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Famous Jewish Horse Jockeys Throughout History

Photo by Milena de Narvaez Ayllon:

When you think of horse racing, what comes to mind? The thunderous applause of the crowd, the heart-pounding thrill of the race, or perhaps the elegant hats and mint juleps of the Kentucky Derby?

Still, if I tell you to picture famous Jewish horse jockeys, does your mind draw a blank? Maybe there are some names among the contenders in the 2024 Kentucky Derby betting?

Well, prepare to be enlightened, entertained, and possibly a bit surprised as we dive into the fascinating world of Jewish horse jockeys throughout history.

Jewish Participation in Horse Racing

Contrary to what stereotypes might suggest – no, not all Jewish professionals are doctors, lawyers, or tech moguls – a number of Jewish athletes have made significant marks in the world of horse racing.

This might come as a shock to some, given the historical and cultural barriers that have often sidelined Jewish participation in various sports. But just like breaking into Hollywood or winning Nobel Prizes, Jewish jockeys have defied odds, gravity, and sometimes, even logic.

The Jewish influence in horse racing is actually quite big. If we look back on some of the most successful horse racing stories, we can see traces of Jewish people involved in the process. Just take American Pharoah for example. The horse that won the Triple Crown (first time since 1978) and the Breeders Cup in the same year.

The owner of American Pharoah was Ahmed Zayat; an Orthodox Jew from Egypt has become one of the most powerful figures in horse racing.

The Beginnings of Jewish Presence in Horse Racing

Let us start with the early days by going back to the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, when horse racing was one of the only activities with considerable popularity.

Jewish jockeys, like as Tod Sloan, began to emerge from the crowd. Sloan was more than simply a jockey; he was a celebrity, renowned for his “monkey crouch” riding style, which transformed horse racing. But why is Sloan not a household name like other sports legends?

Perhaps it is due to the specialized character of horse racing or to the overshadowing of successes in other industries. Whatever the cause, Sloan and his contemporaries paved the way for what was to follow.

Jewish Influence on the Kentucky Derby

The Kentucky Derby is one of the biggest sporting events in the world that dates back 150 years.

Most visitors are astonished to learn that the Jewish community has had a substantial impact on the event’s history and culture.

From horse owners to riders to industry executives, Jews have left their imprint on horse racing.

One of the most well-known is the Wertheimer family, who owned the famous horse Exterminator, who won the race in 1918. The Wertheimers were well-known for their successful thoroughbred breeding and racing enterprise, which they had run for many years.

But we also have the Phipps family and the Zayat family, who also left a big mark on the Kentucky Derby.

Most Popular Jewish Jockeys Over the Years

But Jewish people are not only owners of horses. In fact, we can see many Jewish jockeys that actually made a rather successful horse racing career.

William Harmatz

William Harmatz (February 9, 1931–January 27, 2011) was an American Thoroughbred horse racing jockey who won the 1959 Preakness Stakes riding Royal Orbit.

Harmatz, a Jewish jockey, received the George Woolf Memorial Jockey Award in 1960 for demonstrating high standards of personal and professional behavior on and off the racecourse. He was elected into the International Jewish Sports Hall of Fame in 1999.

Isaac Murphy

Here we have one of the most successful Jockeys, at least when it comes to win rate.

Isaac Murphy won with more than a third of his rides each year. According to his own assessment, Murphy won 44% of his races. Only 34.5% can be validated in era-specific chart books, although it’s possible that some of his races were not included. Murphy set a level that no other jockey has surpassed.

He won three Kentucky Derbys, five Latonia Derbys, and four of the first five runnings of the American Derby, which was formerly the richest 3-year-old event in America.

Murphy was recognized not just for his horseback riding abilities, but also for his honesty and commitment. He once refused to allow champion Falsetto to lose the 1879 Kenner Stakes, despite bribes from gamblers.

Walter Blum

Speaking of successful jockeys, we cannot miss Walter Blum, a Hall of Famer who had an incredible career in horse racing spanning across almost two decades. When he retired in 1975, only four jockeys actually managed to have more wins than Blum.

Despite being blind in his right eye since the age of two, when he fell from a toy horse, in 1953 he began a career as a jockey, riding his first winner on July 29 at Saratoga Race Course. Blum spent the majority of his 22-year career riding on East Coast tracks from New England to Florida, and he is one of only four riders to have won six races on a single program at Monmouth Park.

However, in the 1960s, he rode seasonally at California races, winning the 1966 Santa Anita Derby, and he also dominated Chicago’s summer racing circuit, particularly at Arlington Park.

Honorable Mentions

We’ve covered some of the most successful Jewish jockeys, but they are not the only ones in the sport. Over the year’s we’ve seen many other Jewish jockeys that might not have the same success, but definitely left a mark on the sport.

Sol Levitch competed in the Kentucky Derby six times between 1929 and 1940, placing in the top three twice. David Erb rode in the Kentucky Derby three times in the 1920s, with his best finish of third place in 1927. Herb Fisher rode in the Kentucky Derby twice during the 1940s, finishing seventh in 1941 and ninth in 1947.

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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

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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.  

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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.        

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