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Former Winnipegger Zev Cohen publishes book of short stories: “Twilight in Saigon”

Zev Cohen, who was one of
the organizers of the Jewish
schools reunion in 2017
cover of “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.

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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.

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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.

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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:

  1. The hard oak galls are crushed into a fine powder.
  2. The powder is boiled in water for several hours until it creates a dark, strong tea.
  3. Tea is strained to remove solid pieces of wood.
  4. The iron sulfate is then added to the warm liquid.
  5. 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.

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