitted, which was very low – often none, sometimes one or two. Warren smiled and said it was fine for me to be “conscious of my sex” and he blushed after he said it. I think hearing himself saying the word ‘sex’ out-loud to me, well, it jolted him – the way, on the previous day, his word ‘Jews’ jolted me.
Subsequently, my eavesdropping elicited more examples of anti-Semitism endemic to the faculty, as he chatted in his office with other administrators, keeping his door open. They all agreed. “Too many pushy Jews.” “Since they invariably get high grades in school, if we don’t put a lid on the enrolment, soon they will all be Jews.” “If we don’t do something now, well Jews will take over the faculty.” “First the Jews and then Ukrainians or Poles.” “At least the Frenchies have their own college in St. Boniface.” And so it went – a litany of bigotry, discrimination, and prejudice straight from the mouths of the administrative faculty to the ears of Mildred Evans. At most, a few made mild queries as to the efficacy of it, and the possibility of “aggressive Jewish lawyers” filing a legal case against the practice.
In the end there was a quota system initiated for all incoming classes, keeping the Jewish enrolment low. In 1936, for example, only nine got in. In later years even fewer. Out of 60 or more students, sometimes only four to six were Jewish. Of course, this meant that Anglo-Saxon students with far lower grades than Jewish students were admitted in place of them. And this was for a school to train physicians, dealing with life and death. “Just what we need – dumber doctors,” I told my Jewish friends. You see, I didn’t hide my clandestine information. I told anyone who would listen to me. Unfortunately, where it might make a difference, I got indifference, brought on by fear. Rabbis were afraid to do anything. They went along with the quota rule. “Don’t make waves, things could get worse,” was a standard response. Yes, they went along with the quota system. “Don’t look like a ‘pushy Jew,’ at least we get the ones that we get,” I was told. “Look, honey, be happy with four to six doctors a year,” I was told to my face by a rabbi’s wife. The same thing from the Jewish establishment. The B’nai Brith was afraid to do anything because it might backfire and only make matters worse. Similarly, for the Canadian Jewish Congress, which was reluctant to get involved in this Winnipeg issue. “What wimps,” I told my friends. I did the best I could. I didn’t blow my cover.
For me this thing came to a head in 1943, when the med school again turned down many Jewish and some other ‘ethnic’ students, so as to admit Anglo-Saxon students with (in this case) not only lower grades – but they also admitted some students who didn’t even pass their university exams and thus were required to go to summer school! To me, this was the last straw. The Jewish students’ Avakah Zionist Society got wind of this and began to bring all this out into the open. They eventually got the help of a Jewish lawyer and, yes, a fuss was raised and pressure was put on the Board of the University of Manitoba.
Finally, in 1944, after a dozen years of overt discrimination, the Medical School removed the racial and religious categories in their application. The quota rule finally ended. I celebrated with my Jewish friends. And, yes, Mildred “Prissy” Evans got a little tipsy.
Speaking of celebrating. In 1949, Dr. Warren Matthews was awarded an Honourary Doctor of Laws for his dedicated service to the University. I was invited to a private party for him, but I made up some excuse as to why I couldn’t make it. You see, I was afraid that if I did go, I would not be able to control myself, and proper Mildred Evans, aka Sister Millie, would perform the very unladylike act of making a scene by copiously spitting into the party’s punch bowl.
* * *
Features
“A Brilliant Life” – biography of one Holocaust survivor who, like so many other survivors, married someone just to try to establish some sense of normalcy
Book Review by JULIE KIRSH, “former Sun Media News Research Director
In 1946 my parents met, fell in love and married. In 1947 they had their first child. This was not unusual. However, they were 20 years apart in age.
After World War II, Holocaust survivors who had lost everything – family, home and community, sought to rebuild their lives by marrying, having children and restoring their shattered lives.
They wanted to experience normality which meant having a spouse, children and recreating a family that had been lost in the flames of the Holocaust.
The survivors were few in number so age difference, religious background or compatibility were not as crucially scrutinized as before the war.
The author of “My Brilliant Life’s” grandmother, Genya, whose family was from Poland, married young and was told by her religious father-in-law that she had to wear a sheitel or wig. Genya balked, but since all other Jewish observances were met, the marriage was sanctioned
Genya and her husband Dolfie had five children. The youngest child was Mira, mother of the author, Rachelle Unreich, who has written poignantly of her family’s history in “A Brilliant Life.”
In 2017, in Melbourne, Australia, 88-year-old Mira Unreich was diagnosed with cancer. Her journalist daughter, Rachelle, knew that time was limited and so she interviewed her mother extensively, to learn about her life before, during and after the Holocaust.
As her mother recounts, the transports started in Slovakia in March 1942, when Mira was one month shy of fifteen.
Dolfie, Mira’s father, was clever and prescient. He obtained false Christian papers for Mira and sent her to rent a room and work for a fabric store owner. He also told his family repeatedly that if they were in danger, each person should look after themself. Many times he said, you must “just save yourselves”.
By the end of August 1944, the noose around the family had tightened. Slovakia was not a safe haven for Jews and the end was imminent for the remaining Jewish families in Dolfie’s town. One day, SS officers burst into their home and shot Dolfie in front of his wife Genya, son Yanchi, and daughter Mira. This tragedy shadowed the lives of the family up to the present.
In Melbourne, Mira met and married Pavel, who was thirteen years her senior. Again, the match was not as much a love match, but for Mira it was a chance to have security and comfort after all that she had gone through in the Holocaust.
When Mira married in 1946, she was only 19 years old. Like my own 22-year-old mother – who married a man 20 years older than herself, Mira was fun-loving and strove to make up for lost time.
Less than two years after liberation, Mira gave birth to a son and then two daughters. The family moved to Paris, where Mira enjoyed everything the City of Lights had to offer. Pavel, on the other hand, was serious, less social, and more of an observer than a participant in life.
In 1959, Australia seemed remote and safe, a vast land of opportunity with a citizen army that was founded as an entity to defend all her people regardless of race or religion. At the time, Australia hosted the largest community of Holocaust survivors in the world outside of Israel. By 1960, Holocaust survivors and their families made up 60% of Melbourne’s Jewish community.
Eventually, Pavel left Mira and the family and died in Belgium, never remarrying. Mira met Manny, eleven years her senior, whose family had also experienced tragedy in the Holocaust. They were drawn to each other. In 1966, Rachelle, the author of A Brilliant Life, was born.
The title of the book reflects the kind of person Mira was. She was affectionate, considerate, and a capable mother who accommodated her children’s needs.
Mira, like most Holocaust survivors, had a number tattooed on her arm. As children of survivors, we see the tattoo as a blight and painful reminder. However the author had another insight. For her, the tattoo designated someone who could work and more importantly – had been chosen to live.
As a child of survivors, I have asked myself the question that the author asks Mira in Chapter 37: Why had she survived when so many others had not? The author believes that her mother had a purity, a spiritual honesty, that drew others to her, and that ultimately helped her to survive.
Mira was honoured by her children in death as she was in life. The words on her tombstone were stark and plain spoken: “She witnessed her father murdered by the Nazis/Her mother, brother and sister were killed in the Holocaust/She survived four concentration camps/yet she still loved her life with an unwavering positive attitude.”
My father survived Auschwitz and Buchenwald. Like Mira, he was a positive, happy man, who loved his family and adopted country. Mira, like my father, had seen the worst of humanity, yet they both chose to concentrate on the best of it.
Why is this Holocaust memoir different from others? Trauma runs deep and very often defines the post Holocaust lives of many survivors. For Mira, her trauma was superseded by her innate resilience, her strength of character and her capacity to overcome tragedy. Her hopeful nature gave sustenance and meaning to her family.
This is a story that resonated for me personally, underscored by the universal themes of love and hope common to all.
“A Brilliant Life”
by Rachelle Unreich.
Published by Black & White Publishing, 2023
Features
Tiblisi, Georgia – a new hotbed for dental tourism, especially for Israelis
Introduction: A few weeks ago we received an interesting email from someone who asked whether we would consider publishing a story about dental tourism in Georgia (not the Georgia in the U.S. – the Georgia that is a former Soviet republic). In that email we were told that Georgia has become an especially popular destination for Israelis looking for quality dental care at affordable prices. So we responded: Go ahead and send us something.
The author of what you’re about to read, whose name is Constantin Dicusar, admits that English is not his first language, so he asks that you forgive any awkward phrasing. But I’m sure that, if you read at least part of this story you’ll be intrigued by what he has to say about a part of the world that I doubt many of our readers know much about.
By CONSTANTIN DICUSAR Tbilisi, Georgia, is the latest destination for Jews from all over the world seeking dental tourism. Dr. Iza Dzidzikashvili, co-founder of a dental clinic in Tiblisi, says: “Jews come from all over the world and choose Georgia because of the low level of anti-Semitism, the low prices and the high quality, as well as the good relations between Israel and Georgia.”
Georgia is a country in the South Caucasus that is relatively little known in the West and in Canada. In 1991, it declared its independence from the USSR, becoming one of the first Soviet union republics to break away from the former imperial power, which was to collapse a year later.
Although it has only very recently chosen to pursue the path of European integration, Georgian society had already distinguished itself long before independence as a nation with deep-rooted Christian-European cultural and civilisational values. Georgian hospitality bears many similarities to that of Moldova, and Georgian wines, renowned throughout the world, have made Georgia the cradle of global winemaking.
Georgian wines are believed to have an 8,000-year-old tradition based on the unique method of fermentation in clay vessels called qvevri, which are included in UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage list. Among other interesting facts, Georgia was one of the first nations in the world to adopt Christianity as its state religion, in the 4th century.
More recently, Georgia has also managed to build a strong reputation in another sector: international dental tourism. Tens of thousands of tourists from all over the world visit Georgia every year – particularly the capital, Tbilisi – to combine sightseeing with dental treatment.
According to Georgia Today, the majority of foreign tourist-patients come from neighbouring countries or the wider region (Russia, Azerbaijan, Armenia, as well as from the Middle East – Israel, Qatar, Kuwait and Saudi Arabia). In recent years, Georgia has also become a magnet for many people from Europe and the US. Jews – both Israeli citizens and Jews from the Diaspora and around the world – represent a distinct group of patients who have chosen Georgia for dental services.
Read more about this in the exclusive interview conducted with Dr Iza Dzidzikashvili, a dentist, practising surgeon and co-founder of Bucho Denti in Tbilisi, Georgia:
Constantin Dicusar (for jewishpostandnews.ca): When was Bucho Denti founded, and who is behind the project? Tell us more about how your story began.
Dr. Dzidzikashvili: First of all, welcome, and thank you very much for your interest in our clinic. Bucho Denti was founded in 2000 by sisters Iza and Tea Dzidzikashvili and Vasif Aliyev. Today, all three are among the leading dental specialists in Tbilisi. Since we were already three experienced specialists, we decided to create an environment where patients could feel comfortable, safe, and confident, while receiving the highest standard of dental care. This philosophy became the foundation of Bucho Denti and continues to guide our development today.
Constantin Dicusar: What do you know about international dental tourism in the Caucasus region, and specifically in Georgia and Tbilisi?Dr. Iza Dzidzikashvili, dentist, surgeon practicing and co-founder of Bucho Denti: International dental tourism has been growing significantly in the Caucasus region, and particularly in Georgia. One of the main reasons is Georgia’s combination of hospitality, safety, high-quality dental care, and affordability. Dental standards in Georgia are comparable to European standards, while treatment costs are more accessible than in many other countries. This combination of quality, safety, affordability, and comfort has created growing interest among international patients.
Constantin Dicusar (The Jewish Post & News reporter): How has international dental tourism changed your operational, staffing, sales, and marketing strategie
Dr. Dzidzikashvili: The growth of international dental tourism significantly changed our vision and the way we operate. One of our main goals became to reduce the overall treatment time as much as possible — without compromising quality. We developed our infrastructure and workflows to allow patients to complete their treatment efficiently while maintaining a high standard of care. We also introduced complete treatment packages that can include hotel accommodation, airport transfers, and other services international patients may need. Our goal is to make patients feel safe, comfortable, and supported throughout their entire stay. We also incorporated tourism into the experience, giving patients the opportunity to explore Georgia and travel during their treatment period.
Constantin Dicusar: Did you envision engaging in international dental tourism right from the time the clinic was established, or did that come about later?
Dr. Dzidzikashvili: To be honest, we had always considered the idea of working with international patients. However, this direction developed much more actively as demand for international dental treatment increased. We adapted and developed our services according to the needs of international patients.
Constantin Dicusar: Tell us more about your staff. In which languages do you communicate with your international patients, and does the multilingual staff include dental assistants as well as the doctors themselves?
Dr. Dzidzikashvili: Our doctors have decades of professional experience, with some of our specialists having more than 30 years of experience. Our team communicates with international patients in English. To make the experience even more comfortable, we also provide communication support in Hebrew and Arabic, including professional interpreters. For us, it is very important that patients understand every stage of their treatment clearly and feel comfortable throughout the process.
Constantin Dicusar: Let’s also talk about international patients: which countries do most of them come from, and which dental services do they seek out most often? We know from reports originating in Israel and Georgia that Tbilisi has become an increasingly popular dental destination, frequently chosen by Jewish patients as well. Have you observed this trend at your clinic? If so, which countries do most of these Jewish patients come from?
Dr. Dzidzikashvilii: Yes, we have definitely noticed this trend, and the number of Jewish patients has been increasing every year. We would like to point out that the majority of our Jewish patients are citizens of Israel; they come from Israel. One important factor is the relatively short travel time between Israel and Tbilisi — approximately 2 hours and 30 minutes. Dental treatment in Georgia is also more affordable compared with Israel. Georgia is already well known and popular among Israeli travelers, so patients are generally familiar with the country and feel more confident about choosing it for treatment. After Israel, the United Kingdom is another important market for us, followed by different European countries. We have also treated Jewish patients from Canada, which shows that interest in Georgia is not limited to one or another particular country. The most common treatments requested by international patients are full-mouth rehabilitation, dental implants, and zirconia crowns.
Constantin Dicusar: Do you think that the good relations between Israel and Georgia, along with the low level of antisemitism in Georgia, encourage Jewish patients—particularly Russian-speaking Jews from across the former Soviet Union—to choose Georgia for such services?
Dr. Dzidzikashvili: Of course, the long-standing friendship and positive relationship between Georgia and Israel is very important. This relationship helps Israeli patients feel safe and comfortable when choosing Georgia for treatment. When a patient travels to another country for medical care, price and quality are not the only factors that matter. Trust, safety, communication, and the overall environment are equally important. We believe that the strong relationship between Georgia and Israel contributes significantly to this sense of trust.
Constantin Dicusar: What strategies do you plan to develop over the coming years to grow international dental tourism? Are you considering becoming more attractive destination for Jewish people from Canada and USA who are looking for dental services that are more affordable than those in their home countries?
Dr. Dzidzikashvili: In the future, our goal is to create a large-scale international dental center where everything is available in one place. We envision a facility combining a dental clinic, hotel, and restaurant, creating a comfortable environment specifically designed for international patients. Our vision is for patients to receive high-quality dental treatment, relax, enjoy their stay, and, if they wish, explore Georgia — all as part of one complete experience. At the same time, we are actively working to make Bucho Denti better known internationally and to reach more patients who could benefit from our services. Our main goal is to offer international patients accessible treatment while maintaining European-level standards of dental care.
Constantin Dicusar: Finally, we would like to turn our attention once more to Georgia and Tbilisi as tourist destinations. You are likely aware that in Europe—particularly in the western part—the worrying rise of antisemitism has limited the options available to Jewish travelers seeking dental tourism. Budapest remains the dental capital of Europe and is well-known within the Jewish community; more recently, Romania, Moldova, and perhaps Riga (Latvia) have also emerged as options, each offering distinct advantages and tourism amenities. From this perspective, what can Georgia and its capital, Tbilisi, offer? What makes Georgia unique as a destination compared to the others?
Dr. Dzidzikashvili: Compared with the countries you mentioned, one of Georgia’s main advantages is the combination of more affordable dental treatment with European-level quality. Another important advantage is the availability of complete treatment packages, including dental care, accommodation, transfers, and other services. Georgia is also an attractive tourism destination. Patients can combine their dental treatment with the opportunity to explore beautiful places, experience Georgian culture, and discover the country. Safety is another important factor. Georgia is a relatively small country, which contributes to a well-controlled environment, and the level of crime is relatively low. Ultimately, we believe that the combination of quality, affordability, safety, hospitality, and tourism opportunities gives Georgia a unique position. Our goal is that when an international patient comes to Georgia, they receive not only high-quality dental treatment, but a complete, safe, comfortable, and well-organized patient experience from beginning to end.
Features
Buck In Situ: A Dog Story
By DAVID TOPPER I suppose the first thing I should say is that, although this is a true story, it’s not about a real dog. (That may be obvious if you look at the picture accompanying this tale.) Yes, the dog – a wooden statue – is Buck.
I do want to explain what “in situ” means. For those who know the term, it betrays the fact that I was a teacher of art history before I retired. It’s a Latin term that refers to an art object being in its original or natural place. For example, the famous Elgin Marbles (statues of Greek gods, goddesses and other mythological figures), which are prized objects in the British Museum in London, were taken by Lord Elgin from the Acropolis high over Athens in Greece, in the early 19th century. If the museum ever returns the statues (as Greeks have been demanding them to do for years), and if the statues were then placed back on the Acropolis – then they would be “in situ.”
All this has been my way of introducing you to a story about a little statue that has been sitting in my home ever since my late wife, Sylvia, and I returned from a trip to Jamaica many years ago.
Here’s Buck’s story. One afternoon during our vacation on the island, we went to an Art Fair. I was particularly interested in wooden carvings. There was a long line of tables, end to end, with different carvers showing off their wares. As we walked along the tables, among the different carvers, I was dumbfounded because they were all carving the same statues! Different artists: same statues. The statues were of some local deities; none of whom I had any interest in taking back home – no matter what magic it could perform.
Sylvia and I were baffled as we strolled along the long row, eventually coming to the end. Then, lo and behold: the last carver was carving different statues – not necessarily of gods. Coming across his table filled with a wide variety of subjects was a breath of fresh air.
Of course, the first thing I asked him was why everyone else was carving the same things. His answer was simply that they thought that was what tourists wanted, and they were afraid to try anything else. I asked him why he was not afraid. He said he was afraid; nonetheless, he would be bored doing the same thing over and over – even if he made more money.
By now you can see where this story is going. It was among his wares, on the last table, that I saw the statue of the dog – which I immediately fell for. Sylvia, a dog lover, fell for it, too, and hence we bought it. I don’t recall the price, or if we haggled over it. But what I do remember – and why I am telling this story – is this. While talking with him and watching him at work, I noticed the way he was squinting. I asked him about this, and he said his eyes were not what they used to be, that he needed glasses but he couldn’t afford them.
At the time, I was in an early stage of permanently wearing glasses. Having gone through various stages of over-the-counter reading glasses during the previous decade or more, I was now wearing my first prescription glasses. I gave them to the carver to try on, and he said they were too strong. “Good,” I said. I told him I had several pair of different power reading glasses at home, which I had used before I got these. I’d be pleased to mail him those glasses, which perhaps could get him through the next decade or more. He gave me his address, and that’s when I found that his name – or, maybe, it was his nickname – was Buck.
“Would you mind if I name the dog Buck?” I asked – because I liked that name for the dog. He had no problem with that, and hence Buck it was, and Buck it always will be.
Not long after we got home, I mailed a box of glasses to Buck. Although I had my return address on the box (in case it got lost) I never heard from him. I didn’t expect to; yet occasionally I talk to my Buck and tell him that I hope the Buck whom he is named after, is still using a pair of the glasses I sent him. It would be comforting to know. My Buck agrees, I trust.
From the photo you can see that Buck sits at the foot of a staircase. Those stairs start in the front entrance of our home and go to the second floor. Buck not only stands on-guard, watching all who enter the house, but he also plays the following role. If I want to remind myself of something without having a paper and pencil handy, I just turn Buck around – say, on my way upstairs for the night. In the morning, coming down the stairs, I see that Buck is reminding me to do something. Although, I must confess, sometimes I can’t recall exactly what it was!
Finally, I live in Winnipeg, Canada. I know that’s far from the island of Jamaica, but here Buck has become a part of our life. All the family knows that if Buck is turned around – it means something! I therefore believe that it’s not stretching the terminology t-o-o much by calling this memoir: “Buck In Situ: A Dog Story.” To me, Buck is right where he belongs.
David R. Topper writes in Winnipeg, Canada. His work has appeared in Mono, Poetic Sun, Discretionary Love, Poetry Pacific,Academy of theHeart & Mind, Altered Reality Mag. and elsewhere.
His poem Seascape with Gulls: My Father’s Last Painting won first prize in the annual poetry contest of CommuterLit Mag – May 12, 2025.
