Features
Amid pandemic, these young Jews and their elderly friends are finding new ways to connect
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By RENEE GHERT-ZAND When the COVID-19 pandemic began, 15-year-old Samantha Renzulli immediately thought about how it would affect her elderly friends at Jewish Senior Services, a long-term care facility in Bridgeport, Connecticut.
Renzulli had met some of the residents through Better Together, a school-based Jewish intergenerational program, and she worried about their isolation.
“I was aware of the loneliness the residents must have been experiencing, as they were unable to have visitors or leave their rooms,” Renzulli said. “As I thought back to all the fun times I shared with the residents, it saddened me to think of their lack of companionship during this time.”
So she and her fellow students at the Merkaz Community High School for Judaic Studies resolved to find new ways to maintain connections to the seniors. Since mid-April, students’ families have paraded in long caravans of decorated cars around the residence every Friday as residents and staff look on from balconies. They’ve also delivered more than 130 bouquets of donated flowers for residents, and a trove of books, toys and toiletries for staff members and their families.
On Mother’s Day, Renzulli and her young friends shared with the seniors a “musical mitzvah mashup” video they created especially for them.
In normal times, Better Together, a project launched in 2014, pairs together young Jews and older Jews for meaningful in-person interactions. Middle- and high-school students from Jewish day schools, Hebrew schools and Jewish youth groups meet with the residents of senior centers or groups of seniors from local synagogues.
Faced with the pandemic, students have found innovative ways to continue connecting with their elder “buddies” despite social distancing protocols. Rather than reducing operations because in-person encounters are not possible, Better Together ended up expanding its scope of activities to meet surging interest, introducing a modified version of its program that can be replicated in communities across the country.
Called Better Together in a Box, it’s a free, downloadable curriculum designed for the upcoming summer of social distancing, when camp, internships and many other Jewish summer activities will be cancelled. Jewish organizations that commit to implementing the program are eligible for a grant to cover staffing and materials.
Better Together in a Box includes materials for teen learning sessions on Jewish values such as leadership, responsibility, empathy, wisdom and wellness. It suggests virtual intergenerational activities, including cooking, fitness and art, with detailed plans on how to implement them – synchronously or not – based on the technological ability and the teens’ and seniors’ hardware. Activities include letter writing, Mad Libs, teens creating short videos to engage with the seniors, and discussions on health and community.
“What we mean by ‘in-a-box’ is that it is a ready-to-use curriculum, and that it is designed for doing things virtually, or at least not in person,” said Bess Adler, Better Together’s program director.
The program’s pandemic-era pivot is a sign of how some Jewish initiatives are adapting and innovating to meet the needs of the times.
Organizers are hoping camps, youth groups, congregational schools and Jewish day schools will utilize the curriculum for youths ranging in age from middle school to high school. An optional writing contest offers students prizes and the possibility of getting an article published based on their summer experiences.
Yolande Dauber, 101, is eager to continue participating in Better Together this summer. A resident of The Medallion, an assisted living residence in Houston, she has enjoyed her conversations with her young buddy from the Robert M. Beren Academy, a modern Orthodox day school in Houston.
“It’s nice to mingle with young people,” said Dauber, who once worked as a middle school guidance counsellor in her hometown of Brooklyn. “They have interesting ideas, and I enjoy hearing about their plans for the future.”
Dauber misses hugging and kissing the students as they arrive at The Medallion but understands that she can’t meet them in person for the foreseeable future. Adept at using her computer and Kindle, she is confident she’ll be able to participate in online activities organized by Beren Academy students this summer.
Since the beginning of the pandemic, students from the school have been calling their senior buddies to wish them Shabbat Shalom, and created videos for them.
“Some of the residents even made selfie videos and sent them back to us in return,” said 17-year-old Natanya Ruben, who will participate in Better in a Box this summer following cancelled plans for a family trip to South Africa.
Not all seniors are able to use technology. Rabbi Ari Kellerman, the Judaic studies principal at Beren Academy’s middle and high schools, has been trying to come up with other activities. A consultant to Better Together in a Box, he devised the idea of a Buddy Box, where teens can send their elderly partners fun items such as craft project materials along with video cards with filmed clips of themselves offering greetings and project instructions.
Until now, students have produced elaborate works based on their yearlong interactions with their senior buddies, such as photography exhibitions, documentary films, large quilts, and travel scrapbooks reflecting global destinations that have played important roles in the seniors’ lives.
Now, the focus is a bit different.
“COVID poses such a big challenge,” Kellerman said. “We need to shift from thinking so much about fun activities to making sure our seniors are okay.”
Devra Aarons, director of the Contra Costa Midrasha, a community-based weekly Jewish educational program for 8th through 12th graders in Walnut Creek, California, said the emphasis now must be on maintaining relationships and cultivating empathy. Her students are partnered with residents of The Reutlinger, in nearby Danville.
“I find that the teens are very good with coming up with ideas for using videos and other tech,” Aarons said. “Maybe we’ll just focus on teaching the seniors how to use the technology at first. That could be a good way to stay connected.”
In Connecticut, Renzulli has taken the lead in designing intergenerational activities. With her planned five-week summer language-immersion program in Spain cancelled, she said one of her main priorities this summer will be focusing on “bringing love and joy” to residents of Jewish Senior Services, and “showing them and the nurses at their aid that our community is here to support them.”
Renzulli’s mother, Laurie Renzulli, said the project has helped boost her daughter’s spirits during this challenging time.
“The weekly meetings for planning and execution of the activities have helped tremendously during this time of home education and limited social interactions,” she said. “Each week there have been deliverables to accomplish, and when each weekly mitzvah hits a milestone or completion, Samantha feels she has made a positive difference in our community and the world.”
This story was sponsored by and produced in collaboration with a foundation that wishes to remain anonymous, and is part of a series titled “On the Bright Side: Stories of innovation and resilience from Jewish non-profits.” This article was produced by JTA’s native content team.
Features
I Speak “Jew”

By MARK E. PAULL I grew up in Montreal. Born in 1956. Anglo by birth, sure. But that never quite fit. I don’t speak “Anglo” the way they mean it. My real language is Jew.
And I don’t mean Hebrew or Yiddish. I mean the language of reading the room before you enter it. The code-switching, shame-dodging, laugh-first-so-they-don’t-pounce dialect we pick up early. It’s a language built on side-eyes and timing and ten generations of tension.
I speak French—enough to make myself understood. Enough to charm a dinner table, crack a joke, get someone’s uncle to nod. I’m not fluent, but I’m fast. Doesn’t matter. In Quebec, language isn’t grammar—it’s inheritance. It’s who your grandfather cursed out in a hardware store.
To the Francophones, I’ll never be one of them. My accent betrays me before I say a word. I’m just an Anglo. And not even that, really. Because when the lens tightens, when they look closely, I’m just un Juif. Just a Jew.
And to the Anglos? Same thing. I can wear the suit, speak the Queen’s English, order the wine properly—still a Jew. Even in rooms where I “pass,” I don’t belong. I’m not invited in to be myself. I’m invited in to behave. To be safe. To not say the thing that makes the air stiff.
We’re the only people still called by our religion. No one says “Orthodox” for a Greek. No one says “Vatican” for an Italian. No one calls a Black man “Baptist” before they see his face. But “Jew”? That sticks. That’s the label. Before passport. Before language. Before hello.
I’ve mostly made peace with that. But there’s still this ache—knowing you can live your whole life in a place and never really be from there.
Let me tell you a story.
We had this block party once—the folding-table, paper-plate kind. Kids zipping by on scooters. Music low. Everyone asked to bring something from “your culture.”
The Greek guy brought lemon potatoes and lamb—felt like it came with a side of Byzantine history. The Italians brought two lasagnas—meat and veggie—with basil placed like confetti. The Vietnamese couple brought shrimp rolls that vanished before they hit the table. Even the German guy—built like a fridge—brought bratwurst and a six-pack with gothic lettering.
And then us.
My partner made Moroccan fish. Her grandmother’s recipe. Red with tomatoes, garlic, cumin. Studded with olives and preserved lemon. I brought a bottle of white wine. Dry. Crisp. From the Golan Heights. Not Manischewitz. Not even close.
We laid it out. Someone leaned over: “Moroccan? But I thought you were Jewish.”
We smiled. “We are.”
Then: “So… where’s the brisket? Isn’t Jewish wine supposed to be sweet?”
That’s when it hits you. No matter how long you’ve lived here, how many snowstorms you’ve shoveled through, you’re still explaining yourself. Still translating your presence.
Because they don’t know. They don’t know Jews came from everywhere. That “Jewish” isn’t one dish—it’s a whole map. That we had Jews in Morocco before there was even a France. That some of us grew up on kreplach, some on kefta. That some of our mothers sang in Yiddish, others in Arabic, and some in both—depending on who was knocking.
They don’t know. And worse—they don’t ask.
And that’s the part that gets you. Not the slurs. Not the graffiti. Not even the occasional muttered cliché. It’s the blankness. The shrug. The image they already have of you that’s built out of dreidels and sitcoms.
“Jewish” as nostalgic. As novelty. Something they saw once on a bagel.
Sometimes, when those questions come, I float. One version of me walks out. Another turns into a mouse. One turns into a Frisbee. Just gone. Not mad. Just tired.
Because being a Jew isn’t cute. It’s not nostalgic.
It’s ancient.
Before Montreal.
Before France.
Before Poland. Before Spain.
Before pogroms.
Before ghettos.
Before Hitler.
Before even the word Europe.
We were there.
Go back to the 5th century. 2nd century.
Go back to Jesus—our kid, by the way.
Go further—Babylon. Persia.
Keep going—Temple. Exile. Wandering.
And still, after all that, I’m at a table in Quebec explaining why our fish has cumin in it.
It’s almost funny. If it didn’t wear you down a little.
I’m not looking for pity. This isn’t a complaint.
I’m proud. I know what I carry. I walk into any room with five thousand years behind me. I come from people who kept the lights on through every kind of darkness—and laughed through it, too.
But sometimes, I just wish I didn’t have to explain so much.
All I want is to put down my dish…
…and hear someone say:
“That smells amazing. Tell me the story.”
That’s all.
Mark E. Paull, C.A.C. is a Certified ADHD Coach – IPHM, CMA, IIC&M, CPD Certified
Writer | Lived-Experience Advocate | Type 1 Diabetic since 1967
He has been published in:
The New York Times, The Globe and Mail, Folklife Magazine, Times of Israel, CHADD’s Attention Magazine, The Good Men Project
Features
At 104, Besse Gurevich last original resident of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence

By MYRON LOVE At 104, Besse Gurevich is the last of the original residents of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence. She may also be the oldest member of our Jewish community.
Although her vision and her hearing have diminished considerably, her mind and memory are still intact. A few weeks back, this writer sat down with her in her suite as she recalled a life filled with highs and lows and her many contributions to her community, both in Winnipeg and Fort William before that.
The daughter of Jack and Rebecca Avit, her life’s journey began in 1921 in a home on Carlton Street near Ellice Avenue, near her father’s furniture store. He later operated a cap factory.
When she was ten, the family – she had two brothers and a sister – moved to Manitoba Avenue in the old North End. “My father had put a deposit down on a house on Scotia,” she recalls. “But my parents didn’t feel that the neighbourhood was Jewish enough.”
Her schooling included Peretz School and, like so many of her generation, St. John’s Tech (as it was known back then.) “I was actually supposed to be going to Isaac Newton for high school,” she says. We were living on the wrong side of the tracks for St. John’s. After one day at Isaac Newton, I found a way to transfer to St. John’s.”
In 1940, 19-year-old Bessie Avit married Jack Gurevich, a young man from Fort William. The wedding was marred though, by the sudden, untimely passing of her father.
Following the wedding, Besse moved with her new husband to Fort William where Jack Gurevich worked in retail clothing sales. “We lived in Fort William for 20 years,” she says. “Our three children (Judy, Richard and Howard) were born there.”
She recalls that there were about 200 Jewish families – including her sister and one of her brothers for some years – in town, during the time she lived there. “We were very well known in the community,” she recalls. “I was involved in everything.”
Her community activism continued after the family’s return to her home town. While Jack went to work as a salesman for Western Glove Works, Besse became an indefatigable community volunteer. At one time or another, she served as vice-president of ORT, Hadassah and National Council of Jewish Women in Winnipeg. She was also a long time B’nai Brith member.
In the business world, the highlight of her career was the building of Linden Woods. “I became involved in real estate development for a time,” she recalls. “I was hired by Genstar to develop Linden Woods. The company estimated that it would take about 20 years to complete. I got it done in two.”
She also taught hair dressing for a while. “I worked with many young Jewish brides,” she says.
Recent years have not been kind to Besse Gurevich. Her beloved husband, Jack, died in 2016 – after almost 65 years of marriage. Older son, Richard, passed away in Vancouver in 2018 and, most recently –six months ago – younger son, Howard, followed. She notes that there were 200 mourners at Howard’s funeral.
(Howard Gurevich was in marketing for many years before turning his talents to the art world. In recent years, he was best known for Gurevich Fine Art in the Exchange District and his support of local artists.)
Besse Gurevich celebrated her 100th birthday – which took place at the height of the Covid shutdown – quietly.
While she used to enjoy reading. she is unable to do so any more. She can still listen to television.
And while she has few family members to visit her any more, she does have a group of friends interesting enough from the local theatre scene. For many years, she was a close friend of the late Doreen Brownstone, one of the leading figures in theatre in Winnipeg for more than half a century. Besse became part of the group that would visit Doreen every week and, since Doreen passed on three years ago, the members of the group have continued to visit Besse on a weekly basis.
Features
Winnipeg author’s first novel gripping tale of romance, action and intrigue, set in 15th century Spain and Morocco

By MYRON LOVE “The Chronos of Andalucia”, a novel just released by first-time author Merom Toledano, is a historical romance set in late 15th century Spain and Morocco, filled with passion, action, intrigue, unexpected twists and turns – and, of course, with the requirement of any medieval story – a quest.
The easy-to-read, 190 page book follows the adventures of Catalina, a young woman living by her wits on the streets of Granada in the year 1487, (just after the Christian armies of Ferdinand and Isabella had recaptured all of Spain from the Moors) – while trying to evade the agents of the Inquisition, who had murdered her Jewish mother and Christian father 10 years earlier. She was left with an insatiable desire to learn about astronomy, along with a mysterious map and an astrolabe (an instrument formerly used to make astronomical measurements) – the importance of which will only be unveiled if she can get to the city of Tangier in Morocco.
Early on, there is a reference to Abraham Zacuto, a prominent Spanish rabbi famed for his knowledge of astronomy and astrology.
The action begins when she has a casual interaction with a former Spanish soldier, Diego. When the forces of the Inquisition approach, she flees with the soldier – who is also her love interest – and who helps her to escape. They turn for help to a childhood friend of Catalina’s – Roberta, a nun, who helps them on their perilous journey to Tangier – a journey that includes being captured by pirates, surviving a shipwreck, being separated for a long period of time and, of course, finding each other again and realizing the success of their joint quest.
In his writing, the author paints vivid word pictures of the different characters and beautifully invokes the colour, sights, sounds and scents of the time and the places.
What I found truly remarkable about the writing of “The Chronos of Andalucia” is that English is not Merom Toledano’s first language. The Israeli-born author – he grew up near Haifa – came to Winnipeg with his young family just eight years ago.
“I have had this book in mind for several years now,” says the satellite engineer whose working career takes him to many different parts of the world.
He notes that he has always felt a connection to Spain, Spanish music and literature – a reflection of his family’s modern origins in that country. His great-grandparents, he relates, lived in Toledo – hence the family name, Toledano. His parents lived in Meknes in Morocco while his father attended university in Tangier before making aliyah.
Toledano just published “The Chronos of Andalucia” in April on Amazon. He reports that the book – which is available here at McNally Robinson – has been selling well –close to 100 copies – with orders coming from a bookstore chain in England, a bookstore in Denmark, and one in Italy.
“I have had between 30 and 40 positive reviews so far,” he reports.
Toledano adds that he envisages “The Chronos of Andalucia” to be the first in a series – a la the writer Danielle Steele. He is already working on a sequel – which is hinted at the end of “The Chronos” and, he reports, he is establishing his own independent publishing operation.