Features
“Agent Sonya” – the story of the Soviet Union’s most important female spy
Reviewed by BERNIE BELLAN I happened to have the radio on one Saturday afternoon – more as background noise than anything, when Elanor Wachtel’s CBC program on books, “Writers & Company”, came on. Normally I don’t pay attention to Wachtel’s program because it requires paying complete attention to the radio – something which I rarely do unless I’m out for a walk. However, as soon as Wachtel began to introduce her guest, a writer by the name of Ben Macintyre, the subject matter immediately grabbed my interest. Here is how she introduced Macintyre:
“Mrs. Len Beurton of Great Rollright, a tiny village in the Cotswolds, was an apparently ordinary housewife and mother of three, famous for her home-baked scones.
“In reality, she was Agent Sonya, a top Soviet operative, transmitting plans for the atomic bomb from an outhouse in her Oxfordshire garden. Her real name was Ursula Kuczynski and her intelligence work took her from her native Germany to Shanghai, Japanese-occupied Manchuria, Poland, Switzerland and England.
“Ursula’s eventful life is the subject of Ben Macintyre’s compelling new book. The British journalist is known for his bestselling accounts of international espionage — stories of intrigue, romance, betrayal, war, loyalty and conflicted morality. Over the past 30 years, he’s produced a dozen engaging, authoritative studies of high-profile figures ranging from Britain’s famed double agent Kim Philby to Moscow’s Oleg Gordievsky, who spied for Britain. He is also currently a columnist and associate editor for the Times U.K.”
As I listened with rapt interest to Macintyre describing the life of “Agent Sonya” I was determined to read his book – and I did, in less than a week.
Now, while I have somewhat of an interest in spy thrillers, including several I’ve read by Daniel Silva who features an Israeli spymaster by the name of Gabriel Allon (after being turned on to Silva two years ago during one of the meetings of the book club this paper co-sponsors with the Rady JCC, when our brilliant convener Sharon Freed who, unfortunately died much too young, included Silva’s “Rembrandt Affair” on the reading list that year), I much prefer reading non-fiction accounts of espionage, especially when they’re about the Mossad.
So, when Macintyre began to relate the story of an incredibly successful female spy for the Russians whose story has gone relatively unreported – and then happened to remark that she was Jewish to boot – well, he had me hooked.
Sonya Buerton (born Ursula Kuczynski, a.k.a. Sonya Hambuerger) was one of those rare individuals who not only succeeded brilliantly at her craft, she managed to live out her days dying a natural death in Moscow in the 1970s. That she survived the Stalin era in itself is rather extraordinary as Stalin’s paranoia led him to purge the ranks of his spy network on an ongoing basis – including a good many of the agents who had nurtured Sonya’s own career.
The fact that Ursula Kuczynski was born into an upper class Jewish family in Berlin in 1908 is something that I found most intriguing. The often pivotal roles that many Jews played in the spread of communist ideology in the first few decades of the 20th century is something that is widely known, but reading about someone who came from quite a prosperous family and who chose to commit herself to the pursuit of an ideology that was essentially antithetical to her own upbringing – and remained absolutely committed to that vision throughout her life, is not easy to understand.
Having experienced the chaos of the Weimar Republic in Germany one might well comprehend how someone as intelligent and well-educated as Ursula would have been drawn to communism in her late teens – at a time when Germany was being polarized into two camps – fascist and communist. It doesn’t seem, however, that the Kuczynski family’s being Jewish had much to do with what eventually became a thoroughly unquestioning loyalty to Soviet Communist ideology on the part of everyone of its members, including Ursula’s father, brother, and four sisters. That Ursula remained committed to communism throughout her life, however, despite all the betrayals of its goals perpetrated by Stalin and his disciples, is much more difficult to understand.
Macintryre doesn’t spend much time exploring the lure that communism held for Jews, but what I found particularly unsettling is how each member of this family was able to rationalize Stalin’s atrocities. Further, when the Russian Foreign Minister Molotov and his German counterpart Von Ribbentrop signed their non-aggression pact in 1939, the fact that so many communist sympathizers were able to twist themselves into pretzels defending a total betrayal of everything they had been espousing when it came to fighting fascism is really an indication how easily communist sympathizers could justify a 180 degree reversal in thinking without much compunction.
Ursula’s life, as told by Macintyre, was thoroughly documented throughout her lifetime, by her and by others, who kept detailed accounts all through the 1920s, 30s, and 40s. It turned out that Ursula was actually an excellent writer and her journals were not only detailed and very readable, when she eventually managed to escape to the Soviet Union shortly after the end of World War II, she managed to turn her fine writing talent into a craft as a writer of spy thrillers under the pen name “Ruth Werner”. (Her books, written in Russian and translated into several languages, actually sold quite well. As Macintyre notes, Ursula was merely one more former spy who was able to use their own experiences in order to turn out masterful spy novels. Included in that group also were Graham Greene and John Le Carré.)
Yet, as much as Ursula’s being Jewish does not play a central role in “Agent Sonya”, consider this: Her first marriage was also to a fellow Jew, an architect by the name of Rudolf Hamburger. Hamburger himself had no interest in Ursula’s communist leanings early on, and he was rather successful as an architect. But, in one of the most surprising twists in the story, once he and Ursula moved to China, where he helped to design some of the famous buildings along Shanghai’s Bund, and Ursula was first approached with the idea of becoming a Russian spy, even all the while that their marriage was falling apart, Hamburger was gradually transforming into a communist himself.
Further, even after Ursula left him – and the child that she bore while married to him, Hamburger became convinced that he too had to become a Russian spy! All the while he still loved Ursula too, even after he learned that she had become pregnant by another man and then again, by yet a third man.
It was in China that Ursula became a full-fledged Russian spy – with a change of name to Sonya. Several characters played key roles in leading to Ursula’s gradual induction into the world of Soviet espionage, including an America writer by the name of Agnes Smedley – a larger than life character who eventually became a leading apologist for Mao Tse Tung’s totalitarian rule.
The cast of characters in “Agent Sonya” is riveting. What Macintryre does so brilliantly is describe how ordinary individuals who would not stand out in any exceptional way possess the key ingredients that it takes to be a successful spy, including, among others: resourcefulness, an exceptional ability to lie one’s way through any situation, and what Ursula Kuczynski apparently possessed in spades: an ability to thoroughly compartmentalize one’s life.
Here we have a woman who, on the one hand, is a capable housewife – and mother – to three different children, by three different men no less! (and the children actually move with her from time to time as she’s relocated by her Soviet spymasters to different locations around the world, including Manchuria, Poland, Switzerland, and finally Britain), at the same time as she is able to insinuate herself into the upper echelons of enemy administrations wherever she is based.
In one passage that I found particularly compelling, “Sonya” describes how difficult it often was for her to sleep – and dream, without finding all the contradictory aspects of her various secret lives running up against one another. All the while she did this without resorting to alcohol or drugs – which is what almost inevitably become the crutches upon which spies lean. That she was also able to move from relationship to relationship with different men – twice at the order of her Soviet spymasters, and actually have honestly warm relationships with them to the point where she did love them yet, when ordered to leave those men, embark on a new assignment, is testament to her total acceptance of her role.
Here’s another interesting note about Sonya: As much as the intelligence she provided about various enemies, including: Chinese Republicans in Shanghai, Japanese occupiers in Manchuria, and German Nazis in Switzerland, was of great value to Russian intelligence, it was when she was able to move to England in 1941 that her greatest espionage coup was to come.
Living in a nondescript farmhouse in an out of the way village not too far from Oxfordshire – and by this time her name was now Sonya Buerton (the last man to whom she was married was also a spy by the name of Len Buerton), she was put in touch with a German-born scientist by the name of Klaus Fuchs. Fuchs was a brilliant physicist who was working on Britain’s own plan to develop an atomic bomb – separate and apart from what the Americans were doing at the same time. He was, however, a devout communist and determined to share whatever secrets he could with the Russians.
Sonya became his intermediary through which he was able to pass along reams of information to the Russians that proved to be of incalculable value in helping the Russians to leap frog what would undoubtedly have taken them years more to acquire on their own. Later, he moved to the U.S. to work on the fabled Manhattan Project. It was while he was in the U.S. that he had a change of heart, however, and turned himself in as a spy to the Americans. At the same time, though, he never betrayed Sonya.
Macintyre asks repeatedly how it was that Sonya was never caught by British intelligence, despite all the evidence that had been pointing for quite some time in her direction. Although he doesn’t arrive at a definitive conclusion, he suggests that more than anything, it was the total incompetence of the head of MI5 (Britain’s internal intelligence service), someone by the name of Roger Hollis, that led to Sonya’s being able to evade arrest.
At the time there was only one woman in a senior position in MI5, whose name was Millicent Bagot. Bagot was a dedicated – and thoroughly competent spychaser, far better qualified in her position than Hollis, who never believed that a woman could be a successful spy. Bagot was actually convinced early on that Sonya was a Russian agent and she bitterly fought to keep her from being allowed to enter Britain in 1941.
There is more than a little irony in the fact that one of Russia’s most successful spies of all time was a woman who was able to carry on her espionage precisely because she was a woman, while the one individual who would undoubtedly have been able to expose Sonya was also a woman but whose abilities were constantly underestimated, just as Sonya’s were, surrounded as she was by thick headed men.
“Agent Sonya” is a thoroughly compelling read. While the fact that Sonya was Jewish may be regarded as largely irrelevant to what became the story of her life since it never seemed to play any role in what ultimately ensued, I’m sure that for Jewish readers of this book the awareness that the person they are reading about was Jewish will lead to one’s wondering whether her being Jewish played a much larger role in her story than perhaps even Sonya herself was aware.
Here’s what Macintrye himself has to say in summing up Ursula’s life toward the end of his book: “If you had visited the quaint English village of Great Rollright in 1945, you might have spotted a thin, dark-haired and unusually elegant woman emerging from a stone farmhouse called The Firs, and climbing on to her bicycle. She had three children and a husband, Len, who worked in the nearby aluminium factory. She was friendly but reserved, and spoke English with a faint accent. She baked excellent cakes. Her neighbours in the Cotswolds knew little about her.
“They did not know that the woman they called ‘Mrs Burton’ was really Colonel Ursula Kuczynski of the Red Army, a dedicated communist, a decorated Soviet military intelligence officer and a highly-trained spy who had conducted espionage operations in China, Poland and Switzerland, before coming to Britain on Moscow’s orders. They did not know that her three children each had a different father, nor that her husband was also a secret agent. They were unaware that she was a German Jew, a fanatical opponent of Nazism who had spied against the fascists during the Second World War and was now spying on Britain and America in the new Cold War. They did not know that in the outdoor privy behind The Firs, Mrs Burton had constructed a powerful radio transmitter tuned to Soviet intelligence headquarters in Moscow. The villagers of Great Rollright did not know that in her last mission of the war, Mrs Burton had infiltrated communist spies into a top-secret American operation parachuting anti-Nazi agents into the dying Third Reich. These “Good Germans” were supposedly spying for America; in reality, they were working for Colonel Kuczynski of Great Rollright.
“But Mrs Burton’s most important undercover job was one that would shape the future of the world: she was helping the Soviet Union to build the atom bomb.
“For years, Ursula had run a network of communist spies deep inside Britain’s atomic weapons research programme, passing on information to Moscow that would eventually enable Soviet scientists to assemble their own nuclear device. She was fully engaged in village life; her scones were the envy of Great Rollright. But in her parallel, hidden life she was responsible, in part, for maintaining the balance of power between East and West and (she believed) preventing nuclear war by stealing the science of atomic weaponry from one side to give to the other. When she hopped on to her bike with her ration book and carrier bags, Mrs Burton (or, more precisely, Beurton) was going shopping for lethal secrets.
“Ursula Kuczynski was a mother, housewife, novelist, expert radio technician, spymaster, courier, saboteur, bomb-maker, Cold Warrior and secret agent, all at the same time.”
“Agent Sonya” – the story of the Soviet Union’s most important female spy
“Agent Sonya”
By Ben Macintyre
354 pages
Published Sept., 2020
Available on Amazon
Features
“The Desert Doesn’t Forget” – a short story
By H. C. Piloski
Foreword
This story is loosely based on a true event shared between father and son. The exact year has blurred with time — somewhere in the early to mid1960s — but the Las Vegas my father described was unmistakably the Las Vegas of that era: hot, bright, and dangerous in ways polite men didn’t discuss.
Many years after the incident, my father introduced me to one of the businessmen involved. As we approached him, my father leaned in and whispered that I was not to mention Las Vegas — not to ask, not to hint, not even to let the word cross my mind. The warning was quiet, but firm, and it told me more than any story could.
The details here have been fictionalized, but the core incident — a trip abruptly cut short after a threatening encounter — comes from those private recollections. Some memories fade, others distort, but certain moments remain sharp as desert glass. This is one of them.
Las Vegas, 1965
The desert air hit Harold Bernstein like a blast furnace the moment he stepped off the plane — not just heat, but a smell, too. A dry, mineral sting carrying dust, sun cooked metal, and the faint tang of jet fuel settling over the tarmac.
Winnipeg men weren’t built for this. They were built for honest cold, for wind that cut straight and didn’t pretend to be anything else.
Harold paused at the top of the stairs, blinking against the glare. Miriam had tucked a small prayer book into his suitcase “just in case.” He almost smiled. There was no “case” for this — not the kind Miriam meant, anyway.
He and his business partner, Leonard “Lenny” Krawitz, ran Bernstein & Krawitz Apparel Distributors — a respectable prairie outfit, steady as a metronome. They’d been raised in the North End — synagogue basements, rye bread, and quiet rules — but now lived in Tuxedo, where the houses were larger, the streets quieter, and success felt like something you had to defend.
Harold had known Solly Markowitz since they were boys in the North End — same streets, same synagogue basement — but Solly had always moved faster, talked faster, lived faster. Too fast.
Rumors drifted back over the years like smoke: Vegas. Casinos. “Connections.” And the darkest whisper of all — that Solly had been with Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel the night Siegel was shot to death in his Los Angeles home in 1947.
Siegel, one of the architects of modern Las Vegas, had built his empire on danger. Siegel’s murder was never officially solved. Men tied to Siegel didn’t retire. They drifted into darker corners.
You don’t play around with the mob.
Still, Solly called every few years. Usually around the High Holidays. Usually to ask if anyone remembered his parents.
This time, he had a business proposition.
“A warehouse,” Solly said. “Distribution. Vegas is booming. You boys could expand. And listen — you’ll be dealing with our people. Markowitz runs things on this end. Good man. Efficient. You’ll be safe.”
Harold didn’t trust men who promised safety.
But Lenny was curious. And Harold had been partners with him long enough to know that curiosity was a tide you didn’t fight. So they booked two tickets, packed their best suits, and flew into the desert.
The Strip
The taxi was a 1965 Dodge Coronet, the kind every Vegas cab company seemed to buy in bulk — boxy, dependable, sun bleached around the edges. Its vinyl seats were hot enough to sting through Harold’s trousers, carrying the ingrained smell of desert dust, gasoline, and a hundred previous fares who’d sweated their way down the Strip.
The driver wore a shortsleeved white shirt and a narrow black tie, loosened past respectability. A pack of Luckies sat tucked above the visor. He didn’t talk. Vegas drivers rarely did. They’d seen too much, and they knew silence was sometimes the safest tip a man could give.
Neon signs flickered to life in the early evening glare — reds, blues, golds shimmering like they were trying to outshine the sun itself. Billboards shouted from every corner:
FRANK SINATRA — LIVE AT THE SANDS; SAMMY DAVIS JR. — TONIGHT ONLY; DEAN MARTIN — MIDNIGHT SHOW; DON RICKLES — ONE NIGHT ONLY — CAESAR’S PALACE
Harold watched the lights smear past the window. Vegas looked like a city built by men who didn’t believe in consequences — men who thought the world could be rewritten in neon and smoke.
At a stoplight, Harold noticed a man in a dark suit standing outside the Desert Inn. Ninety degrees even after sundown, yet the man didn’t sweat. He stared at their cab with the flat, patient look of someone waiting for a decision already made.
Harold looked away.
Their hotel was one of the older ones — brass fixtures dulled by fingerprints, red carpets worn thin, cigarette smoke curling under chandeliers. The casino floor hummed with slot machines, dice clattering, and the low murmur of gamblers who had already lost more than they could afford.
Harold felt the city watching him.
They checked in, rode the elevator up, and began unpacking. Lenny talked about expansion, about opportunity. Harold listened, nerves tight.
Then came the knock.
The Knock
A heavy, deliberate thud — the kind that didn’t wait for permission.
Lenny froze. Harold felt his pulse climb into his throat.
Lenny opened the door.
Two men stood there — tall, broad, wearing dark suits that didn’t belong in the Nevada heat. Their faces were blank, carved from something that didn’t melt. One shifted slightly, revealing the unmistakable outline of a holstered pistol.
“You’re Bernstein and Krawitz,” the first man said. His voice was calm, almost bored — the tone of someone who had delivered this message before.
Harold nodded before he realized he’d done it.
“Mr. Markowitz appreciates your interest,” the second man said. “But he doesn’t want you involved. Not now. Not ever.”
Lenny swallowed. “We just got here—”
The first man stepped forward, jacket pulling back just enough to show steel. “If you stay,” he said, “the desert will take you. And the desert doesn’t give anything back.”
They turned and walked away without waiting for a response.
Lenny closed the door slowly.
“Harold,” he whispered, “we’re leaving.”
Harold was already zipping his suitcase.
The Retreat
They moved through the casino like ghosts. The noise felt distant, muffled, as if the city itself were holding its breath. Harold avoided eye contact with everyone — dealers, tourists, men in suits who always seemed to be standing just far enough away to pretend they weren’t watching.
At the front desk, Harold slid their room keys across the counter. The clerk raised an eyebrow.
“Checking out already, sir? You just arrived.”
“Change of plans,” Harold said. His voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.
Outside, a row of gleaming Cadillacs and Lincolns lined the valet area, their long bodies catching the neon glow like blades. The desert air smelled different now — harsher, metallic, as if the heat itself were warning them. The Strip looked less like a playground, more like a trap.
At the Western Airlines counter, Harold’s hands shook so badly he dropped his wallet. They managed to get seats on a late flight to Los Angeles, with a connection north to Winnipeg. Luck, or something like it, was still on their side.
On the jet, Lenny stared straight ahead, silent. Harold didn’t speak either.
When the aircraft began its run, the engines didn’t just roar — they howled, a rising metallic fury that made the cabin tremble. Harold gripped the armrests as the desert dropped away beneath them, Las Vegas shrinking into a glittering lie the desert never bothers to hide.
Only when they were safely above the clouds did Lenny finally whisper, “What do you think that was about?”
Harold didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
They both knew.
Home Again
Back in Winnipeg, winter arrived early. Harold welcomed it. Snow didn’t lie. Cold didn’t threaten. The prairie wind didn’t bury men in unmarked graves.
Their wives were waiting at the airport, bundled in coats, cheeks pink from the cold.
“You’re home early,” Miriam said, frowning.
“Business fell through,” Harold said. “Whole thing was a waste.”
Esther looked from her husband to Harold, suspicious. “Barely two days?”
“Solly wasn’t organized,” Lenny said quickly. “Nothing to see.”
Miriam touched Harold’s arm. “You look pale.”
“Heat,” Harold said. “Didn’t agree with me.”
It was the closest he had ever come to lying to her.
That night, Miriam asked again. “Something happened.”
Harold kissed her forehead. “Nothing we need to talk about.”
She didn’t press. Tuxedo wives knew when a door was meant to stay closed.
A week later, Solly called.
“Boys! You never showed! Markowitz said you headed home early. Shame — I had everything lined up. Next time, we’ll make sure things are clearer.”
Harold hung up without answering.
Lenny unplugged the phone.
They never spoke of the trip again.
Not to their wives. Not to their families. Not to the men at shul or the ones they played cards with on Thursday nights.
Some stories were too heavy to carry into daylight.
Years Later
Decades passed. Their children grew. Their hair thinned. Their business went to younger hands.
Sometimes, late at night, Harold would wake in the middle of the dark, heart pounding, hearing that knock again — heavy, deliberate, final.
And he would think of Solly. Of Vegas. Of the desert.
How it didn’t forget. How it didn’t forgive. How close he and Lenny had come to disappearing into it.
Features
Turkey’s Rising Power Worries Israel
By HENRY SREBRNIK It has long shared intelligence with Iran, and it remains the only NATO country to have refrained from sanctioning Russia after its 2022 invasion of Ukraine. It is, along with Qatar, the main international sponsor of the Muslim Brotherhood, including its Palestinian branch, Hamas. Its poor human rights record consistently stir unease among NATO allies.
This is President Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s Turkey. He wants his country to become the preeminent power in the Middle East. If Iran emerges from the current war with Israel and the United States weakened, whether politically, economically, or militarily, Turkey’s relative influence in the broader region will increase. Ankara has already consolidated significant influence in Syria and Azerbaijan, and it continues to pursue strategic connectivity projects across the South Caucasus.
Since Erdogan and his Justice and Development Party (AKP) came to power in 2003, relations have steadily deteriorated. The Hamas victory in a legislative election in Gaza in 2005 felt in Ankara like a personal win for Erdogan, who had advised Hamas on its electoral strategy.
Three years later came the Mavi Marmara incident. A Turkish ship chartered by the Humanitarian Relief Foundation (IHH) attempted to break Egypt and Israel’s blockade of Gaza. The vessel was boarded by Israeli commandos, resulting in nine deaths. Erdogan accused Israel of “state terrorism” and appealed to the “international community” in a speech to the Turkish parliament. Things kept going downhill and are now worse than ever.
Turkish Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan recently remarked that “the Israeli authorities are a burden that humanity can no longer bear.” Fidan’s words came in a TV interview July 2 following Israel’s recognition of the 1915 Armenian genocide: “Israel is not just Turkey’s problem, nor is it just the issue of our president, he said. “But everyone knows it, feels it, whispers it in hidden corners, and occasionally speaks openly. This is what we must call it.” True, he stepped back from those remarks in a later interview, contending that Turkey and Israel aren’t destined for conflict. Was this second comment perhaps made at Donald Trump’s urging?
After Hamas’s October 7, 2023, attack on Israel, Erdogan emerged as one of Israel’s most outspoken international critics, accusing Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s government of committing grave violations during the Gaza conflict and intensifying Ankara’s diplomatic support for the Palestinian cause. Israeli officials have interpreted this rhetoric as evidence that Turkey increasingly views itself as a political counterweight to Israel across the region.
Already in December 2023, Erdogan had compared Netanyahu to Adolf Hitler, and Israel’s actions in the Gaza Strip to those of the Nazis. In March 2024, he referred to Netanyahu and his government as “modern-day Nazis” and called for bringing these “murderers” to justice under international law.
He subsequently accused Netanyahu of committing “genocide” in Gaza, claimed that his actions “would make Hitler jealous,” and even described the situation in Gaza as “worse than Nazi camps,” while portraying the West as standing aside and enabling the continuation of the “brutality.” In a speech posted on X on March 30 this year, Erdogan called on “Allah” to “damn Zionist Israel.”
The narrative accusing Israel has become a structural component of Turkey’s domestic political discourse. What is new is not the use of extreme imagery and Holocaust terminology, but the role they play. Unlike in the past, the rhetoric is no longer merely an expression of political anger or protest; it has become a component of Turkish policy, intended to lay a normative foundation through which Ankara seeks to deny Israel the moral legitimacy of its actions.
Turkey portrays Israel not as a state confronting a grave security threat from a murderous terrorist organization but as an entity that has crossed the bounds of humanity, committing crimes it equates with those perpetrated by the Nazis. This framing intentionally downplays the severity of Hamas’s actions and prepares the ground for collective action against Israel, including exceptional punitive measures against it. At the same time, it depicts any Western hesitation or lack of restraint regarding Israel as a moral abandonment of Gaza’s residents, expanding responsibility and blame to the international community beyond Israel itself.
On November 7, 2025, the Istanbul Chief Public Prosecutor’s Office announced the issuance of arrest warrants against 37 Israeli figures, including Netanyahu and other senior officials, on charges of genocide and crimes against humanity. Although these domestic warrants lack practical enforcement, their significance lies in the ongoing legal threat they create. They limit the movement of senior Israeli officials, discourage other countries and institutions from engaging with Israel, and enhance the criminal framing of Israel in the international arena.
Its identity as a Muslim state and a NATO member, but critical of the liberal-Western order, has allowed Turkey to position itself as a leading moral voice, strengthening its regional and international standing. In addition to the importance the Turkish government attributes to the Palestinian issue and the broad support for the Palestinian position among the Turkish public in general, and Erdogan’s electoral base in particular, this issue serves as a platform for positioning Turkey as a voice challenging the West and speaking on behalf of “the oppressed in the world.”
Erdogan’s tenure has seen a systematic shift toward Islamization within Turkey. His government has expanded religious education, restricted alcohol sales, and promoted conservative social policies. These measures, coupled with the suppression of secular institutions, align with his stated goal of raising a “pious generation.”
Erdogan, from his comments, seems to consider himself the rightful leader of the entire Muslim world. In the interim, he evidently sees himself as the Middle East’s next great power broker, claiming leadership while chaos reigns.
Already entrenched in Syria, steadily expanding an indigenous defence industry capable of producing sophisticated drones, naval vessels, and eventually advanced fighter aircraft, while seeking a foothold in Gaza, Ankara increasingly appears intent on filling the regional vacuum Iran leaves behind. Tehran sought to surround Israel with a Shi’ite ring of fire. Ankara appears willing to create a Sunni one.
Henry Srebrnik is a professor emeritus at the University of Prince Edward Island
Features
Can Deni Avdija lead Portland to the title next year?
It is too early to say if Deni Avdija is ready to lead the Portland Trail Blazers to the NBA Finals in 2027, but it’s not too much to hope for. But the trade to Washington in 2024 is arguably a signature move for Portland. All those who followed him on basketball results on SportyTrader have seen him grow from an all-purpose prospect into an All-Star creator and a testament to the Blazers’ rebuild.
It is not Avdija’s question as to whether he can be a one-man savior. Whether his scoring and playmaking, defense and competitive edge can support a roster that’s become ambitious.
The catalyst: Avdija’s arrival and Portland’s new hope
Deni Avdija was traded to Portland on July 6, 2024, with Washington receiving veteran guard Malcolm Brogdon, the draft rights to No. 14 pick Bub Carrington, a 2029 first-round pick, a 2028 second-round pick, and a 2030 second-round pick in return. The cost seemed to be very high, but the deal with Deni Avdija is becoming more and more justified.
In the 2025-26 campaign, Avdija averaged 24.2 points, 6.9 rebounds and 6.7 assists in 66 games played, and had a shooting percentage of 46.2 percent on the field and 80.2 percent at the free throw line. He has made his first All-Star call-up, his first call-up as an Israeli player. That was a turning point in his career and catapulted him into one of the most prominent Israeli athletes.
One thing that is still being questioned is his perimeter efficiency. He was 36.5 percent on 3-pointers in 2024-25, falling to 31.8 percent with an average of six attempted three-pointers per game. However, his versatility to attack closeouts, get to the ball, rebound, play several positions defensively, and start transition offense means that he is valuable.
What does ‘leading a team’ truly mean for Avdija?
Avdija is not quite in the Nikola Jokic or Giannis Antetokounmpo class; he doesn’t dominate each possession defensively, nor is he a Giannis Antetokounmpo who sets a championship system in motion. He’s becoming a more realistic high-level foundational leader, a part scorer, a part connector and a part tone-setter.
Standards are as necessary as statistics are in Portland. Avdija is aggressive with the ball, physically in it and plays with his heart. Those habits can become the culture on a young team that will ultimately foster contention.
He could still keep on climbing his ladder. The leap from 16.9 and 3.9 assists in 2024-25 to 24.2 and 6.7 indicates that the new found creation is more than just additional minutes. Whether he will grow into an All-Star every year comes down to avoiding turnovers, being able to break from defenders with pull-up shots and providing reliability in the playoffs.
Analyzing his fit with the current Blazers roster
Earlier discussions about what Portland is to look for at Deandre Ayton and Anfernee Simons are now outdated. Then, the 2026-27 bunch now contains Ja Morant, Damian Lillard, Jrue Holiday, Scoot Henderson, Shaedon Sharpe, and Toumani Camara, and Donovan Clingan should be added as well.
That’s opportunity and tension. The combination of Morant’s rim pressure will be a gamebreaker, and if Lillard is able to come back from the Achilles, he can pose defenses a threat with his shooting. Avdija can be used as a backup secondary initiator, attack mismatches and cover a tough defensive task. Camara and Clingan provide volume and bulk following him.
But, ball placement will be key. Morant, Lillard, Henderson and Avdija are all in need of touches. New coach Micah Nori will have to find a way to build an offense that takes advantage of Avdija’s abilities without it becoming a ‘spot-up’ forward.
The reality check: Portland’s long road to contention
There are no signs of a championship next season. Portland reached the playoffs for the first time since 2021, but were eliminated by the San Antonio Spurs in the first round of the Western Conference playoffs, with Victor Wembanyama’s return from a concussion in Game 4 proving decisive in San Antonio’s series win. That’s good, but not good enough to prove that they are champions.
Blazers still have work to do in the scoring, line-up balance, and postseason experience departments, plus clarity on who they’re going to rely on to be their starting closer. Morant is packed with star quality, and some risk. Lillard is 36 and coming back from a major injury. In the younger core, the prospects are good but not certain.
The rebuilds that generally work the way they’re supposed to go, go through a number of phases: asset building, playoff success, series success, then placing a claim on the title. Although Portland is past the beginning stages, one successful season isn’t going to close the gap between the team and the NBA elite.
The verdict: Can Avdija be a champion in Portland?
Avdija likely will not be the man for Portland to win the title next year. But he can also be the invaluable asset to a future contender. With his shot accuracy back at three-point, the turnovers will come down, his decision-making in the playoffs improves, another All-Star season is possible.
He’s a Portland Trail Blazers development litmus test now. Maybe not the only superstar that brings a trophy, but he can be the multi-faceted cornerstone that makes a real title structure possible.
