Features
Ari Posner has found success as a composer after growing up in a musical family
By ORI BELMONT Born in Winnipeg in 1970, Ari Posner was exposed to music and performing at an early age.
The son of Gerry and Sherna Posner, Ari learned that playing a musical instrument – or singing can bring so much joy to people (something with which his father was well acquainted after having performed in so many comedic musical performances at the Shaarey Zedek over the years), while his mother was an accomplished pianist.
With musical performances and talent shows a staple of the Posner household, it was only natural that music would play a major role in Ari’s life, as well as for his younger siblings, Rami and Amira.
Along with the melodious tunes of his father’s singing echoing through the home, his mother and grandmother offered great piano accompaniment. And so it was, that at the age of six, Ari was introduced to the piano. He became immediately captivated by the tones, rich harmonies and melodies that the instrument offered. His parents were thrilled that he was drawn to the musical arts, requiring little if any encouragement or motivation to practice. From the first time that he “tickled the ivories,” he was self-motivated to always learn and improve.
From that point in Ari’s life to the present day, one of the primary reasons that Ari continues to produce original and well received musical pieces is because of the sheer joy and nachas that it brings to his parents, he says.
In high school Ari was a member of various rock and roll bands, participating in many concerts – something that motivated him to want to aspire to a career in music, he explains.
Ari attended the University of Manitoba in the late 1980s. He continued his performing career by playing with the Chai Folk Ensemble before moving to Toronto to continue his studies at York University. It was at that time that Ari made the decision to pursue a Fine Arts degree while majoring in music. Half of the curriculum involved studies in General Arts, while the other half focused on music.
At York, Ari also acquired additional skills, including musical composition. He says that throughout his time at university he was excited to go to classes and be surrounded by like-minded people.
Upon graduating, Ari made the decision to stay in Toronto. He explains that he had been presented with several opportunities that he believed would continue to allow him to chart his path towards realizing his dreams.
For the following six years, Ari played piano in a wedding band, as well as providing musical accompaniment for ballet and modern dance classes.
It was also at that time, when he was in his early twenties, that Ari met Stacey Hersh, a Toronto composer. With Stacey’s guidance and support, Ari was able to learn first-hand how the music industry worked. It was also at that time in Ari’s life that he connected with Amin Bhatia, a TV and film music composer. Amin took Ari under his wing, offering useful guidance and support. Over the years he became a dependable mentor for Ari.
Amin strongly believed in Ari’s abilities as a musician and composer – and he had a proposition that would ultimately prove pivotal for Ari’s career arc. Amin required assistance with various composing jobs for television. Specifically, Ari was tasked with writing and arranging music for a children’s series called “Nelvana.” That would be the first of many opportunities for Amin and Ari to work together. Subsequently it led to their involvement in another successful TV series, “Flashpoint,” which ran for five seasons on CBS and CTV. That was followed by work on a series called “X Company,” and more recently, “Anne with an E,” which was on Netflix.
As time progressed, Ari’s abilities began to draw the attention of other prominent individuals in the entertainment industry. In 2001, Ari had a lucky break when he met Rick Shurman, CEO and founding partner of Pirate Radio and Television, which is a prominent name in the advertising industry. Rick took a keen interest in Ari’s composing abilities and eventually offered him a job as an in-house composer at Pirate.
“To me it was like a composing boot camp,” Ari says. “I was writing music every day, in all different styles, with fast deadlines always looming.” To this day Ari still maintains a very close relationship with the staff at Pirate, and continues to make advertising a regular part of his work every year. (Fans of the very popular radio show, “Under the Influence,” with Terry O’Reilly, will be familiar with hearing Ari’s name mentioned as co-composer of that show’s very recognizable theme music after every episode.)
Recently, with Covid-19 restrictions slowly easing, Ari and Amin have collaborated once again, this time on an award-winning animated series which aired on PBS, called “Let’s Go Luna.” In addition, the duo worked together on “Rosie’s Rules,” which will soon be broadcast on PBS. The plot involves a child who lives in southern Texas, whose father is Mexican and whose mother is American. As a result, the series features a good deal of Mexican culture, something that has proven to be an interesting challenge for Posner in terms of his incorporating that culture into the music he composes.
In addition, Ari was involved in a series called “Detention Adventure,” where Ari and Amin joined forces with singer-songwriter Sarah Slean. The series ran on CBC and was well received. It garnered the CSA award in 2021 for “best original score in a dramatic series.”
Often, Ari will encounter individuals who approach him to ask for advice. His words of wisdom?
“Be flexible in your thinking in order to navigate the issues you may have surrounding your work, family and life in general.”
Ari is married to Tamar Kagan, and they have three children: Zachary, Jesse and Leila. Ari says that they are also disciplined in their approach to learning and ambitious to do well in whichever paths they eventually decide to pursue.
Ori Belmont is a freelance writer based in Toronto, Canada
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.