Features
Former Winnipegger Philip Berger: from a dynasty of docs

By GERRY POSNER
Recently the book “Healing Lives, a Century of Manitoba Jewish Physicians” was published and in it are the names of all Jewish physicians who practiced medicine in Manitoba for at least five years over the past 100 years. What is not included, however, are those doctors who graduated from the University of Manitoba medical school who went elsewhere to practice their profession. One of those doctors is none other than a descendant of a longtime Winnipeg family who has made his mark in the medical world: Philip Berger.
The Berger family is right up there with the other Jewish families in Manitoba who have turned out doctors, the way the Howes have turned out hockey players. The names of Dr. Maurice and Saul (Shimmy ) Berger are recognizable to anyone with a passing interest in the medical community. Maurice Berger was a respected pediatrician practicing in the north end of Winnipeg for over 40 years. His brother Shimmy was a very well known and established dermatologist who practiced out of the Boyd Building for over 38 years. Shimmy’s daughter Lisa is a public health physician in Toronto and his son Shmuel, who lives in Tel Aviv, worked for many years doing emergency medicine locums in Northern Ontario each summer. And then there is son Philip. He is more than just a physician, as he has carved out a niche and a name as a family doctor who is involved in what might be termed human rights medicine.
For over 40 years, Philip Berger has been a leader in advocating for improving health care in Canada; at times he has done this against a stiff tide. Just take a look at his career and it speaks volumes about his commitment to changing the way medicine is delivered.
For starters, Berger has been an Associate Professor at the University of Toronto and was the Chief of the Department of Family and Community Medicine at St. Michael’s Hospital in Toronto from 1997-2013 (an interesting position for a Jewish guy at a Catholic institution).
Consider the people for whom he has fought and you will note that they are far from your ordinary patient base. The homeless, the poor, LGBTQ members are just a few of the groups for whom Berger has battled – and let’s not forget his tireless work AIDS patients.
Berger really went to bat for AIDS sufferers at a time when many doctors were afraid to deal with them. He was a founder of the Toronto HIV Primary Care Physicians Group and he later helped to create a mentoring program to educate doctors about HIV.
Probably the area where he became most visible in the public eye was his tireless effort to convince governments of the value of methadone and needle exchange programs.
As well, he was very active in promoting the AIDS clinic in Lesotho, Africa. He also helped to initiate the Amnesty International Canadian Medical Network and the Canadian Centre for Victims of Torture.
What separates Berger from most doctors is that he has been relentlessly unafraid to call out governments for cuts to refugee health programs. He has spoken out in his capacity as one of the co-founders of Canadian Doctors for Refugee Care. In short, Berger is not afraid to take out his stethoscope and stick it right in the chests of elected officials.
What made the 1974 graduate of the medical faculty of the University of Manitoba become such an outspoken advocate for the disadvantaged and disabled? This is not an easy question to answer. I sense there are many aspects to the triggers that have made Philip Berger the passionate physician he is on behalf of those who have difficulty raising their voices.
It may well be that Philip understood well the lessons his father Shimmy had absorbed as a young man trying to secure a medical position in 1943. At that time, Shimmy couldn’t secure an internship anywhere in Canada. A quota imposed on Jewish physicians was in place. It was an intervention by the female head of the Estevan Sisters of St. Joseph, a Catholic institution, that paved the way for Shimmy to get his internship at St. Michael’s Hospital in Toronto. That kind of assistance meant a lot to Shimmy Berger and perhaps in some way even influenced his son, Philip to embark on a path to aid those who needed aid in whatever way Philip could.
In 2017 Philip Berger gave up his regular practice, which was located at St. Michael’s Hospital. (Maybe his connection to that hospital was not so surprising after all). Since then, Berger has been doing locums in various shelters/hostels under the banner of Inner City Health Associates ( ICHA), which is a group of 90 doctors who serve homeless people (and there is no lack of that group in Toronto). Philip even serves as the Board Chair for ICHA. Moreover, Philip is today a Vice-Chair of what is known as Unity Health (formerly St. Michael’s Hospital) Research Ethics Board. And, if there isn’t enough on his plate already, he is completing his term as a Council Member of the College of Physicians and Surgeons of Ontario.
When I reflected on all of Philip Berger’s contributions as a physician, I lamented the decision (which I understand had to be made, otherwise the history of Jewish physicians in Manitoba might never have been completed) not to include in that book anything about Jewish doctors of Manitoba who had not practiced in Manitoba for at least five years. That decision eliminated any reference to the career of Philip Berger. The book, as I noted earlier, is called “Healing Lives” and that is what Philip Berger has done all his life as a doctor in Toronto.
Post script: In a follow-up to an earlier article I wrote about Dr. Richard Stall, in which I mentioned that Dr. Isaac Bogoch (who’s also become a prominent media personality as a go-to source for information about COVID-19), also has a Winnipeg connection, I promised that I would have something about Dr. Bogoch in a future article. Well, as you can imagine, he’s currently besieged with requests from all sorts of media, so we haven’t been able to interview him – yet. But, in response to readers’ curiosity about Dr. Bogoch’s Winnipeg connection, here’s some information about his Winnipeg roots: His mother is a former Winnipegger who knows both my wife and me. In fact she has been in touch with us lately. She tells me he is overwhelmed with emails in addition to all the demands that have been placed on his time as a result of his new very public persona. In fact, Isaac is from Calgary, but his mother is the former Renee Israels, sister to Hester Kroft, and daughter of the well known lawyer, A. Montague ( Monty) Israels. And – he has a long connections to BB Camp.
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.