Features
Campus program gives Winnipeggers a virtual reality experience allowing them to share some of the same emotions Israelis attacked on October 7 felt
By BERNIE BELLAN It was advertised as “Through Their Eyes – October 7th Virtual Reality Journey.”
On September 16, a small number of Winnipeggers were able to participate in a virtual reality experience during which they were able to watch in 3D as different Israelis described what they went through on October 7 last year.
The event was sponsored by Winnipeg Friends of Israel and Bridges for Peace. It was held in the games room of the Rady JCC.
As readers no doubt recall, on October 7, 1200 Israelis (and non-Israelis) living in communities situated close to the Gaza Strip were murdered by what turned out to be over 6,000 Hamas terrorists who had managed to penetrate into Israel fairly easily in the early hours of October 7. As well, 220 individuals (not all of whom were Israeli) were abducted and taken to Gaza.
While almost anyone in the world with access to the internet would have been able to see footage of the atrocities carried out by Hamas – and fully understand the absolute terror that people were experiencing, for Israelis living near the Gaza Strip what was happening was all so terribly confusing. People could hear gunshots all around them – but where were they coming from and who was firing them, almost everyone who was there must have wondered?
And, once the realization that an attack was underway, how were you supposed to respond? Were you better off to try and hide in place or to try to make a run for it?
An Israeli production company that goes by the name of Atlantis-VR embarked upon an ambitious project whereby they wanted to interview some of the individuals who experienced that October 7 attack directly. But, rather than simply interviewing those individuals, Atlantis-VR wanted to show each of them in their own homes – in the exact places they were as the attack was taking place. Through virtual reality technology viewers are now able to see a 360° rendition of an entire room in which the interviewees in the presentation created by Atlantis-VR were situated at the time of the attack. At certain points you are also taken outside interviewees’ homes and see the same vistas that those individuals would have been able to see, including roads and fields with the Gaza Strip in the background.
As groups of six different individuals entered the games room in the Rady JCC on September 16 they were greeted by Daniel Zioni, one of the principals behind Atlantis-VR. There were six different sessions held on September 16, each lasting anywhere from 40 minutes to an hour (depending on how long it took each attendee to watch the presentation. In my case, for instance, I spent over an hour as I had so many questions during the course of watching the presentation that I continued to pepper Daniel with questions about what I had just seen after each segment. Poor Daniel – since each of us had donned the headset at different times and were watching the presentation at our own pace, he was constantly racing from participant to participant, adjusting headsets, turning on the next segment, and answering questions.)
After donning the virtual reality headsets, (which takes some getting used to, especially for older participants who had likely never experienced wearing a VR headset before), the first segment began for viewers. We watched as a woman by the name of Yasmin Margolis describe what had happened to her, her husband Sa’ar, and their two young daughters, when Hamas terrorists entered Kibbutz Kissufim, which is where they lived.
Sa’ar bravely left the family home, armed with his rifle, to take on the terrorists. Unfortunately, while his wife’s and daughters’ lives were spared, Sa’ar died that day fighting to protect his kibbutz.
The next segment is about the Marom family, who were living in Kibbutz Re’em. In their case, their house was set on fire by terrorists while they were inside. Still, they managed to escape through a window and were eventually rescued.
The third segment shows a family living in an apartment block in Sderot. The battle for Sderot actually lasted over two days, as IDF forces entered into protracted gun fights with terrorists who had been hiding throughout the city. During that time the Politi family holed themselves up in their apartment and even provided shelter – and food, for a boyfriend of one of their daughters – and his friend, who had found themselves stranded at a gas station where one of them had been working when the terrorists invaded. There was a moment of comic relief when the Politi husband and wife described what happened when they heard banging on their apartment door. The boyfriend shouted that it was him – and Mr. Politi opened the door. At that point, Mr. Polliti, noted, the boyfriend’s friend said: “I’m hungry – have you got anything to eat?”
The final segment of the VR presentation – and easily the most mesmerizing of the four segments, consists of an interview with Rami Davidian, who was a 58-year-old member of a moshav by the name of Patish in an area very close to where the Nova Music Festival was taking place. Davidian has become quite a national hero in Israel for what he did on October 7 – and for almost 48 hours non stop thereafter.
As he describes in his interview, he received a phone call from a friend who didn’t quite understand what was happening the morning of October 7, but whohad a daughter who had been attending the Nova Music Festival, which was the site of the murder of 370 young Israelis. The friend knew Rami lived close to where the festival was taking place and asked him whether he could go there to try to find his daughter. Of course, Rami had no idea what he was heading into – and, as he explains during the segment in which he tells his story, even as bullets and rocket propelled grenades began to be fired at his car, he continued on. He managed to find survivors of the massacre and transport them back to his home on the moshav, where his wife took care of them.
But then, he started to receive hundreds of messages from anxious parents who somehow had heard that Rami might be in a position to save their kids. He got back into his car and headed right back to the site of the festival – all the while being fired upon by terrorists. Somehow – and he says he doesn’t know how he survived, he managed to return to the site – over and over again, eventually incredibly helping to rescue 750 young Israelis.
The entire VR presentation is so vivid that I had only wished that more people could have seen it. I asked Daniel Zioni whether there were any plans to convert the four segments of the presentation into one video that, for instance, could be seen on Youtube? Granted, seeing it in VR makes more of an impact, but in terms of reaching a wider audience I wondered whether it might make sense to do what I had suggested. I was especially keen on seeing the segment with Rami Davidian turned into something that could be seen by a much wider audience. While Daniel didn’t give me a definitive answer, he did say that was something under consideration by Atlantis-VR.
In the meantime, if you would like to read more about Rami Davidian and his heroics, there are quite a few articles online that tell his story. Simply Google Rami Davidian.
Here’s a link to the Atlantis-VR website: www.atlantis-vr.com
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.