Features
Former Winnipegger Zev Cohen publishes book of short stories: “Twilight in Saigon”
Former Winnipegger Zev Cohen, who now lives part of the year in Israel and part of the year in Calgary, has just published a book of short stories titled “Twilight in Saigon”. The book is available for purchase on Amazon. Here is how the book is described on Amazon: This eclectic collection of stories crosses genre lines – war, crime, romance, espionage, science fiction, fantasy –
as it moves in time from World War II through the present and into the distant future. Its common thread is humanity and love in the face of adversity.
A journalist finds love and misfortune in the upheaval of the Vietnam war.
Working for the West, a spy is saved from the hands of the KGB.
A straight-laced British accountant finds the love of his life and evil in Hong Kong.
Immigrants grapple with despair, love, and the vicissitudes of life in new surroundings.
Politics, love and tragedy in the life of a president.
Stationed on a distant world, a Terran ambassador adapts to an alien culture as love overcomes sentient diversity.
A loyal android fights for his cruel leader.
Teenage romance during the Six Day War.
A day in a dog’s life.
…and much more
We present here one of the stories from the book, titled “Gulfs and Pleasures”:
I DO NOT RECOMMEND HAVING SEX WHILE WEARING A GAS MASK. BEYOND the empirical fact that it prevents kissing from being part of the act, it’s difficult to breathe during the strenuous effort. Within a couple of seconds, the mask fogs up, and you can’t see a thing. Moreover, the waves of giggling break your concentration. Try imagining what a naked woman and a naked man look like while wearing gas masks. You’d have to agree with me that it looks funny if not grotesque. But when there’s no choice, you do what you must do and enjoy it, if only in a limited way.
I called Orna’s cell phone as soon as the siren went off in the middle of the night. She picked up after the first ring.
“Are you alright? Is he at home?”
“No. Two hours ago, he was called up and ran off to join the guys and play war. I don’t believe that he’ll be back today. Who knows how long it will last? It’s scary, and we didn’t even prepare an airtight room. He insists that there’s no chance that it will hit us of all people. Anyway, what does he care? He’s sitting in the underground bunker ogling the girl soldiers. Nothing will happen to him.”
Orna was one of the regular participants in my first-year course on the history of European art since the Renaissance that I ran in the large lecture hall of the Gillman building. She used to sit in the front row with the other “stenographers.” Those were the co-eds who conscientiously scribbled down every word that came out of my mouth, including flat jokes and burps. She was older than them, mature and sure of her intelligence amid those Barbie dolls. As opposed to them, she would, from time to time, fire a challenging comment that proved she was listening carefully and under- standing. To my shame, or not, I wasn’t attracted to her brains, although they did arouse my curiosity. As I droned along, lecturing on autopilot, my look wandered from her hazel-green eyes to the swell of her breasts and her shapely legs. What could I do? Even a professor is a human being, isn’t he? On a depressing winter’s day, between perusal of desolate seminar papers on the play of light and shadow in Venetian painting and suicidal thoughts, I ran into her in the cafeteria. The usually hectic and packed room was unusually quiet. We were alone, not counting Sonia behind the counter. Perhaps the atmosphere of impending doom chased the regular café denizens away.
I’ll jump forward because there’s not much to say about the develop- ment of our relationship. We didn’t go for in-depth discussions about art, politics, or interpersonal relations. There was no sophisticated seduction or so-called love at first sight. We were two lonely people with their eyes open, who found something in each other that had been missing up to that specific moment. We went for it. For me, her presence filled a void that was characteristic of my life here since returning from New York and a string of what Erica Jong called “zipless fucks.” She never revealed what she found in me. I doubted that it was about my less than god-like physique. I didn’t ask for fear of bursting the bubble. I didn’t want to find out that I was just a reasonable alternative to Amnon, her here again, gone again husband. And the sex was great.
“Amnon will always be Amnon,” I replied with a tinge of baseless hypocrisy. “With or without Iraqi ground to ground missiles, he’ll always look out for number one. Anyway, you always know how to take care of yourself.”
I couldn’t help adding a bit of pretentious and hollow male know it all superiority, and I said, “But he’s right about one thing. The chance that a missile will land on top of you, in Ramat Gan of all places, is tiny.”
“Yes, definitely, Mr. Professor of art history and great international expert on ballistic missiles,” she shot back, taking me down a few notches. “Do you suggest that I drink a glass of water and calm down? In a minute, you’re going to replace Nachman Shai.”
I tried another tack.
“I can be over at your place in a few minutes to set up an airtight room. I’ve been hoarding plastic sheeting obsessively for months, and I’m sure there’s a technical drawing by Da Vinci that could guide me through it.” She giggled. It worked. She could have guessed that my building skills were negligible, but there was nothing like a bit of self-deprecating humor to bring her around and hide the truth. She accepted my generous offer, and I was on my way before she put down the virtual receiver.
The streets were abandoned at that early hour. The oily puddles left by the rain reflected the brake lights of the few cars on the road. On the radio, there was an endless stream of talking and talking. Nobody could say what was happening. Were we hearing distant explosions or just echoing thunder? Should we put on our masks or take them off? It all just went by me. My thoughts focused on expectations of Orna – hot caresses, electrifying touches, sweet breath, erect nipples, wet, wet, wet.
Here’s another suggestion for my male friends. Don’t come to your lovers tight as a spring, heart beating rapidly with passion and sweaty palms. And it doesn’t matter if it’s the first day of war or any other circumstance. You’ll come, in every meaning of the word, and it’ll be over in seconds. Much too quickly.
We were getting ready for another round when the second siren went off. Being good citizens, we put on our masks and checked the limits of human sexual capabilities under the threat of chemical attack. Between bursts of muffled laughter and the pungent smell of rubber, we got a passing grade for the efforts invested.
The cell phone rang, and Orna answered. “It’s him,” her lips expressed silently. Amnon.
“Yes, I understand. I’ll think about it. I’m not sure that it’s a good idea. She must already be hysterical, and she’ll make me crazy too. That’s the situation. Yeah, it’s disgusting, but I got them out of the attic, and if they tell us to, I’ll put on the mask. Be careful. Call me when you can. Kiss, kiss. Bye.”
She looked pale. “It looks as though it’s serious this time,” she explained after the short conversation with her loving and concerned husband. “His unit is moving, and for the next few days, he’s not coming home and won’t be available on the phone.”
“Where is he going? Somewhere around here?” I wasn’t asking because of some sudden fear for Amnon’s safety. I just wanted to weigh the chances that he might show up by surprise and see what the civilians were doing in the rear…at his home.
“He said that it’s secret and he can’t talk about it. He wants me to move in with his mother in Jerusalem until things calm down. You heard what I told him. It’s out of the question.”
Amnon’s secret location was troubling. My plan to get comfortable in Orna’s bed for the next few days has a whiff of danger about it now. Suddenly he calls. Suddenly he’s worried about her and wants to send her to Jerusalem. What is he scheming? He might even show up unannounced to see if she was okay.
There wasn’t much time to consider the options, as the undulating howl of a siren broke the silence. This time we could distinctly hear the distant boom that followed it. The minute that the all-clear sounded, we were in the car on our way to Eilat. We even sang “Heading South to Eilat” loudly on a childish high at 4 a.m. On the Arava highway, we joined a slowly crawling jam of vehicles. It appeared that others, lots of them, came up with Orna’s brilliant idea to get out of the bull’s eye and as far outside of the missiles’ range as possible.
Orna wanted us to move into a holiday apartment in the southern town owned by her former schoolmate, best friend, and current neighbor, Rachel. Thanks to her outstanding bodily dimensions, Rachel had taken up a modeling career that frequently brought her to Paris, London, and New York. She changed her name to Tiffany and, when traveling, left the keys to her apartment and the Eilat hideaway with Orna. She often invited her and Amnon to use the Eilat domicile. I tried to convince Orna to come to a hotel with me to survive the war in bed with room service.
Near Beer Ora, Amnon called again. He heard as we did that a missile had hit Ramat Gan, destroying his and my low probability theory.
“Calm down. I’m still at home, and nothing happened on our street,” she told him. “There was a giant explosion, pretty close by, and the walls shook, but nothing more than that.” The lies slipped off her tongue smoothly. What else could she say?
“I might go to your mother’s later. In the meantime, if you can’t reach me on the phone, it’s because I’m down in the shelter. I don’t trust that plastic sheeting that we don’t have anyway.”
After saying goodbye with kisses, she reported no chance that he would make it home in the coming days. He must make do with the underwear he took with him. I breathed easier.
In Eilat, we dragged from hotel to hotel, the bed and room service plan falling to pieces. The same scene played out everywhere. Lobbies had turned into battlefields between separate Jewish combatants. Israel war-time solidarity gave way to exchanges of curses, pushing and shoving, and an awakening of Sephardi-Ashkenazi infighting. Never did hotel managers discover so many long-lost close friends from school and the army, relatives on the side of granny from Afula, and various other people with exclusive rights. Everyone was squeezing up against the reception desks trying to get hold of even the smallest partially furnished closet. It was a nightmare. In one of the luxury properties, the security guards were unsuccessfully attempting to take apart an outpost of suitcases and sleeping bags established by two families with a hive full of nervous brats.
Again, it’s Amnon on the phone. Orna shouldn’t try to reach him at his unit. He won’t be available due to radio silence and communications security. That’s fine, I thought. The walls have ears.
We dredged up Orna’s original plan. In a few minutes, we found the holiday apartment building. It was a nondescript structure with balconies overlooking a dilapidated neighborhood minimarket. The elevator was out of service, so we climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. On each landing, we stopped for a couple of moments of hurried necking, expecting what was coming. Hands were sent out to intimate parts, lips locked, tongues writhed. As Orna tried to fish the keys out of her bag while loosening my belt, I was busily unbuttoning her blouse to get at her bra.
The door opened, and we fell into the apartment. A pleasantly cold gust of air from the air conditioner welcomed us in. Someday had left it on since the last visit. We couldn’t wait for the bed. Clothes were rapidly removed and thrown aside, and the plush carpet hosted our vigorous sexual duet.
Eventually, things calmed down, and we could hear muffled, unidenti- fiable voices coming from somewhere else in the apartment: mumbling, quiet moaning, a cadence of creaking. We got up to check the noises that seemed to be coming from behind the closed but flimsy door of the bedroom. Just in case, I picked up a thick rolling pin in the kitchen. I pushed the door open, and no terrorist jumped me. Only Orna’s somewhat hysterical laughter penetrated my consciousness. Amnon pulled back from between Tiffany/Rachel’s legs spread wide as though bitten by a snake and stared at us incredulously.
Features
Canada Is Failing Its Students on Holocaust Education — Here’s What Must Change
By EMILY (surname withheld by request) We received the following article from a third-year Health Sciences student at Western University, who wrote that as “a Jewish student, I have seen firsthand how Holocaust education in Canada is falling short and how that failure is contributing to fear, misinformation, and rising antisemitism on campuses like mine.”
Despite curriculum requirements, Holocaust education in Canada is alarmingly inadequate. A recent survey found that nearly one in five young Canadians believe the Holocaust has been exaggerated. This highlights a dangerous gap in historical understanding, leaving students vulnerable to misinformation, denial, and rising antisemitism. If Canada is serious about combating hate, it must take Holocaust education far more seriously.
When asked whether Holocaust education in Canada is lacking, Professor Hernan Tessler-Mabe, historian and coordinator of Jewish Studies at Huron University, did not hesitate: “You are 100 percent correct.”
While most provinces claim to include Holocaust education in their curricula, the programming and implementation of curriculum tends to be inconsistent and inadequate. A student’s understanding of one of history’s greatest atrocities depends heavily on where they go to school, which teacher they have, and whether their school offers substantive instruction. The result is misinformation, denial, and rising antisemitism.
Avoiding Holocaust education allows dangerous myths and conspiracy theories to spread unchecked. Without an understanding of the Holocaust and the centuries of antisemitism that preceded it, students are ill-equipped to identify modern antisemitism in the world around them. This antisemitism manifests into everyday conversation, online spaces, and political discourse.
To address this crisis, Canada must act with urgency in three key areas. These include consulting experts, confronting difficult material, and properly training educators.
First, schools and provincial governments must consult those who specialize in Holocaust history and education. “It is the most important thing,” Dr. Tesler-Mabé, Associate Professor and Coordinator of Jewish Studies at Huron University says. He points out, “You cannot just throw it into a general history class and assume it will be taught well. You need people who understand both the history and how to teach it.”
Second, we must accept that the subject is deeply disturbing and cannot be made comfortable. Dr. Tesler-Mabé iterates, “We have to accept that parts of this will be traumatic or triggering.” “Obviously it depends on grade level, but if students do not feel disturbed by it, they will not understand it. That discomfort is part of the learning.”
Third, teachers must be prepared. Many educators may feel unequipped to teach this material and either gloss over it or skip it altogether. Training programs and partnerships are essential. In Ottawa, the Centre for Holocaust Education and Scholarship (CHES) works to connect schools with survivor testimonies and support resources, but broader reach and investment are needed.
Dr. Tesler-Mabé explains, “We have to teach the teachers, especially now that we are losing survivors. That raises a whole new concern. How do you teach something this heavy, this complex, without first hand testimony? Educators need the tools, the background, and the sensitivity to do it well.”
Some may argue that Canada already does enough in this area. After all, Holocaust education is present in some curricula, and many students visit Holocaust museums or hear from survivors. But occasional exposure is not enough. The widespread prevalence of Holocaust denial and the proliferation of antisemitic conspiracy theories underscore significant shortcomings in current systems designed to combat such misinformation. A 2022 report by UNESCO and the United Nations, in collaboration with the World Jewish Congress, found that 16.2% of Holocaust-related content on major social media platforms either denied or distorted fundamental facts about the Holocaust. A standardized, rigorous, and mandatory approach is the only way forward.
Holocaust education is not just about history, it is about safeguarding the future and combating antisemitism in modern manifestations. When students understand how propaganda, scapegoating, and dehumanization led to one of history’s darkest chapters, they are better equipped to recognize and reject hatred in all its forms. Without a solid foundation in Holocaust education, antisemitism continues to fester, not just in online spaces, but within universities, workplaces, and public discourse. We are already seeing the consequences of unchecked Holocaust denial and rising antisemitism, from bias in professional spaces to hostility on university campuses. As a Jewish student at Western University, I have seen fear take hold among my peers. Friends who once wore Stars of David or spoke openly about their heritage now hesitate to do so. I have also begun to question whether it is safe to express my identity. With the last generation of Holocaust survivors passing, the responsibility to preserve their stories and the lessons they teach rests with all of us. If we do not confront this crisis at its root, we risk allowing history to repeat itself in new and dangerous ways.
Canada is failing its students. In doing so, it is failing the promise of Never Again. The question is not whether we should strengthen Holocaust education, but why we have not already.
Features
Anna Kaplan one of Winnipeg’s youngest personal trainers
By MYRON LOVE It is always uplifting to read (or, from my perspective, to write) about people who have been able to reinvent themselves – and even more so when such an individual can use her own transformation to inspire others. Such is the case with Anna Kaplan, a young (21) personal trainer whose passion for physical fitness grew out of personal troubles as a teenager.
“I had a feeling of being excluded,” says the daughter of Kevin and Roxanne Kaplan. “I was afraid that I was missing out. I was losing friends. I had developed some bad habits and was at a real low point in my life – at rock bottom.”
At 18, Kaplan determined to change her life. She began working with a personal trainer and going to the gym. She also changed her dietary habits.
“Before long, I was feeling better mentally and physically,” she recalls.
Two years ago, wanting to help others struggling to improve their lives, Kaplan opened A Plus Fitness. On her Facebook page, she notes that “When you sign up for online training with A Plus Fitness, you’re not just getting a workout plan — you’re getting full access to our all-in-one training app designed to support your transformation every step of the way.”
Kaplan started A Plus Fitness strictly as an online business for which she developed her own app. “I started building my client base initially by contacting friends and acquaintances via a social media platform to see what interest there might be out there,” she says.
With demand for her services growing, about a year ago she began working with clients in person out of a gym on Portage Avenue. In just two years, she reports, business has grown to the point where she has had to hire a second trainer.
“I work with people ranging from 18 to 65 plus,” she says. “The number of clients has tripled in the last year and I have been able to help over 100 clients to get into shape and change their lives.”
The reviews have been outstanding with many giving the young fitness trainer a 5 out of 5 rating. Says one client: ”I’ve been training with Anna for a while now, and it’s been an amazing experience! She really takes the time to understand my goals and pushes me in the best way possible. Since working with her, I feel stronger, more motivated, and more confident in my workouts.”
Adds another: “Over the past year, A Plus Fitness has completely transformed my approach to working out, helping me tone my body and build strength in ways I never thought possible. Anna’s guidance and personalized training plans have made a huge difference in my progress, pushing me to achieve results faster than I expected.”
Kaplan feels good that among those she has been able to help have been her own mother, Roxanne Kaplan, who says that ”I’ve always had some sort of fitness routine in my life. I followed along with the fitness videos with the weights that were recommended – I’d go through phases but never stuck to it. With Anna’s coaching and sticking to her program, I see muscle definition that I’ve never had before. I feel better, more confident, and well rested.”
Kaplan further points out that, in additions to helping people through her business, she is also community minded. “I have helped with several fundraising events in the Jewish community,” she reports.
Most recently, she helped raise money for the Reid Bricker Mental Wellness Fund in memory of a relatively young member of our community who struggled with mental health for several years before committing suicide 10 years ago. The fund aims “to increase the availability of mental health supports and education across the province while ensuring that individuals and families facing mental health challenges receive the support they need when they need it the most.”
Next for Anna Kaplan and A Plus Fitness is to open her own location at some point in the next few years.
Readers can contact Anna at 204 391-5832 or mail her at admin@aplusfit.ca.
Features
Norm Glass Winnipeg’s own pawn star
By MYRON LOVE Over a career spanning more than 40 years as a pawn shop operator, Norm Glass has established himself as first among equals. And the owner of Chochy’s Pawn and Swap Shop still gets a kick out of wheeling and dealing.
Certainly the mix of items that people bring in has changed considerably over the years. “When I first got into this business, I was buying furniture and jewellery,” he recalls, “but one of the biggest things was guitars. Everybody seemed to have a guitar – and musicians always seemed to be broke.”
Today, he reports, while jewellery is still a major part of the business, Chochy’s has a sizeable selection of electronic goods –such as game stations, computer screens and – especially – cell phones. “We probably have on hand about 100-120 cell phones at any given time and there is a constant demand for them.”
Chochy’s also has some sports equipment – I noticed a couple of sets of golf clubs – power tools and assorted other items.
Glass says that it was serendipity that led him to go into the pawn shop business. The son of the late Morley and Fay Glass was originally an accountant by training.
“In 1979,” he recounts, “I was working for a national car rental company as the controller. When the company ran into financial problems, I and a partner took over our Winnipeg location and we went independent.”
A couple of years later, that partnership dissolved and Glass formed a new partnership with his cousin, Arnold Lazareck. “We began looking for a new business to operate,” he continues the story. “We first considered buying a body shop as it is still auto-related, but that fell through. We then found a vacant building on the corner of Selkirk and Salter and thought that a pawn shop would a perfect fit.”
Glass admits that neither he nor Lazareck had had any experience running a pawn shop, he says. but they understood the basic principle – you lend money to people in need in return for an item as collateral and charge interest on the loan. If the customer doesn’t reclaim the item within a certain length of time, you sell the item to someone else.
The two partners – who were still running the auto rental location – brought in a third partner – a fellow by the name of Stuart Chochinov – hence the name “Chochy’s” – but that arrangement didn’t work out. So, Glass took over management of Chochy’s while Lazareck operated the car rental business. In 1985, the two partners agreed to dissolve the partnership and go their separate ways.
At the time – in the 1980s, Glass recall, there were still a goodly number of long time Jewish pawn shop owners in the city. He mentioned people such as Bill Kluner, Harvey Sawyer, George Freed, Dave Faber, Leon Dimerman and Sheldon Sturrey.
Glass eventually bought a second building – on Main Street – with a partner, James MacKay – and called it Elvis’ Pawn Shop.
While Selkirk Avenue has changed considerably from the time when it was the centre of Jewish life in Winnipeg, Glass notes that, despite the heightened level of crime in the area, he hasn’t had much problem. Once, he reports, in the late 1990s, Chochy’s was robbed – prompting Glass to install a robust security system.
He reports that while his customer base for sales is city wide, most who come in to pawn items live in a six to eight block radius of the store. “This area is a different world from that of my family and friends,” he observes. “Many people in this neighbourhood are struggling financially and pawning allows them to bridge the gap.”
For himself, he says, he can’t complain. “Life has been good. I have worked hard and been rewarded.”
Among those “rewards” are an occasional winter vacation – leaving reliable staff to run the business– and honing his golf game in spring and summer at Glendale. He has also been a long time supporter and former Rady JCC board member.
You must be logged in to post a comment Login