Features
Daniel Raiskin, music director of the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra, discusses his life – from his boyhood in Soviet Russia to his coming to Winnipeg and his admiration for the Jewish community here

By BERNIE BELLAN Daniel Raiskin has been the music director of the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra since 2018. This paper has been remiss not to have interviewed Raiskin until now, although to be fair to ourselves, he is an extremely busy fellow,
so finding a time when he could sit down and talk about his career, what life was like growing up in a Jewish family in Soviet Russia, and how he feels about spending a good part of his time in Winnipeg, was not easily arranged.
But then Covid-19 suddenly took over everyone’s lives – no matter who they are or where they live and, without much planning required, we were able to arrange to speak with Raiskin from his Amsterdam home.
At the outset of our conversation, which was conducted via WhatsAapp on Friday, April 3, Raiskin explained he’s “lived in Amsterdam for 30 years.” While he travels the world serving as guest conductor for many different orchestras, he “shares his time between Winnipeg and Amsterdam. My home is both in Amsterdam and Winnipeg,” he said.
I asked him, since he’s lived in The Netherlands for so many years whether he holds Dutch citizenship? Raiskin answered that he’s been a Dutch citizen for 26 years, although he still “has a Russian passport, too.”
At the present time Raiskin is also resigned, like the rest of us, to remaining in his Amsterdam home with his wife and two children (a son, 21, and a daughter, 16) for the foreseeable future..
“I was actually caught here between two projects – both of which were in Winnipeg,” Raiskin explained. “I was supposed to return to Winnipeg to spend 10 days there, but then things began to get really cloudy and we decided it doesn’t make any sense for me to fly into Winnipeg and get stuck there without my family, so I decided to stay here.”
We discussed how The Netherlands had taken a relatively hands-off approach to the Coronavirus to begin with, but as the danger has become more apparent, the liberal attitudes that most Dutch have in being uncomfortable with seeing their liberties restricted have begun to dissipate.
“People here are used to going to parks and to the seaside, but I’m afraid that on Monday (April 6) the lockdown is going to be announced,” Raiskin observed (on April 3).
Before we began to talk about Raiskin’s musical career, I said to him that I wanted “to take him back to his childhood in St. Petersburg.” I remarked to him that when I was a student in Israel (a very long time ago – 1974-75 to be exact). I became friends with a girl from St. Petersburg, who bragged to me that people from St. Petersburg were so much more sophisticated than Israelis, also that St. Petersburg had “the best ice cream in the world.”
I asked Raiskin whether the part about the ice cream was true.
“Yes, that ‘s very true,” he responded – “at least judging from my kids’ reaction any time we go to St. Petersburg, they say ‘this is really the best tasting ice cream.’ “
I wondered whether Raiskin was a musical prodigy as a child.
“I was not a prodigy at all,” he said. “I took up the violin when I was six – and I didn’t ‘take it up’. I was given it. It’s an old joke that with the wave of Russian Jewish immigration to Israel every second Russian landing in Israel at Ben Gurion Airport had a violin in his or her hands. Those that did not were piano players.”
“I was born into a Jewish family where music played a very important role,” Raiskin explained.
“My father is one of the foremost Russian musicologists (who is also a now retired physicist, Raiskin noted). One of the first sounds I heard when I was born was my brother (who tragically died at a the age of 34) practising his cello. By the time I was six – I like to joke my mother was so tired of carrying my brother’s cello around, she opted for something smaller for me: a violin.”
By the way, both Rasikin’s parents are alive and still living in St. Petersburg, he told me. His father’s first love was always music, Raiskin noted, but as part of the generation that grew up in the Soviet Union following World War II, it was unrealistic for anyone to make a career of music, he explained.
“He was teaching physics at a university in St. Petersburg when he was 35, but he graduated from a music conservatory when he was 40. That goes to show how important music was to him,” Raiskin observed.
“My mother stopped working a year ago (when she was 82),” Raiskin said. “She was a mathematician and a software programmer.”
I asked Raiskin whether his “parents ever endured any discrimination because they were Jewish that you can speak of? ” I added that “I didn’t want to seem naive by asking the question (since anyone who was following the fight of “refuseniks” in Russia attempting to leave Russia at the time that Raiskin was growing up would have known that anti-Semitism was rampant in that country.
” We lived in a country with a great rate of anti-Semitism,’ Raiskin answered. “My parents and my brother and me and friends all around us were all subject to state-sponsored anti-Semitism. At some point my family had also made the decision to leave (Russia), but it was too late. The Afghanistan war had broken out and everything was hermetically sealed. We got stuck.”
At that point I said to Raiskin that I wanted to talk about what it was like growing up as a young Jewish boy in Russia at that time – and how much love of music was inculcated into his and his peers’ lives.
“It was like – any given picture of Chagall has a violin in it,” Raiskin observed. “It’s part of the Jewish heritage and DNA; this whole ‘3,000 years of endurance’. Music was one of the things that kept us from getting alienated.”
At the same time though, Raiskin said that “music was not something that I particularly wanted to do. I wanted to play football and ice hockey with my mates outside. As a kid you don’t want to spend hours practising and doing scales for hours, looking out the window of your seventh-floor apartment while other kids are playing outside. I wanted to be more like them.”
“It’s very often a mistake to think that it’s the child who makes the decision at age six or seven to become a musician. Some kids are so incredibly gifted they show a unique talent at such a young age, there’s nothing else they want to do. I definitely don’t want to give the impression that I was one of those kids. I was pretty much normal and not very well behaved; I was pretty naughty.
“It was only later that I developed a real taste for music – and worked hard to become something.”
To that point we hadn’t discussed Raiskin’s particular musical interests. I noted that I had read in various articles and interviews that his favourite composer was Gustav Mahler (who was also Jewish, by the way). I wondered when Raiskin first became interested in Mahler’s music?
“You know, in fact, Mahler was not a composer whose music was very often played in my years in the Soviet Union,” Raiskin explained. “The performances of Mahler were always a great event,” but it was only one or two of his symphonies that were ever played, he noted.
“It was only with the collapse of the Soviet Union and the first Western orchestras that started to come on European tours that we really started to hear Mahler played. I’ll never forget the first time I heard Mahler’s Seventh Symphony played by the Pittsburgh Symphony…I think this was when it really hit me hard. This is the moment that I said to myself: ‘I’m going to conduct this once’…and I did, on many occasions…I try to conduct his music as often as I can.”
We skipped ahead to Raiskin’s first time coming to Winnipeg which, he said, was in 2015, as guest conductor of the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra. There were two more appearances as guest conductor of the WSO in 2017 before Raiskin was appointed as music director in 2018.
“It was a lengthy process,” he said, “but I am, in fact, already looking back on five years of being associated with Winnipeg. It’s not like it started in 2018.”
Raiskin also observed that “no matter how successful a relationship a music director has with an orchestra – it’s never a relationship for life. It’s just the nature of the profession. It’s a marriage for a time…It’s not the conductors who play the music; it’s the orchestras. It’s about 67 musicians who play. It’s very important – the mandate we get from the musicians …and at a certain point it’s time for the conductor to go.”
However, Raiskin wanted to make clear that this is not something he is thinking about now. With his second season cut short due to the COVID-19 pandemic, he said that, |“more than ever our relationship and interdependency is being tested and I am confident we’ll get out if the crisis, whenever this might be, stronger than ever.“
Raiskin explained that, while he is contractually obligated to conduct the WSO for 12 weeks during the year, it is hugely important for any conductor to get out on the road as much as possible. He used the following analogy to illustrate his point: “A hockey player cannot perform at the highest level of his ability if he just plays home games. It’s also important how you perform outside.”
I noted at the outset of this article that, although Daniel Raiskin has been music director of the WSO for two years now, we still hadn’t interviewed him which, given that we’re a Jewish newspaper and he’s Jewish, is something that we should have done much earlier. But, since he’s now had time to get to know Winnipeg – and its Jewish community, much better, I asked him what his impression of our community was?
“I’m sure you’ve met Gail Asper,” I said (tongue in cheek; how could the music director of the WSO not have met one of the foremost supporters of the WSO – and arts in general in this city?)
“Yes, of course,” came Raiskin’s reply, “and many other people, like Laurel Malkin, and Michel Kay and Glenna Kay. You know, Winnipeg became a place where being Jewish for me suddenly started to matter in a very personal and positive way. Growing up in the Soviet Union was definitely not. I was once expelled from a music conservatory for visiting a synagogue – for the first time, just out of curiosity.
“And when you’re in a very cosmopolitan city like Amsterdam, with a very tragic history of Dutch Jews – one needs to acknowledge that there were 150,000 Dutch Jews before the Second World War, and only 15,000 survived – so, for me, connecting to the Jewish community here…like the first Rosh Hashanah dinner I ever attended was…in Winnipeg! Because some friends just took me and my wife and said: ‘Come’. I really feel that it matters in a very positive way that I’m Jewish and I can connect to many people in Winnipeg and many in our audiences are Jewish.”
“I feel more Jewish than ever since coming to Winnipeg,” Raiskin suggested. “Jewish music is so important to me. One of the first things I recorded as a musician – as an instrumentalist, was a complete edition of music for viola and piano by Ernst Bloch, the foremost Jewish composer.”
At the end of our interview we discussed the devastating effect that the current crisis is having on people’s lives – in so many ways. Raiskin said that he was still fully involved in planning for the coming season of the WSO – and for the season after that as well.
In terms of assessing people’s hunger for music, he had this to say: “I think there will be a sense of growing hunger…our souls and our spirits are being so hollowed, there will be a growing need to fill in this gap – and this is where we can step in.”
Raiskin closed our interview with this observation: “I feel: today, more than ever, people feel how important arts and culture are to them. We suddenly realize that we use art to communicate with each other!“
Features
Building Credit in College for Future Real Estate Deals
Most college students aren’t thinking about mortgages. But the students who buy their first investment property at 25 or 27 started building credit at 19 or 20. The two are directly connected.
Real estate is a game of capital access. Lenders don’t care how motivated you are – they care what your FICO score says. A 760+ score gets you prime mortgage rates. A 620 gets you higher interest and fewer options. The difference in monthly payments over a 30-year mortgage can be tens of thousands of dollars.
The window you have in college to build credit without major financial pressure is one of the most underused advantages Jewish students have.
Credit Foundations: Where To Start
Your credit score is built from five factors. Payment history makes up 35% – the largest single component. Credit utilization (how much of your available credit you’re using) accounts for 30%. Length of credit history, credit mix, and new inquiries cover the rest.
For most students, the first practical step is a secured credit card or a student credit card. Secured cards require a deposit that becomes your credit limit – typically $200-$500. They report to all three major bureaus and build history the same way unsecured cards do.
The rules are simple but require consistency. Pay the full balance every month. Keep utilization below 30% of your limit. Don’t apply for multiple cards in a short period. These habits compound over years – a student who starts at 18 has 7 years of credit history by the time they’re ready for a first mortgage.
One underused option: ask a parent or family member to add you as an authorized user on an older card with a clean payment history. You don’t need to use the card. The account’s age and payment history get added to your credit file immediately.
Researching Investment Options During Studies
Business, economics, and finance students regularly analyze real estate markets as part of their dissertation. That work isn’t just academic – it’s actual market research that doubles as preparation for real investing decisions.
However, balancing dataheavy analysis, market research, and exams often leads to extreme burnout. To survive the final semester, many students look for external support. Some of them use EduBirdie – best dissertation writing services for timely delivery and consistent quality on deliverables when the research load is heavy. Outsourcing the formatting and drafting frees up time to dig deeper into the actual market data that matters for real investment decisions. The analysis you build during college becomes your knowledge base before you ever make an offer.
Smart students treat every finance and real estate assignment as a portfolio of personal research. That perspective shifts the work from obligation to investment preparation.
How Student Loans Affect Your Future Mortgage
This is where many graduates get surprised. Student loan debt directly affects your debt-to-income ratio (DTI) – a key metric lenders use in mortgage approval. Most conventional lenders want your total monthly debt payments to stay below 43% of gross monthly income.
If you graduate with $40,000 in student loans at a standard repayment, your monthly payment is roughly $400. That $400 counts against your DTI before you add a car payment or rent. Managing your loan balance and making consistent payments not only builds credit – it keeps your DTI workable when you’re ready to buy.
Income-driven repayment plans can lower monthly payments but extend the loan period. For mortgage purposes, lenders typically use the actual monthly payment shown on your credit report when calculating DTI.
Practical Steps For Building Credit In College
Keep Utilization Low
Staying under 30% of your credit limit matters more than most students realize. If your card limit is $500, that means keeping your balance below $150 before the billing date. Paying in full each month handles this automatically.
Monitor Your Score Regularly
Free monitoring is available through Credit Karma, Experian, and most major banks. Checking your score doesn’t hurt it. Set up alerts for new inquiries, changes in balance, or any accounts you don’t recognize. Catching errors early prevents damage that takes months to fix.
Build Your Credit Mix Over Time
Lenders like to see that you can handle different types of credit. A student card, a small personal loan, and eventually a car loan create a credit mix in college that strengthens your profile. Don’t open accounts you don’t need, but don’t avoid credit out of fear either.
Here’s a practical credit-building checklist for college students:
- Open one student or secured credit card and use it monthly
- Pay the full balance before the due date every month
- Keep utilization below 30% at all times
- Become an authorized user on a parent’s old card if possible
- Check your credit report annually at AnnualCreditReport.com
- Make all student loan payments on time once they enter repayment
- Don’t close old accounts – account age matters
Understand What Mortgage Pre-Approval Requires
When you eventually apply for a mortgage, lenders will look at your FICO score, DTI, employment history, down payment, and reserves. The credit score threshold for a conventional loan is 620, but most competitive rates start at 740 and above. FHA loans allow scores down to 580 with a 3.5% down payment.
Starting to build credit at 18 or 19 means arriving at your first mortgage application with 6-8 years of credit history. That length alone adds 15% of your score. Combined with responsible utilization and clean payment history, you can realistically hit 740+ before you graduate.
The Long Game
Real estate investing after college isn’t a fantasy – it’s a planning problem. The students who pulled it off didn’t get lucky. They started building credit years before they needed it, kept their DTI manageable, and used their time in school to understand the markets they wanted to invest in.
The credit habits you build now are the credentials lenders will evaluate later. Start with one card, pay it in full, and let the history accumulate. Five years from now, that consistency becomes a mortgage approval and the keys to your first property.
Features
How Pioneer Families Kept Hebrew Alive on the Early Canadian Prairies
Canadian Prairies of the West and Jewish Pioneer Families
Early Western Canada boasted prairies and Jewish immigrant families’ settlements. Here is how they kept the Hebrew language alive and built makeshift schools.
Western Canada in the late 1800s was nothing more than plains. Wild grass and strong prairie winds covered the terrain. But that open land and freedom became a lifeline for thousands of Jewish immigrants. They were running from dangerous attacks in Europe to the safety of farm life in Canada. These families settled where there was nothing and the closest towns were miles away. They lived without electricity or running water. But even though every day was a survival for them, they managed to preserve their heritage and language.
Their effort to do so was enormous, but the information about it is mostly available in deep historical archives. If you need to write a detailed history paper on Canadian homesteaders, you’d probably be better off using the WritePaper academic help platform. Their experts have access to extensive knowledge bases, including numerous archives. If you just want to get a glimpse of how these families did it, here are some interesting facts.
Let’s start with the early farming towns these families built from scratch.
Early Farming Towns
Between 1880 and 1910, several Jewish farming towns started on the Canadian plains. These families left dangerous conditions in European countries like Russia, Lithuania, and Romania. They wanted a safe, fresh start on the land. They built farming communities with unique names like Hirsch, Wapella, Lipton, and Edenbridge in Saskatchewan. Other families started settlements like Bender Hamlet in Manitoba. When they first arrived, the land was completely wild and flat.
The weather was incredibly tough for the new farmers. The first winters were so cold that many families lived in sod dugouts. These were temporary homes dug right into the ground with roofs made of thick dirt and grass. Luckily, local Indigenous and Métis neighbors stepped in to help. They taught the newcomers how to build warm log cabins out of wood and clay. They also showed them how to survive freezing winter blizzards. Once the families had food and shelter, they focused on education. They knew that even though Yiddish was their everyday language, their kids still needed to learn Hebrew. Without Hebrew, their religious identity would fade away in the wilderness.
Classrooms out of Logs and Mud
How do you run a school when your neighbors live miles away? Several academic papers on this era show that starting a school required hard work and teamwork. One of the articles by Eric Stelee, who also writes for the best paper writing service WritePaper, points out that studying these early schools requires looking at deep community sacrifices. Farming families had to build everything with their own two hands. They set up Talmud Torahs. These were traditional afternoon Hebrew schools. Kids there were taught religious reading, writing, and daily prayers.
Building these schools, however, wasn’t the only problem pioneers came face to face with:
- Since trained teachers wouldn’t move to remote frontier farms, communities had to find and hire traveling tutors.
- Kids often had to walk or ride horses for many miles through deep snow just to get to a single lesson.
- Before permanent schoolhouses were finished, simple log cabins and small community halls had to double as schoolrooms during the week.
- Spring planting and fall harvest affected attendance significantly. Parents often needed their kids to help them in the fields.
Real Numbers of the Prairie Frontier
Old records show exactly how fast these prairie communities grew out of the wilderness. Between 1884 and 1912, Jewish families started 31 different farming communities across the Canadian prairies. The Canadian government offered 160 acres of wild land to any settler for a fee of just ten dollars. The only catch was that families had to clear the land and farm it successfully.
In 1892, a group of 47 families started the Hirsch community in Saskatchewan. Later, in 1906, another group of 56 pioneers started the Edenbridge community further north. By the year 1911, the official census counted exactly 2,066 Jewish people living in the province of Saskatchewan alone. These families proved that hard work could protect their language and history in a brand-new country.
The Tools of Prairie Learning
Books were very rare and expensive on the early Canadian frontier. Most families could only bring a few holy books packed tightly into their wooden trunks when they left Europe. These family treasures became the main textbooks for pioneer kids.
To keep their traditions alive without modern school supplies, families had to be creative:
- Parents spoke Yiddish at home, but they also repeated Hebrew prayers and holy songs aloud while cooking or feeding farm animals.
- They would gather kids around a single, worn-out family Bible to read the Hebrew letters together by the light of a lamp.
- Small towns shared their money to hire one person who worked as both the community butcher and the school teacher.
- Permanent wood synagogues, like the Beth Israel Synagogue built in 1908, became the centers for kids’ religious education.
Hebrew stayed alive as a sacred language on the flat plains because of these efforts. Kids learned the ancient alphabet and historic prayers while living thousands of miles away from big cultural cities.
Conclusion
Canadian prairie communities proved to the world that language and heritage can be preserved if you put your heart into it. Unfortunately, most of these farms disappeared during the Great Depression and the draw of big cities. But places like Edenbridge still exist today and have become important historic sites. These places keep memories of those mud and log schoolhouses alive.
Pioneer Jewish families that came to Canada in the 1800s had nothing, yet they still managed to pass knowledge down to their children. One candlelit lesson at a time.
Features
Why Modern Torah Scribes Still Mix Ink by Hand
It’s 2026 and Torah Scribes Still Mix Ink by Hand
Did you know that Jewish ritual scribes don’t actually use any of the modern printing tools? They still mix a 2,000-year-old ink recipe by hand and here is how.
Our lives are run by smartphones and computers. Everything can be typed or copied in a matter of minutes or even seconds. Yet, there is still a certain profession that rejects all these modern conveniences. They also reject the obsession with speed we have, exactly because of all these tools. These professionals are Sofrim. They are ritual scribes in Jewish communities. They are responsible for hand-writing Torah scrolls, holy books, and small mezuzah scrolls for doorways.
The contrast between their craft and the constant typing we are used to is striking. Just think of it. If a student or even a professional is pressed for time, they just go online and look for a writing service to help them out. A digital platform like PaperWriter can write and format an entire paper in just a few hours. But this same speed is the enemy of a holy Torah scribe. To write a sacred scroll, they must be deeply concentrated and slow about their process. Rush can’t be part of it. In fact, this special care begins before the pen touches the page. First, they gather the ingredients and mix the writing ink.
The Strict Rules of Sacred Ink
Why can’t a scribe just buy a bottle of high-quality black ink at a local art supply store? It all comes down to traditional Jewish law, which is called Halakha. A Torah scroll is a highly holy object with very strict manufacturing standards. A single scroll contains exactly 304,805 letters and takes a full year of daily manual labor to finish. If even a single letter fades, cracks, or peels off the page over time, the entire scroll becomes invalid. It cannot be used in a synagogue service until it is carefully repaired.
There is also a common myth that the ink itself must be “kosher.” But Jewish law actually focuses on durability and natural purity. While the parchment page absolutely must come from a kosher animal species, the ink simply needs to be permanent, deeply black, and made from scratch.
To make sure the holy words last for hundreds of years, the ink must follow these specific standards:
- Color. It must be a deep, solid jet-black color that is easy to read.
- Durability. The ink must bond with the skin page so it never flakes off.
- Texture. It must remain smooth enough to avoid cracking over the centuries.
Modern writers often focus on how much digital tools have changed our daily habits. As a blog writer for the paper writing service PaperWriter, Jacky M. points out, “modern text has become instant, temporary, and easily erasable.” Ritual scribes, however, take the opposite path. They preserve a slow, physical process that has remained unchanged for thousands of years. They make sure ancient texts endure for future generations.
The 2,000-Year-Old Ink Recipe
To get the perfect black color and long-lasting quality, scribes use a formula that dates back to ancient times. This traditional mixture is a special kind of iron gall ink. It creates a permanent chemical bond directly on the page.
The Raw Ingredients
Before beginning the brewing process, a scribe must gather a small collection of organic materials:
- Oak Galls. Round, woody bumps from oak trees that contain a natural acid.
- Iron Sulfate. A natural mineral salt that turns the liquid dark black.
- Gum Arabic. A sticky tree sap that acts as a natural glue.
- Pure Water. The liquid base for boiling the ingredients together.
The Preparation Steps
The process of turning these raw elements into smooth writing fluid requires a lot of patience and precision:
- The hard oak galls are crushed into a fine powder.
- The powder is boiled in water for several hours until it creates a dark, strong tea.
- Tea is strained to remove solid pieces of wood.
- The iron sulfate is then added to the warm liquid.
- The gum arabic is added last to give the liquid a thick, glossy texture.
The moment the iron touches the oak gall tea, a chemical reaction happens. The pale brown liquid instantly turns into a deep, pitch-black ink. The added gum arabic keeps the ink from dripping too fast off the tip of the scribe’s traditional quill or reed pen.
Why This Ancient Ink Lasts Longer
This handmade chemical compound is perfectly suited for parchment, which is made from processed animal skins. Modern factory inks are full of harsh chemicals and alcohols designed to dry instantly on wood-based paper. If you use factory ink on animal parchment, it will eventually ruin the surface. The letters will turn brittle, dry out, and fall off the page like old house paint.
Handmade iron gall ink works completely differently. It actually bites into the organic fibers of the animal skin. As the years go by, the iron in the ink reacts with the oxygen in the air. This chemical reaction causes the ink to get darker over time instead of fading away.
Conclusion
Some traditions are just too important to be simply replaced by automation. Yes, mixing the ink and writing a sacred text by hand takes time and focus. But the result is outstanding. The tradition is preserved, and these holy texts look and feel the same as they did a thousand years ago. It’s a way for people to touch and be closer to history, so to speak.
