Features
Former Winnipegger Mira Sucharov bares her soul in new memoir

Reviewed by BERNIE BELLAN
There’s something strangely compelling about reading the memoir of a talented individual who has decided to lay it all out for total strangers to discover some of her innermost secrets.
A few years back I reviewed a memoir by Henriette Ivanans, who happens to now be living in Winnipeg (married to Kevin McIntyre, about whom we have written many times in this paper). In her memoir, titled “In Pillness and in Health: A memoir” Henriette revealed her long and arduous struggle with addiction to a panoply of different types of medications. She was so searing in her self-criticism that it was almost painful reading her amazing story of survival against all odds.
Now, in a different way, well known academic and commentator Mira Sucharov discusses her own long-held emotional struggles, first triggered by the divorce of her parents when she was five, in her memoir, titled “Borders and Belonging: A Memoir”.
I have to admit that I have only a passing acquaintance with Mira’s career – which might help me to be more objective in discussing her memoir. I hadn’t ever read anything else she has ever written – which would probably come as a surprise to her, since I am well aware that she is a prolific writer with a reputation as a Middle East expert.
It’s not that I’ve shied away from reading anything by Mira Sucharov – it’s just that I’ve never enjoyed reading academic articles about the Middle East, even though I myself have a background in Political Studies – as she does. Ever since I finished university – which was ages ago, I’ve preferred to distance myself from anything that’s footnoted.
But “Borders and Belonging” is no academic treatise. Mira Sucharov is a talented writer who certainly knows how to tell a story; in this case the story is one of anxiety and elation as she forged a deeply held love for Israel from a very young age. Yet, as much as her interest in Israel has been a central focus of her life, her determination to view Israel in as objective a manner as possible has taken its toll.
Her opening chapter relates a story that reveals the extent to which she’s been ostracized by a very good portion of the Canadian Jewish community for daring to question Israel’s behaviour vis-à-vis the Palestinians. During her career as an academic, for which she’s received multiple awards (not that she discusses any of those in her book; any Google search will readily disclose how well respected Mira is as a professor and a commentator), she’s received scorn from both the right and the left for daring to attempt to be even handed in her assessment of Israel and the Palestinians.
No doubt what many members of the Winnipeg Jewish community will find particularly interesting though are Mira’s recollections of growing up here, where she attended Jewish day schools and, more significantly for readers of this paper, where she attended a summer camp that had a Labour Zionist orientation (which, interestingly, she never refers to by its name: Camp Massad).

For anyone who’s attended Camp Massad, reading Mira’s reminiscences about camp life would be reason enough to want to read the book, as her descriptions of that camp are as well drawn as one could find anywhere in reading about a summer camp.
But, it’s in Mira’s painful discussion of the traumas she’s endured in her life – which is not really all that long yet, since she must either just be 50 or close to it, based on certain references she makes that she provides some of the most jarring passages. I’ve already referenced her parents’ divorce which, as she describes it, occurred without any rancor between her parents and was as civil a breakup as one could hope to have. For Mira, however, it was a life-shattering experience and reading about how that break-up still reverberate with her offers a salutary lesson in how a marital break-up, no matter how well behaved the parents may be toward one another at the time of the break-up, can be so devastating for children all through their lives.
One other chapter that hits home like a ton of bricks is when Mira recounts reading a newspaper article about skin moles and takes a more careful look at a mole on her arm. Lucky for Mira, her mother didn’t procrastinate for one moment and, as it turned out, the mole was cancerous and likely would have led to an early death had it not been caught in time.
Later, Mira discusses allergies she has developed to certain foods and her frequent bouts with overwhelming anxiety. When she describes the often extremely stressful situations which she doesn’t avoid as an academic who is not afraid to take unpopular stands, it’s easy to understand the psychological toll that the career path she’s taken has had on her.
The memoir is not written in chronological fashion; it flits back and forth between episodes that occurred at various times in Mira’s life. Of all her experiences, however, in addition to her love of Camp Massad, it is the many times that Mira has visited and lived in Israel about which she writes most evocatively.

Her first visit to Israel was in 1983 with her bobe, Marian Margolis. That visit led to such a deep affection for Israel that Mira was motivated to return over and over again where, at various times, she was a student, a resident of a kibbutz (also while she was a student), and an academic.
And although a search of her online biography reveals that Mira received her MA from the University of Toronto and her PhD from Georgetown, in her memoir she writes only about her time spent at McGill, from where she obtained her BA. She admits that she was drawn to McGill because that was the school her father attended and she wanted to emulate his experience as much as possible. While her mother is also referred to in very loving terms, it is Mira’s relationship with her father that resonates throughout this memoir.
Another episode though that will probably upset more traditional readers is when Mira describes her love affair with an Arab student at McGill. While she is hardly graphic in her description, she is certainly far more candid in what she writes than anything she has to say about her husband who, for all intents and purposes, comes across as a nice Jewish boy who would certainly meet with the approval of most bobes.
Toward the end of the book Mira summarizes the conflicting forces that have shaped her life in a paragraph that both offers a glimpse of the emotional currents that are still swirling within her, it also gives you an idea just how gifted she is as a wordsmith:
“Panic. It’s like being a child of divorce all over again as I try to pull the pieces together: safety and danger, reality and fear, swinging between houses with different carpets, between marriages and separations, between my real home and my dad’s home and the home-away-from-home that is summer camp, between the reality of the present and my nostalgia for the past, between Israel as a lived reality and my image of the place, between political poles, between parts of my community and between my community and that of others—as I try to locate a single, coherent, authentic narrative that is safe and secure and true.”
It’s not always easy reading a memoir where the author dissects her life in such an open and candid manner, and I’m not sure how many of the individuals whose paths have crossed Mira’s would be aware of the emotional angst which is so pervasive throughout this book, but it takes a very brave individual to have written such an open and, at times, quite raw, recounting of a life.
“Borders and Belonging: A Memoir”
By Mira Sucharov
Published by Palgrave Macmillan, September 2020
Features
The Leica Camera Family and the Shoah
By DAVID TOPPER I was born in 1943 in Pittsburgh, steel-town USA. While I was still in diapers, across the Atlantic Ocean, the Shoah was well under way. The mass murder continued, only coming to an end due to Germany’s defeat in the Second World War. My father was in that war, spending over two years in the Army Signal Corps on the other side of the world – on a small island in the South Pacific. He didn’t kill any Japanese soldiers; the US Marines had already “liberated” the island before he arrived. Being in the Signal Corps, he must have heard the radio contact with the airplanes on the nearby island of Tinian, on those two days in August of 1945 when they took off carrying the nuclear bombs that ended the war with Japan. By the time he came home in March 1946, I was a toddler. He resumed his job at one of the steel companies, where he held a clerical position.
My father was what was called in those days a camera buff. He liked to take pictures and develop the film himself. He built a darkroom in the basement, and it was there that I learned the craft. Initially he just had a simple box camera: point and click. But he always talked about getting a real camera someday: where he could set the aperture, speed, and focus himself. His salary at the steel company was not enough to get an expensive camera, such as a Leica. Although he did talk about these German cameras; they were top of the line 35mm roll film cameras, with the 1/1.5 aspect ratio negatives. I remember looking at them in the photography magazines he bought. Owning a Leica was a fantasy. This was when I was still very young.
I vividly recall the day he bought a real camera. I was around the age of nine, or maybe older. He saw an ad in the for-sale section of the newspaper: someone was selling a Rolleiflex camera, the twin-lens reflex camera using 120 roll film with 2¼ x 2¼ inch square negatives. The Rolleiflex had hit the market in 1929 and quickly set the standard for medium-format photography, in competition with the popular 4 x 5 inch press camera.
I went with my father somewhere on the other side of Pittsburgh. The man had been on a business trip to Germany, where he bought the camera. But he was selling it because he was frustrated with the need to focus, set the speed and such. He just wanted a box camera: point and click. So, my father bought it.
Since the specific camera my father bought was not only made in Germany but had been sold there, all the writing on it was in German. My father loved the camera. He said it produced exceptional images. He believed the lens was so good because it was made only for Germans themselves. At the time I believed this; as I believed everything he said at that age in my life. Now I think otherwise.
It was around this time that my father joined the camera club at the steel company where he worked. There were monthly meetings, as I recall. He was an active member; even the president at one time. Occasionally he took me to a meeting. And that’s where I met Carl, whose last name I can’t recall. So, why mention him? Because Carl owned a Leica. He was the only member of the club to have a Leica. Carl probably had a much higher paying job than my father and the other guys at the steel company. (And, by the way, they were all guys; except for the models. But that’s another story for another day, not relevant here.) Anyway, Carl had a Leica; and he even let me hold it, as long as I kept the strap around my neck. Whether I actually snapped a picture with it – I don’t recall. Probably not. But it was a highlight of my time at the club. Now, before you jump ahead: no, I didn’t buy a Leica, ever.
But I did get a Rolleiflex – or Rollei, for short. Here’s how. My father’s love affair with the camera didn’t last. The catalyst for the change was when cameras started coming out with built-in light-meters. No longer did you have to fiddle around with the light-meter hanging around your neck, pointing it to the subject, and then setting the camera’s shutter and aperture. It was all built-in; you adjusted the setting directly on the camera. And so, my father bought another newer Rolleiflex; this one with a built-in light-meter.
He then sold me his German Rollei. Yes, you read correctly: he sold it to me. My father grew up during the Depression in the 1930s, and this was the source of such behaviour. I was older at this time – somewhere in my teenage years – and I had a paper route, so I could afford it. I don’t recall the price; and I’m sure I got a good deal – he was my father, after all – but still.
I, in turn, loved the camera – even though I had to use a hand-held light-meter. It was my only camera for many, many decades of my life.
One more thing, before I get to the role of the Leica in the Shoah. As I write this, I’m living in Canada. I moved here in August 1970 to begin what turned out to be a 42-year tenure as a university professor. Moving from the USA to Canada was an adjustment in many ways. For example, the role of the monarchy here was a novelty for me. I mention this because I was pleased to learn that the Queen, who was head of state at the time, owned a Leica.
The name comes from the owner of the factory in the city of Wetzlar, in south-west Germany, near Frankfurt. Here is where the first prototype camera was invented in 1914; a camera that used 35mm film. Before that, photographers had to use bulky wooden boxes with large glass plates. The factory was the Ernst Leitz Optische Werke; in other words, the optical plant of Ernst Leitz. The First World War delayed production of the invention, but by 1925 the first Leica camera debuted at the Leipzig Spring Fair. For the name they combined the words Leitz and Camera and got Lei-ca – or Leica. (Note that they used the Latinized, camera, not the German, kamera.) Thus, was introduced the portable 35mm camera that led to everyday street photography and photojournalism, such the famous images of Henri Cartier-Bresson, and others. Subsequent models over the next decades introduced the rangefinder, better lenses, extended shutter speeds, and so forth. The Leica M3 of 1954 is called by AI: “one of the greatest mechanical cameras ever built.” Fortunately, for the average photographer, there subsequently were other 35mm cameras introduced at considerably lower prices by Kodak and Argus in the USA, with more coming later from Japan.
All of this paralleled the development of the Twin-Lens Rolleiflex, which my father and I owned. The Rollei is another example of German precision engineering. Franke & Heidecke in Braunschweig, Germany is where the first Rolleiflex hit the market in 1929. The model went through many changes over the decades, so that up to the 1960s, also according to AI: “the Rolleiflex was the undisputed king of photojournalism, street photography, and portraiture.” I’ll leave that topic where it is.
Now I want to get to the point of all this background discussion of photography. Namely: the account of the family-owned Leica business in Germany under the Nazis. It started in 1933 when Adolf Hitler became chancellor, and the government passed the Nuremberg laws, which institutionalized racial discrimination and stripped German Jews of their citizenship.Subsequently, Jewish professionals—doctors, lawyers, professors, and business owners—were gradually barred from their livelihoods and public life.
At the time, Ernst Leitz II (1871-1956) was head of the firm. The Leitz family were Protestant Christians. Their attitude toward their workers was progressive for the time: with pensions, sick leave, and health insurance. The firm also employed many Jews in various positions, from workers to the professional staff. Seeing the writing on the wall in 1933, many Jewish employees and their families wanted to leave Germany. The company also had offices elsewhere: London, Paris, New York, and Hong Kong. In a short while, the ocean liner Bremen was docking in New York harbour, and Leitz employees and their families were being escorted to the Leitz Manhattan Office. Every few weeks, under the guise of being assigned overseas, another group of Leitz “employees” arrived in the harbour. Each German employee had a Leica camera hanging around his neck. Until a position was found for him, he was paid a stipend. Eventually they all found jobs, mainly in the photography industry.
The same thing happened in the other offices outside of Germany, especially after Kristallnacht in November 1938, as synagogues and Jewish shops were torched across Germany. Thus, many Jewish employees and their families (and even Jewish friends of families) were assigned jobs in sales offices in London, Paris, and Hong Kong, where they too escaped the Shoah.
This continued until September 1939, when Germany closed its borders, after the invasion of Poland and the start of the Second World War. By then hundreds of Jews had left on what was later called “the Leica Freedom Train.” It was all a ruse to save Jews from the Shoah. We don’t know the exact number; but it ranges from 100-300 lives saved.
Ernst Leitz II was able to pull this off because he was not only a respected member of the business community, but his factory was also producing military optics, rangefinders, and telescopic sights essential to the German military. As long as the military was getting what they needed from Leitz’s factory, there was no reason to question the way he was moving his employees around the world.
In general, this was true. But not always. One executive was jailed for helping Jews leave the country. He was eventually freed, after Ernst paid a large bribe.
But worse was to come. Since many of the workers at the Leitz factory were drafted as soldiers in the war, the place lacked workers to keep it running. Between 1940 and 1945, the Nazi government sent approximately 700 to 800 women from the Ukraine and Western Russia as slave labourers. This is where Ernst’s daughter, Elsie Kühn-Leitz (1903-1985), comes in. Elsie had a Doctorate in Law from Frankfort University, as well as degrees in business administration. She was married to Knut Kühn, with whom she had three children. Working for the Leitz company, she treated the women well, providing them with sufficient food, clothing, and living quarters – for which she was reprimanded by the Nazi authorities. Nonetheless, she refused to treat them as slaves.
Then in May 1943 she was asked to help a Jewish woman, Hedwig Palm, escape to Switzerland. Hedwig Palm (née Dessauer, born 1888) was the wife of Hermann Palm, an optician and photo equipment dealer who owned an optical shop in Wetzlar, and who had business connections with the Leitz family. Hedwig apparently was the only Jew in the family. Elsie had an aunt in Munich, not far from the border with Switzerland. So, in the dead of night Elsie safely took Hedwig to her aunt’s home. With a map and some money that Elsie gave her, Hedwig next set off toward the Swiss border. Unfortunately, she got lost and hailed a milk truck. Assuming she was a Jew, the driver drove her to the border police. From documentation that I found in the Yad Vashem, Hedwig was arrested and sent to the Ravensbrück women’s concentration camp, where she died in 1944. Incidentally, the Palm store is still there in Wetzlar. You may find its website under Juwelier Palm, specializing in jewelry, watches, and goldsmithing.
When the Gestapo found out that Elsie had helped Hedwig try to cross the border, she was called in for questioning for several hours. Her humane treatment of the Ukrainian women also came up: what the Gestapo called: “excessive humanitarianism.” Ultimately, she was sent to the Frankfort police prison on September 10, 1943. As she hugged her children good-by, she thought that she would never see them again. The conditions in the jail were sub-human. Minimal food, filthy quarters, bug infested – plus she was sporadically manhandled roughly by the staff. What food her father was able to get to her – she shared with her fellow prisoners. At one point the Gestapo were threatening her with deportation to the Ravensbrück concentration camp. It lasted three months until November 28, 1943, when her father paid a very large ransom to the Gestapo to have Elsie released. Even so, the Gestapo kept an eye on her, often calling her in for interrogation. This continued until the end of March 1945, when American tanks rolled into Wetzlar.
After the War, Elsie and Knut divorced and she got actively involved in humanitarian and diplomatic work, mainly in Africa. She particularly supported the work of Albert Schweitzer’s hospital in Lambaréné, Gabon, even paying a visit in June 1959.
In general, the Leitz family wanted no publicity for all this work in saving Jews. It was only after that generation died out, that the full story came out. And this happened mainly because of the following event.
Like many stories from the Shoah, there are often several layers to them. That’s true for this one too; for I note the following fact. In 1988, surviving labourers and Shoah survivor-groups initiated class-action lawsuits in U.S. and European courts against dozens of major German industrial firms. The Leica Company was one of them, having used women from the Ukraine and Western Russia during the war. In 1999, a Compensation Fund was set up by the government; Leica, along with other German companies, paid into a collective multi-billion-mark fund, as compensation for slave labourers (or their surviving heirs) across Eastern Europe, Israel, the USA, and elsewhere. This may explain Leitz family’s reticence for publicity about their efforts during the war.
Note that Elsie, who died 1985, didn’t have to deal with this. But her children surely did.
Finally, I mentioned before the famous street photographer and artist, Henri Cartier-Bresson, who wrote the well-known book The Decisive Moment (1952), and who incidentally, used Leica cameras. He knew Elsie, and wrote this tribute about her. “I knew Elsie Leitz well and she always welcomed me warmly…when I visited Wetzlar. I was very impressed by her passionate concern for international humanitarian causes, and by the great risks she took during the war to save many people who were in danger. I remember her with deep admiration.” This affirmation forms the Introduction to the book: Elsie’s War: A Story of Courage in Nazi Germany, by (Rabbi) Frank Dabba Smith (Frances Lincoln Ltd, 2003).
Features
Myths and Reality: Are There Winning Strategies at Online Casinos?
Ask around, and everyone seems to have a theory. Plenty of Turkish players hunting for a fast, stable way into their favorite games lean on Pinco giriş to sign in, poke around the lobby, and see which offers are live that week. Then comes the real question, the one nobody quite lets go of.
Can a person actually beat the house long term? Short answer, said plainly: not reliably. To back that up, Pinco Сasino breaks down how these games are wired and why clever-sounding systems keep falling apart the moment real money is involved.
Where the Myths Come From
Here is the thing about casino myths. They almost never start with data. Someone wins big on a random Tuesday, tells the story twice, and a lucky fluke quietly turns into a “method.” Ads nudge it along. Forums repeat it. Newcomers testing Pinco giris often show up already half-convinced of a few of these.
The usual suspects:
- A machine is “due” after a long cold streak.
- Doubling bets after a loss will win it all back.
- Some hours of the night pay out better than others.
- The last spin somehow hints at the next one.
Not one of them survives a close look. Every round stands alone. A clock does not care, and a losing streak has no memory. Players who accept that early tend to keep both their patience and their cash.
What the Math Actually Says
There is a number behind every game: the house edge. It is just the slice the operator expects to keep over time. One session? It predicts nothing. Ten thousand rounds? It shows up like clockwork. Folks who reach Pinco Сasino giriş usually relax and enjoy things more once that figure stops feeling like a trick.
House Edge in Plain Terms
The table gives a rough picture of how game types stack up. Exact numbers move around depending on the rules and the studio behind them.
| Game Type | Typical House Edge | Skill Involved |
| Slots | 3% – 10% | Very low |
| Roulette | 2.7% – 5.3% | Low |
| Blackjack | 0.5% – 2% | Moderate |
| Video Poker | 0.5% – 3% | Moderate |
So skill-based games attract strategic players, while slots remain a pure coin flip. Still, that edge never hits zero. The house keeps its sliver over the long haul, no exceptions. Reading the numbers first helps players expect the truth rather than a fairy tale.
Smart Habits That Reduce Risk
Real strategy has nothing to do with cracking the odds. It comes down to control, a budget, and picking games with a clear head. Some regulars keep the Pinco APK close so they can monitor spending and session time right from their phones.
A handful of habits actually move the needle:
- Decide on a budget before the first bet, then quit when it is gone.
- Lean toward lower-edge games when the plan is a long session.
- Think of bonuses as extra minutes, never as promised profit.
- Step away often, because tired choices get expensive.
A Pinco promosyon kodu might stretch a bankroll a bit, sure. It still does not touch the underlying math. What these habits really protect is the fun, so the whole thing stays a hobby and not a chase.
The Honest Bottom Line
No secret formula exists. Anyone peddling one is selling a story, nothing more. What Pinco pushes instead is calm, responsible play built on firm limits and goals a person can live with. That habit outlasts any hot streak.
For Turkish users, a solid Pinco oyun sitesi should feel simple: clear rules, quick access, fair terms. Good nights come. Bad ones come too. The players who last are the ones who know the odds cold, guard their budget, and refuse to mistake a bit of luck for a plan.
Features
The Blackjack Bet Behind the Everyday Phrase Double Down
Imagine sending a terrible pun to someone you fancy. They laugh, so you send another. Soon, the two of you have a running joke, and a friend says you have doubled down on the cheesy approach.
The words sound at home in that exchange. They also fit a chief executive’s plans or a politician’s speech. In each case, someone puts more weight behind a choice they have already made. Whether that sounds charming, sensible or stubborn depends on the choice, and on who is describing it.
How the Phrase Left the Card Table
Double down comes from blackjack, where it names a betting option recorded in print by the late 1940s.
Today, it appears in business talk, political speeches and dating conversations, far beyond any online casino. The gambling connection deserves a reminder: gambling involves financial risk, and anyone who participates should set spending and time limits and seek support if it causes harm.
By 1991, Joseph Epstein was using the expression figuratively in his essay collection A Line Out for a Walk. It offered a way to describe taking a further risk outside gambling.
The meaning continued to broaden. Merriam-Webster includes becoming more determined in a position or undertaking. Dictionary.com describes increasing effort or holding to an opinion, especially under pressure.
Those definitions cover actions as well as arguments. Someone might spend more time developing a promising project, or defend a disputed view more firmly. The words leave room for both.
A Business Reason to Keep Going
Jeff Bezos supplied an example in his 2016 shareholder letter, released in April 2017. Writing about patient experimentation and attention to customers, the Amazon founder advised readers to “double down when you see customer delight”.
In the published letter, that advice sits alongside accepting failures, planting seeds and protecting young ideas. The sequence gives the expression a purpose: allow ideas to develop, notice what customers appreciate, then give those ideas more support.
Here, doubling down sounds considered. A positive response supplies the reason for doing more.
The phrase also does useful work without attaching a figure to the decision. It conveys increased effort while leaving the details to the situation. Picture a team finding that customers value a particular service and deciding to develop it further. The expression gives that decision a sense of confidence.
Put the same decision in a political argument, though, and someone may question the direction.
When Determination Becomes a Criticism
In his January 24, 2012 State of the Union address, Barack Obama described other countries as doubling down on education. The official transcript places the phrase in a discussion of teachers, skills and preparation for future employment.
Education was something to back more strongly. Obama’s wording gave added effort an approving tone.
Later that year, Bill Clinton used the expression against an opposing economic approach. His prepared remarks for the Democratic National Convention included “double down on trickle-down”, a line whose repeated sounds helped carry the criticism.
The contrast is revealing. Obama presented greater commitment as desirable; Clinton made it part of his objection. Both used the expression to describe pressing further along an existing path.
That difference helps explain why the phrase works in news and commentary. It can describe what someone is doing while also suggesting how the speaker feels about it. The judgement comes through the surrounding words, something readers can recognise in personal conversations too.
What It Sounds Like in Dating
Bumble brings the expression into familiar dating territory in its guidance for people recovering after ghosting. It encourages readers to double down on self-care, directing their energy towards their own wellbeing.
Psychologist Cheryl Harasymchuk uses it differently in an article published by Carleton University. Discussing positive relationship experiences, she gives the example of a couple following an enjoyable date night with more opportunities to spend time together.
These are gentler uses than Clinton’s political jab. One concerns looking after yourself; the other concerns making room for something you enjoy as a couple. Both give stronger effort an everyday, recognisable purpose.
They also show why the words following double down matter. Self-care, education and a disputed policy lead the reader towards different judgements about persistence.
Back in that imaginary message exchange, another awful pun might be welcome because both people are enjoying the joke. The shared response makes continuing it feel playful and personal.
That brings the expression back to ordinary conversation. Double down tells us that someone is committing more strongly. The rest of the story tells us what to make of it.

