Features
A tale of two streets that proved to be very attractive for Jewish families in years gone by
By BERNIE BELLAN Any longtime reader of this paper would know that nostalgia is a recurring theme in much of what you’re going to find in the pages of The JP&N (or on this website – as the case may be). We print stories about the history of our Jewish community here on a regular basis – and those stories usually elicit a flurry of responses from readers, often telling us what we got wrong!
Every once in a while we receive an email from someone asking us whether we can supply information about an individual or a particular story from the past. While we do maintain a digital archive on our own website, it has gaps in it as a result of the poor quality of many of the microfilms that were used to produce our archive.
Luckily, the Jewish Heritage Centre has now developed a much more comprehensive digital archive of all Jewish newspapers that may have existed in Winnipeg at one time or another. To be honest, I find it a little difficult to navigate their archive, but if you persevere, it does have a vast repository of priceless information about the history of our Jewish community.
We’re also lucky to have our very own chronicler of days gone by in the person of Gerry Posner. Six years ago Gerry wrote what proved to be a very popular story about one block of McAdam Avenue – that was populated almost entirely by Jewish families at one time.
Recently we were contacted by Shael Glesby, who wrote that he was looking for an article that appeared in the 1949 issue of The Jewish Post and which told the story how the street in East Kildonan where Shael grew up had first begun to be developed in the late 1940s. The thought occurred to me that juxtaposing the stories of the two streets might be interesting for our readers – even if the memory of Gerry’s McAdam Avenue story is still fresh in some of your minds.
Bredin Drive – one of the most beautiful streets in all of Winnipeg was a magnet for Jewish families in the late 40s and early 50s
Before the late 1940s there were very few Jews living in East Kildonan, but according to Shael Glesby some developers had the notion that by building what were then considered to be very upscale homes, the area could attract Jews who were thinking of moving from the north end.
As it turned out, the one street that fulfilled those developers’ dreams somewhat was beautiful Bredin Drive, which was bisected by another beautiful street that also became home to several other Jewish families.
Alas, other than those two streets, according to Shael, there was only a smattering of other Jewish families in East Kildonan. Shael suggested that the new area of south River Heights, which was also being developed starting in the 1950s, proved to be much attractive for young upwardly mobile Jewish families.
We were sufficiently interested by Shael’s email to want to read the article for which he had been searching. We did find it on the Jewish Heritage Centre website – and offer it here for your interest. Note the references by the writer of the article to the appearances of the women who lived on Bredin Drive whom she interviewed. How times have changed.
Here’s the article, from the November 17, 1949 Jewish Post:
“Bredin Drive Boasts City’s Newest Homes”
The following interesting account of some of Winnipeg’s newest homes appeared in a Winnipeg Tribune write-up by Lilian Gibbons in he Aug. 27 edition. – The Editor
Opposite the East Kildonan municipal office is a new housing development that has brought into the light a little secluded street hidden away for years. Bredin Drive today is U-shaped, with the loop on Red River and the arms ending in Henderson Highway; up the centre of the U comes Roosevelt Place with six new houses. For years the north arm of the U has been known as Bredin Drive, a tucked away retreat with a few houses on it. Old and new, the houses now number 26. The south arm is Elmwood Park, opposite the Roxy Theatre.
The smart new street is cut out of two old river-fronted farms, A. R. Bredin’s and Daniel Hamilton’s. Mr. Bredin lived in the big frame house with the verandahs which is now the municipal office of East Kildonan. Then he moved away to Muskegan, Michigan.
The biggest house is 300, the Max Freeds, built two years ago last April. For a long time it looked deserted there on the river. Now it has many neighbours. The house is of white colonial siding and rubble, with a big overhanging roof, a sweep of lawn with lifelike pelicans, and on the river side a patio with awnings, a glass pleasure house near the water. Pretty young Mrs. Freed is still coping with these amenities, matching lime green drapes to grey broadloom and taking care of two babies.
The first two houses, next to the park and the highway, 200 and 210, are the homes of William Wolchock and Cecil Smith, business partners in building. It was blond young Sidney Wolchock who received the reporter. “Gee, it must take a long time to write a whole street. No, I didn’t know the Municipal Office was the Bredin farm home but I do know it won’t be there much longer. My father is building blocks there.”
Opposite is a bungalow of wide siding the color of new green apples, No. 201, home of J. B. Wolk. “We have no stove yet, only a hot plate, but isn’t it nice?” Friendly Mrs. Wolk invited the reporter in.” Five weeks ago today we moved in.”
No. 245 and 255 are another pair very alike, with the popular pink rubble stone at the entrance. Max Ratner built both, lives in the first, and will sell the second; the relative for whom he intended it can’t come to Winnipeg. No. 265 and 275, another pair, are the homes of brothers Ben Billinkoff and J. B. Billinkoff, who are building wreckers.
At the top of the middle street, 198 and 190 Roosevelt Place, are a pair of big square homes, M. Gutkin’s and A. Akman’s. Mrs. Gutkin was sitting on the steps with her mother and rocking her baby daughter’s carriage. “We’re pioneers,” she said stoutly. “We were here when there were only four houses. Linda was born here – she’s a native.”
Mrs. A. J. Averbach, at 330, is the sister of Mrs. Akman, 190 Roosevelt Place.
There are many new building materials displayed in these new homes; for instance, glass for door side-lights. Sometimes it’s fluted like Venetian blinds; sometimes criss-crossed like gingham. The young women are as good looking as the homes they occupy.
(Interestingly, on the same pages as the article appeared ads for mirrors, venetian blinds, and lamps. The article, however, never mentioned whether permission had been obtained from the Tribune to reprint its article.)
As a follow-up to the original email that I received from Shael Glesby, I asked him whether he could remember the names of all the families that lived on Bredin Drive when he was growing up there in the 1960s?
Here’s what Shael wrote back:
255 – Ratner (Max and Helen)
265 – Glesby (Bert & Silvia) original owners were Billinkoffs (Ben & Yetta)
275 – Billinkoff (Joe & Ann)
285 – Gobuty (James & Rae)
210 – Snaper (Mark & Ethel)
250 – Brownstein (Vicki)
260 – Wolchock (Bill & Rose)
300 – Freed (Max & Marion)
310 – Billinkoff (Ben & Yetta) after selling 265.
320 – Bellan (Sam & Marjorie)
There were 3 more Jewish families just north of 320, but I don’t know which houses were owned by which.
Swartz
Averbach
Jacobson
On Roosevelt Place:
Cristall
Duchon
Gutkin
Mrs. Tallman (I believe that Lorelei formerly Brenda, Bellan lives there now. Ed. note: Shael is correct.)
On Henderson Highway, just north of Bredin:
Tallman – Harvey & Louise (newer home built in the 60’s, I think)
Mrs. Tamara Wiseman – Vice Principal/ Principal of Talmud Torah.
There were other Jewish families scattered in the area.
Hespeler – Shore (Ben & Ruth)
Glenwood – Pukin
Streets unknown – Glass (Norm’s family), Moglove, Kaufman (Lala’s family)
See next story for a story about yet another street that almost totally Jewish at one time
Features
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Features
Why People in Israel Can Get Emotionally Attached to AI—and How to Keep It Healthy
Let’s start with the uncomfortable truth that’s also kind of relieving: getting emotionally attached to a Joi.com AI isn’t “weird.” It’s human. Our brains are attachment machines. Give us a voice that feels warm, consistent, and attentive—especially one that shows up on demand—and our nervous system goes, “Oh. Safety. Connection.” Even if the rational part of you knows it’s software, the emotional part responds to the experience.
Now, if we’re talking about Jewish people in Israel specifically, it’s worth saying this carefully: there isn’t one “Jewish Israeli psychology.” People differ wildly by age, religiosity, community, language, politics, relationship status, and life history. But there are some real-life conditions common in Israel—high tech adoption, a fast-paced social environment, chronic background stress for many, and strong cultural emphasis on connection—that can make AI companionship feel especially appealing for some individuals. Not because of religion or ethnicity as a trait, but because of context and pressure.
So if you’ve noticed yourself—or someone you know—getting attached to an AI companion, the goal isn’t to panic or label it as unhealthy by default. The goal is to understand why it feels good and make sure it stays supportive rather than consuming.
Why attachment happens so fast (the psychology in plain language)
Attachment isn’t just about romance. It’s about regulation. When you feel seen, your body calms down. When you feel ignored, your body gets edgy. AI companions can offer something that’s rare in real life: consistent responsiveness. No scheduling. No misunderstandings (most of the time). No “I’m too tired to talk.” Just a steady stream of attention.
From an attachment perspective, that steadiness can act like a soft emotional “hug.” For someone with anxious attachment, it can feel like relief: finally, a connection that doesn’t disappear. For someone with avoidant tendencies, it can feel safe because it’s intimacy without the risk of being overwhelmed by a real person’s needs. For someone simply lonely or stressed, it can feel like a quiet exhale.
And unlike human relationships, AI won’t judge your worst timing. You can message at 2:00 a.m., when your thoughts are loud and the apartment is silent, and you’ll still get an answer that sounds caring. That alone is powerful.
Why it can feel especially relevant in Israel (for some people)
Israel is a small country with a big emotional load for many people—again, not universally, but often enough that it shapes daily life. A lot of people live with a background hum of stress, whether it’s personal, economic, or tied to the broader environment. When life feels intense, the appeal of a stable, gentle interaction grows. Not because you’re fragile—because you’re tired.
Add a few more very normal realities:
High tech comfort is cultural. Israel has a strong tech culture. People are used to tools that solve problems quickly. If you’re already comfortable with digital solutions, trying an AI companion doesn’t feel like a strange leap.
Time is tight. Between work, family responsibilities, reserve duty for some, long commutes, or simply the pace of urban life, many people don’t have the energy for long, messy social processes. AI can feel like connection without the logistics.
Social circles can be both close and complicated. Israeli society can be community-oriented, which is beautiful—until it’s also intense. In tight-knit circles, dating and relationships sometimes come with social pressure, opinions, and “everyone knows everyone.” A private AI chat can feel like a relief: no gossip, no explanations, no performance.
Language and identity complexity. Many Jewish Israelis move between languages and cultures (Hebrew, Russian, English, French, Amharic, Arabic for some). AI chat can become a low-stakes space to express yourself in the language you feel most “you” in—without feeling judged for accent, vocabulary, or code-switching.
None of this means “Israelis are more likely” in any absolute sense. It means there are situational reasons why AI companionship can feel particularly soothing or convenient for some people living there.
The good side: when AI attachment is healthy
Emotional attachment isn’t automatically a problem. Sometimes it’s simply a sign that something is working: you feel supported. You feel calmer. You’re expressing yourself more. You’re practicing communication instead of shutting down. You’re less likely to make impulsive choices from loneliness.
Healthy use often looks like:
You feel better after chatting, not worse.
You can still enjoy your real life—friends, work, hobbies, family.
You don’t hide it in shame; you just treat it like a tool or pastime.
You use the AI to practice skills you bring into real relationships: clarity, boundaries, confidence, emotional regulation.
In that version, AI companionship is closer to journaling with feedback, or a comforting ritual—like a cup of tea at the end of the day, not a replacement for dinner.
Where it can slip into unhealthy territory (quietly)
The danger isn’t “having feelings.” The danger is outsourcing your emotional world to something that will never truly share responsibility.
Warning signs usually look like:
You cancel plans with humans because the AI feels easier.
You feel anxious when you’re not chatting, like you’re missing something.
You start needing the AI to reassure you constantly.
Your standards for human relationships collapse (“Humans are too complicated, AI is enough”).
You feel a “crash” after chatting—more lonely, more restless, more disconnected.
The biggest red flag is when the AI becomes your only reliable source of comfort. That’s not because AI is evil. It’s because any single source of emotional regulation—human or non-human—can become a dependency.
How to keep it healthy (without killing the fun)
Here’s the approach that works best: don’t ban it, contain it.
Give it a role.
Decide what the AI is for in your life: playful flirting, stress relief, practicing communication, roleplay, bedtime decompression. A defined role prevents the relationship from becoming vague and all-consuming.
Set a “time container.”
Not as punishment—just as hygiene. For example: 20 minutes at night, or during commute time, or only on certain days. Ending while you still feel good is the secret. Don’t chat until you feel hollow.
Keep one human anchor active.
A friend you text, a weekly family dinner, a class, a gym routine, a community event—something that keeps your real social muscles moving. In Israel, community can be a huge protective factor when it’s supportive. Use it.
Use consent and boundary language even with AI.
It sounds odd, but it trains your brain in healthy dynamics:
“Slow down. Keep it playful, not intense.”
“No jealousy talk. I don’t like that vibe.”
“Tonight I want comfort, not advice.”
If you can do that with an AI, you’ll be better at doing it with humans.
Watch the “replacement” impulse.
If you catch yourself thinking, “I don’t need anyone else,” pause and ask: is that empowerment—or is it avoidance? Sometimes it’s a protective story your brain tells when it’s tired of disappointment.
Check in with your body after.
Not your thoughts—your body. Calm? Lighter? More grounded? Good sign. Agitated? Empty? Restless? Time to adjust.
And if you’re noticing that AI use is feeding anxiety, sleep problems, isolation, or obsessive thinking, it may help to talk to a mental health professional—especially someone who understands attachment patterns. That’s not a dramatic step. It’s basic self-care.
People in Israel—Jewish Israelis included—can get attached to AI for the same reason people everywhere do: it offers consistent attention in an inconsistent world. Add the local realities of stress, pace, and social complexity, and it can feel even more comforting for some individuals. The healthiest path isn’t to judge yourself for it. It’s to use it intentionally, keep your human life active, and treat the AI as a supportive tool—not the center of your emotional universe.
Features
Three generations of Wernicks all chose to become rabbis
By GERRY POSNER Recently I was at a Shabbat service at Beth Tzedec Synagogue in Toronto and the day unfolded in some unexpected ways for me.
It began when I was asked to be a Gabbai for the service, that is to stand up at the table where the Torah is placed and to check the Torah reading to make sure there are no errors. I have done this before and it has always gone smoothly. I attribute that fact in large part to the Torah reading ability of the reader at Beth Synagogue. He is fast, fluent and flawless. Well, on this particular day after he had completed the first two portions, he began the shlishi or third aliyah. I could not find his reading anywhere. It was as if he had started somewhere fresh, but not where he was supposed to be. I looked at the other Gabbai and he did not seem to recognize what had happened either. So, I let it go. I had no idea where the Torah reader was. He then did another and still I was lost. He came to what was the 6th aliyah when a clergy member walked over to him and indicated to him that he had read the fourth and fifth aliyah, but that he had missed the third one. The Torah reader then said to me “this is what you are here for.” Now, it might have been one thing if I had missed it entirely. Alas, I saw the error, but let it go as I deferred to the Torah reader since he never makes a mistake. He ended up going back to do the third aliyah before continuing on. This was a very unusual event in the synagogue. I felt responsible in large part for this gaffe. A lesson learned.
The feeling of embarrassment was compounded by the fact that on this particular day the service was highlighted, at least for me, because of the rabbi delivering the sermon. This rabbi, Eugene Wernick, was none other than the father of my present rabbi, Steven Wernick of Beth Tzedec Synagogue. He was also the same rabbi who was the rabbi at Shaarey Zedek between 1979-1986 and who had officiated at my father’s funeral in 1981, also a few years later at my oldest son’s Bar Mitzvah in Winnipeg in 1984. As I listened to him speak, I was taken back to the 1980s, when Rabbi Gene was in the pulpit at Shaarey Zedek. Of course, he is older now than in his Shaarey Zedek days, but the power of his voice was unchanged. If anything, it’s even stronger. As in the past, his message was relevant to all of us and resonated well. Listening to him was a treat for me. Still, my regret in not calling out the mistake from the Torah reading was compounded by the fact that I messed up in front of my former rabbi, Eugene Wernick – never mind my present rabbi, Steven Werinck.
On this Shabbat morning, aside from all the other people present, there were not only the two Rabbis Wernick, but one Michelle Wernick was also there. Michelle, daughter of Rabbi Steven Wernick, is a first year student at the Jewish Theological Seminary. She is following in the family business – much like with the Rose rabbinical family in Winnipeg.
As it turned out, there was a Bat Mitzvah that day. And the Bat Mitzvah family had a very real Winnipeg connection as in the former Leah Potash, mother of the Bat Mitzvah girl, Emmie Bank and the daughter of Reuben and Gail Potash (Thau). It occurred to me that there might be a few Winnipeg people in the crowd. As I scanned the first few rows, I was not disappointed. Sitting there was none other than Chana Thau and her husband Michael Eleff. I managed to have a chat with Chana (even during the Musaf service). In the row right behind Chana and Michael was a face I had not seen in close to sixty years. I refer to Allan Berkal, the eldest son of the former rabbi and chazan at Shaarey Zedek, Louis Berkal. I still remember the first time I met Allan at Hebrew School in 1954 when his family moved to Winnipeg from Grand Forks, North Dakota. That was many maftirs ago. So this was another highlight moment for me.
Of course, there are other Winnipeggers who attend Beth Tzedec most Shabbats. I speak of Morley Goldberg and his wife, the former Marcia Billinkoff Schnoor. As well, Bernie Rubenstein and his wife, the former Sheila Levene were also present for this particular Shabbat. In all, this Shabbat had a particularly Winnipeg flavour to it. Truth be told, you do not have to go far in Toronto at any synagogue and the Winnipeg connections emerge.