Connect with us

Features

At one time one entire block of McAdam Ave. was almost totally Jewish

1994 McAdam Ave. reunion (names inside story)

By GERRY POSNER (This story first appeared in November 2014.)
Once upon a time when life was simpler and gentler, there was a street in the north end of Winnipeg which was like all other streets in the city except in one significant way. Everyone, but for one family, living on McAdam east of Main Street was Jewish.

 

From a 1994 reunion of former McAdam Ave. residents:
Front row – Linda (Shuckett) Waldman, Gail (Caplan) Bender, Brenda Mindell Odwak, Martin Sodomsky, Belva (Cham) Wilder, Carol (Frank) Woodward, Sharon (Mondell) Wolchuck,
Kenny Sodomsky, Behind Brenda her brother Earl Mindell, Barry Caplan, Terry (Yates) Erlichman, Penny (Mondell) Ganetsky
Ed. note: As we noted in the November 12, 2014 issue in which this story – & picture, first appeared,  there are far more faces in the photo than names in the caption.

One might speculate how this might happened and no doubt there are various reasons that might be given, but the reality was that in a period between 1950 to 1970 ( give or take a few years), there was no trouble rounding up a Minyan on McAdam.
Who were these people, what did they do for a living, were they friendly with one another, what became of the kids who grew up then and what memories of that time do they have? Tough questions with uncertain answers in part.
What we can say for sure about this group is that they got along well with one another. There was a feeling of community and they had a spirit of forgiveness for the transgressions of someone else’s kid trespassing on their property or making noises at late hours or for that matter in the early morning hours on a Sunday reserved for sleep. ( just how much this quality of forgiveness has been carried out to the next generation will be evident if there are not too many complaints about how this article left out a name or had the wrong address or mixed up crucial facts).
The names are not as difficult to list without going to a Henderson’s Directory as you might think. All that was needed was Paul Nusgart, Brenda Odwak, Jack Rusen, Cheryl Singer, Linda Waldman, Adeena Lungen and Sharon Wolchock, all graduates of McAdam Avenue. Just to hear the names once again brings back a storehouse of memories. Here is a list of the addresses and the families who inhabited them.

North side of McAdam at Main Street:
195 Ben and Clara Lungen, children Paul and Adeena who owned and operated Lungen’s Meat Market, a butcher shop right at the same address
191 a duplex- main floor Minnie Waldhorn and brother Max Waldhorn. They also had their sister Fanny Mandell living next door at 187. On the second floor was the well known lawyer ID Rusen
187 Manasha and Fanny Mandell, Merle and Ruthy
185 Bill and Minnie Mindell, Earl and Brenda (how odd that a Mandell and a Mindell would live next door to one another)
181 Max and Idy Nusgart, Paul and Ruth Carol, later succeeded by the Greenberg family, as in Lawrence and Lois with sons Jeff and Alan
177 Phil and Adele Sheps, David and Arthur, followed by Charlie and Molly Rusen, Jack and David ( the first family connection as Charlie and ID were brothers)
175 Max and Annette Caplan, a sister to Nathan Stall also on the block across the street, Barry, Sandra, and Gail,
171 Bob, Molly and Hilda Schulz the owners of the Deluxe Theatre Coffee Shop in the Deluxe Theatre and the only non-Jews on the street (Ed. note: In a letter we received following publication of Gerry’s article, writer Allan Margulius (who lived at 170 McAdam) noted that the house at 170 McAdam later belonged to the Brick family: Fred & Cynthia, and children Marsha, Ira, Robbie, & Lisa.)
169 Bernard and Ruth Mondell, Sharon, Penny and Errol (McAdam Avenue, like no other, offers the triple M hockey line, as in Mandell, Mindell and Mondell – a hockey announcer’s worst nightmare)
165 Kaplan – daughters Annette and Bert and Sonny and Dave succeeded by The Frank family, Carol and Minnie and Ernest Green and their five children Coleman, Cheryl, Chuck, David and Ricky
163 A Mrs. Rose Billinkoff, as she was known to the kids of that time, grandmother to David Billinkoff and with her a daughter, Ada
161 Jimmy and Rae Gobuty, daughter Elaine and son Michael followed by Ike and Fanny Glesby and 4 daughters, Carol, Marilyn, Donna and Barbara and even later, the Gillman family
155 The Levin Family who moved later to 146 McAdam and after the Levin’s, Lionel and Minnie Katz, Jerrold and Bernard
151 The Stern family( Ruth and Bill) and children Maxine, Neal, Gary and Shayla who later moved across the street (there seemed to a definite inclination to remain on McAdam since a number of residents moved from one side to the other)
147 Max and Molly Byers, Bloomie and later Benny and Fanny Pressman, Irwin and Eddie
145 Dave and Bert Shuckett, Linda and Richard
141 Evelyn Blankstein and her mother Mrs. Lena Blankstein

South Side:
194 Another duplex with the Collarman family as in parents Mendel and Rachel and son Howard in one part and in the other, Myer and Rose Nackimson, Eddie and Janice followed by Sid Green
190 The Adilmans as in Jack, Joe and Sybil later followed by the Portigals, Evelyn, Sheila and Chassie. Also at this home were Annette and Danny Butler with their kids Mark and Nadine
186 Albert and Sylvia Israels, Martin and Richard
184 Duplex: Bill Malchy family to include daughters Naneve and Melissa and Mr. Jacob Shuckett Sr. followed by Cantor Orland Verall
180 Dave and Sara Hyman, Jackie and Gary
176 Art and Gloria Sodomsky, Ken and Martin
174 Bill and Sukie Pitch, Harvin and Marsha and later the Stewart family and then Manya Margulius, Marty and sister, Caroline and The Frank family (Ed. note: In another letter we received following publication of Gerry’s article, writer Sharon Niznick Glass noted that the Frank family preceded the Margulius family. Sharon wrote that Carol Frank had lived in the house before the Marguliuses and that she boarded with them for two years while she went to university. As Sharon wrote: “When I told people where I was living, they always said: ‘Oh, you’re living in Carole Frank’s house.” Sharon added that she didn’t know who Carol Frank was until 50 years later until she was introduced to Carol Woodward in Palm Springs – who proceeded to tell Sharon that her maiden name was Frank.)
170 Joe and Mickey Margulius, Ilene, Teddy and Allan (yet another family connection- see next door)
168 Zeke and Bert Greenberg, Reta and Arnold
166 Jack and Molly Secter, Lloyd, Norman and Lily Ann
162 Sid and Frances Katz, Paul and Hart later followed by Dave and Dorothy Yates, Terri
160 Nathan and Gertie Stall, Shelley, Morton, Phyllis and Richard
158 Jack and Geila Sheps, Cheryl, Sam, Maureen and Michael
156 Lewis and Lucy Cohen, Ernie and Larry
152 Leon and Clara Cham, Noreen, Belva and Ricki followed by the Ruth and Bill Stern Family
148 Sam and Claire Posner, Ken and Ricki succeeded by Dr. And Mrs. Cham and children Bonnie, David and Susan (a second Cham for McAdam-perhaps it was the rhyme on the name that attracted them there)
146 Harry and Myrna Levin, Michael, Julie, Esther Ruth, Jonathan and Daniel

Back in the 1950’s, on a given summer night, you could hear the voice of Molly Secter bellowing out “ Norman, where are you” all the way from the Levin’s at the eastern end to Main Street at the western end. Or perhaps you might see Charlie Rusen in front of his home practising his golf stroke.

This we know for sure. That time and period has ended and with its demise we lost real neighbourliness and the certainty of being able to look to someone on the street to help out no matter the problem. McAdam had all of those qualities and more. Just ask any of the descendants.

Continue Reading

Features

I Speak “Jew”

Morrocan Jewish fish dish

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

Continue Reading

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.  

Continue Reading

Features

Winnipeg author’s first novel gripping tale of romance, action and intrigue, set in 15th century Spain and Morocco

“The Chronos of Andalucia” author Merom Toledano

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.        

Continue Reading

Copyright © 2017 - 2023 Jewish Post & News