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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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Features

Why Prepaid Cards Are the Last Refuge for Online Privacy in 2025

These days, it feels like no matter what you do online, someone’s watching. Shopping, streaming, betting, even signing up for something free—it’s all tracked. Everything you pay for with a normal card leaves a digital trail with your name on it. And in 2025, when we’re deep into a cashless economy, keeping anything private is getting harder by the day.

If you’re the kind of person who doesn’t want every little move tied to your identity, prepaid cards are one of the only real options left. They’re simple, easy to get, and still give you a way to spend online without throwing your info out there. One card in particular, Vanilla Visa, is one of the better picks because of how widely Vanilla Visa is accepted and how little personal info it needs.

Everything’s Online, and Everything’s Tracked

We used to pay for stuff with cash. Walk into a store, hand over some bills, leave. No names, no records. That’s gone now. Most stores won’t even take cash anymore, and the ones that do feel like the exception. The cashless economy is here whether we like it or not.

So what’s the problem? Every time you swipe or tap your card, or pay with your phone, someone’s logging it. Your bank saves the details. The store’s system saves it. And a lot of times, that data gets sold or shared. It can get used to target you with ads, track what you buy, where you go, and when you do it.

It’s not just companies either. Apps collect it. Hackers try to steal it. Some governments keep tabs too. And if you’re using the same card everywhere, it all gets connected pretty fast.

Why Prepaid Cards Still Matter

Prepaid cards are one of the only ways to break that chain. You go to a store, buy one with cash, and that’s it. No bank involved. No name. You just load it up and use it. And because Vanilla Visa is accepted on most major websites, you can use it just like any normal card.

You’re not giving out your real name or tying it to your main account. That means when you pay for something, it’s not showing up on your bank statement. It’s not getting saved under your profile. You’re basically cutting off the trail right there.

Why Vanilla Visa Stands Out

There are a few different prepaid card brands out there, but Vanilla Visa is probably the most popular. You can grab one at grocery stores, gas stations, pharmacies—almost anywhere. And once you’ve got it, you can use it on pretty much any site where Vanilla Visa is accepted.

No long setup. No personal info. You don’t need to register it under your name. You just pay, go online, and spend the amount that’s on the card. When it runs out, you toss it and move on. No trace.

This makes it great for anyone who wants to sign up for a site without attaching their real identity. People use it for online gaming, streaming, subscriptions, or just shopping without giving out their main card info.

The Good and the Bad

There are some solid upsides to using a prepaid card:

  • You don’t need a bank account
  • You don’t give out your name or address
  • It’s easy to budget since you can’t spend more than you loaded
  • Most major sites take them, especially where Vanilla Visa is accepted

But there are a few downsides too:

  • You can’t reload the card. Once it’s empty, it’s done
  • You can’t use it to get money out, like at an ATM
  • Some cards have small fees or expiration dates, so don’t let them sit too long
  • A few sites want a card tied to a name and billing address, which doesn’t work here
  • If you lose it or someone steals the number, you’re probably not getting the money back

So yeah, prepaid cards aren’t perfect. But if privacy is the goal, they’re still one of the few things that actually help.

Real Ways People Use Them

Let’s say you’re trying out an online casino. You don’t want your bank seeing it. You don’t want it on your statement. You walk into a Walgreens, buy a Vanilla Visa with a hundred bucks in cash, then use it to make your deposit. Done. The casino sees a card, but not your name.

Or maybe you’re signing up for a new subscription. Could be a video platform, a magazine, whatever. You don’t want it auto-charging your main card every month or sharing your info with advertisers. Use a prepaid card, and it stays off the radar.

Even if you’re just buying something from a site you don’t totally trust, using a card that isn’t tied to your real money is a smart move.

Will These Cards Still Be Around?

That’s the thing people are starting to worry about. Some stores have started asking for ID when you buy higher-value prepaid cards. And there’s talk in some countries about requiring people to register cards before using them.

Governments don’t like anonymous money. Companies definitely don’t. There’s a chance that in the future, prepaid cards will be harder to get or come with new rules.

But for now, they still work. You can still walk into a store with cash and walk out with a prepaid card. And as long as Vanilla Visa is accepted at the places you shop, you’ve got a way to stay private.

Bottom Line

If you’re living in 2025 and trying to protect your privacy online, prepaid cards are one of the last easy options. The cashless economy makes it almost impossible to pay without leaving a record, but prepaid cards break that pattern. They don’t ask for your name. They don’t track your habits. And they don’t leave a trail if you use them right.

They won’t fix everything. They don’t keep you completely invisible. But they give you a level of control that’s hard to find now. In a world that wants to watch your every move, that still counts for something.

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Features

Winkler nurse stands with Israel and the Jewish people

Nellie Gerzen

By MYRON LOVE Considering the great increase in anti-Semitic incidents in Canada over the past 20 months – and the passivity of government, federally, provincially and municipally, in the face of this what-should-be unacceptable criminal behaviour, many in our Jewish community may feel that we have been abandoned by our fellow citizens.
Polls regularly show that as many as 70% of Canadians support Israel – and there are many who have taken action.  One such individual is Nelli Gerzen, a nurse at the Boundary Trails Health Centre (which serves the communities of Winkler and Morden in western Manitoba).  Three times in the past 20 months, Gerzen has taken time off work to travel to Israel to support Israelis in their time of need.
I asked her what those around her thought of her trips to Israel. “My mother was worried when I went the first time (November 2023),” Gerzen responded, “but, like me, she has trust in the Lord.  My friends and colleagues have gotten used to it.”
She also reports that she is part of a small group of fellow believers that meet online regularly and pray for Israel.
Gerzen is originally from Russia, but grew up in Germany. Her earliest exposure to the history of the Holocaust, she relates, was in Grade 9 – in Germany.  “My history teacher in Germany in Grade 9 went into depth with the history of World War II and the Holocaust,” she recalls. “It is normal that all the teachers taught about the Holocaust but she put a lot of effort into teaching specifically this topic. We also got to watch a live interview with a Holocaust survivor.”
What she learned made a strong impression on her.  “I have often asked myself what I would do if I were living in that era,” she says.  “Would I have been willing to hide Jews in my home? Or risk my life to save others?”
Gerzen came to Canada in 2010 – at the age of 20.  She received her nursing training here and has been working at Boundary Trails for the last three years.
“I believe in the G-d of Israel and that the Jews are his Chosen People,” she states.  “We are living at a time of skyrocketing anti-Semitism. Many Jews are feeling vulnerable.  I felt that I had to do something to help.”
Gerzen’s first trip to Israel was actually in 2014 when she signed onto a youth tour organized by a Christian group, Midnight Call, based in Switzerland.  That initial visit left a strong impact.  “That first visit changed my life,” she remembers.  “I enjoyed having conversations with the Israelis.  The bible for me came to life.  Every stone seemed to have a story.”
She went on a second Midnight Call Missionaries tour of Israel in 2018.  She went back again on her own in the spring of 2023.  After October 7, she says, “I couldn’t sit at home. I had to do something.”
Thus, in November 2023, she went back to Israel, this time as a volunteer.  She spent two weeks at Petach Tikvah cooking meals for Israelis displaced from the north and the south as well as IDF soldiers. She also spent a day with an Israeli friend delivering food to IDF soldiers stationed near Gaza. She notes that she wasn’t worried so close to the border. 
“I trusted in the Lord,” she says.   “It was a special feeling being able to help.”
Last November, she found herself at Kiryat Shmona (with whom our Jewish community has close ties), working for two weeks alongside volunteers from all over the world cooking for the IDF.
On one of her earlier visits, she recounts, a missile struck just a few metres from the kitchen where the volunteers were working.  There was some damage – forcing closure for a few days while repairs were ongoing, but no injuries.
In January, she was back at Kiryat Shmona for another two weeks cooking for the IDF.  She also helped deliver food to Metula on the northern border. This last time, she reports, there was a more upbeat atmosphere, “even though,” she notes, “the wounds are still fresh.  It was quieter. There were no more missiles coming in.
“Israelis were really touched by the presence of so many of us volunteers.  I only wish more Christians would stand up for Israel.
“It was really moving to hear people’s stories first-hand.”
She recounts the story of one Israeli she met at a Jerusalem market who fought in the Yom Kippur war of 1973, who was the only survivor of the tank he was in.
“This guy lost so much in his life, and he was standing there telling the story and smiling, just trying to live life again,” she says. “The people there are so heartbroken.”
Back home, she has been showing her support for Israel and the Jewish people by attending the weekly rallies on Kenaston in support of the hostages whenever she can.
She is looking forward to playing piano at Shalom Square during Folklorama.
Nelli Gerzen doesn’t know yet when she will be returning to Israel – but it is certain to be soon.  “This is my chance to step up for the truth,” she concludes. “I know that supporting Israel is the right thing to do. When I am there, it feels like my heart is on fire.”  

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Antisemitism in the Medical Profession in Canada

Dr. Gem Newman, who gave the valedictory address at the 2024 graduation of medical students from the Ernest Rady College of Medicine

By HENRY SREBRNIK (June 27, 2025) Antisemitism in Canada now flourishes even where few would expect to confront it. Since the Hamas attack on Israel on October 7, 2023, there has been a resurgence of antisemitism noticeable in the world of healthcare. 

When Israeli Gill Kazevman applied to medical school, and circulated his CV to physician mentors, their most consistent feedback was, “Do not mention anything relating to Israel,” he told National Post journalist Sharon Kirkey in an Aug. 10, 2024, story. As a student at the University of Toronto’s Temerty Faculty of Medicine, “I began to see all kinds of caricatures against Jews. I saw faculty members, people in power, people that I’m supposed to rely on, post horrible things against Jews, against Israelis,” he added. The faculty created a Senior Advisor on Antisemitism, Dr. Ayelet Kuper, who in a report released in 2022, confirmed widespread anti-Jewish hatred.

The Jewish Medical Association of Ontario (JMAO) conducted a 2024 survey of 944 Jewish doctors and medical students from across Canada. Two thirds of respondents were “concerned that antisemitic bias from peers or educators will negatively affect their careers.” Dr. Lisa Salomon, JMAO’s president, reported that at the University of Toronto medical school only 11 Jewish students were completing their first year of medical school out of a class of 291. The medical school in 1974 saw 46 Jews in a class of 218.

Also in Toronto, Hillel Ontario called on Toronto Metropolitan University to investigate Dr. Maher El-Masri, who has served as the director of the Daphne Cockwell School of Nursing, because, the group contended, he has “repeatedly engaged with and spread extreme, antisemitic, and deeply polarizing content on his social media account.”

The National Post’s Ari Blaff in an article on June 12, 2025 quoted social media posts from an account Hillel claimed belongs to Dr. Maher El-Masri, who has been the director of the Daphne Cockwell School of Nursing. One message concerned a post about Noa Marciano, an Israeli intelligence soldier abducted by Hamas on Oct. 7, 2023, who later died in captivity. “This is what is so scary about people like her,” the TMU professor wrote. “They look so normal and innocent, but they hide monstrous killers in their sick, brainwashed minds.” Israel, he asserted a day after the Hillel notice, “is a baby killer state. It always has been.”

The Quebec Jewish Physicians Association (AMJQ) is fighting antisemitism in that province. Montreal cardiologist Dr. Lior Bibas, who also teaches at Université de Montréal, co-founded the group in the weeks following the October 7 terrorist attack. They feel young doctors have been bearing the brunt of anti-Israel sentiment since then. “We heard that trainees were having a hard time,” he told Joel Ceausu of the Canadian Jewish News Feb. 3. “We saw a worsening of the situation and were hearing stories of trainees removed from study groups, others put on the defensive about what’s happening,” and some saw relationships with residents deteriorating very quickly. 

Dr. Bibas thinks there are similarities with Ontario counterparts. “Trainees are getting the brunt of all this. Their entire training ecosystem — relationships with peers and physicians — has changed.” Whether anti-Zionist remarks, blaming Jews for Israel’s actions, or other behaviour, it can be debilitating in a grueling academic and career setting. The fear of retaliation is so strong, that some students were unwilling to report incidents, even anonymously.

Jewish physicians have now founded a national umbrella group, the Canadian Federation of Jewish Medical Associations (CFJMA), linking the provinces, and representing over 2,000 Jewish physicians and medical learners, advocating for their interests and promoting culturally safe care for Jewish patients. And “it’s really been nonstop, given that we have a lot of issues,” Dr. Bibas told me in a conversation June 17. “People have been feeling that there’s been a weaponization of health care against Israel.”

He stressed that health care should remain politically neutral – meetings are an inappropriate venue in which to talk about the war in Gaza, he stated, and “this will just lead to arguments.” Nor should doctors, nurses and hospital staff wear pins with Palestinian maps or flags. And no Jewish patient being wheeled into an operating room should see this “symbol of hate.” 

On Jan. 6, a group of Montreal-area medical professionals walked off the job to protest outside Radio-Canada offices, calling for an arms embargo, ceasefire and medical boycotts of Israel. Those who could not attend were encouraged to wear pins and keffiyehs to work. When asked if such a walkout should be sanctioned, Quebec Health Minister Christian Dubé’s office had no comment. Neither did the Collège des médecins (CDM) that governs professional responsibilities. The leadership of many institutions have remained passive.

B’nai Brith Canada recently exposed a group channel, hosted on the social media platform Discord, in which Quebec students engaged in antisemitic, racist, misogynistic and homophobic rhetoric. More than 1,400 applicants to Quebec medical schools, as well as currently enrolled medical school students, were in the group, which was ostensibly set up to support students preparing for admission to Quebec’s four medical programs. “I saw it, and it’s vile,” remarked Dr. Bibas, noting how brazenly some of the commentators expressed themselves, using Islamist rhetoric and Nazi-era imagery, such as referring to Anne Frank as “the rat in the attic.”

Doctors Against Racism and Antisemitism (DARA) said in a statement, “These messages are the direct result of the inaction and prolonged silence of medical school and university leaders across Canada since October 7, 2023, in the face of the meteoric rise of antisemitism in their institutions. Silence is no longer an option. Quebec’s medical schools and universities must act immediately. These candidates must not be admitted to medical school.” DARA member Dr. Philip Berger stated that “there’s been a free flow, really, an avalanche of anti-Israel propaganda, relentlessly sliding into Canadian medical faculties and on university campuses.”

In Winnipeg, a valedictory speech delivered to the 2024 class of medical school students graduating from the Max Rady College of Medicine at the University of Manitoba on May 16, 2024 set off a storm of controversy, as reported by Bernie Bellan in this newspaper. It involved a strongly worded criticism of Israel by Dr. Gem Newman. “I call on my fellow graduates to oppose injustice -and violence — individual and systemic” in Palestine, “where Israel’s deliberate targeting of hospitals and other civilian infrastructure has led to more than 35,000 deaths and widespread famine and disease.” The newspaper noted that “loud cheers erupted at that point from among the students.”

 The next day, the dean of the college, Dr. Peter Nickerson, issued a strongly worded criticism of Dr. Newman’s remarks. On Monday, May 20, Ernest Rady, who made a donation of $30 million to the University of Manitoba in 2016, and whose father, Max Rady, now has his name on the school, sent an email in response to Dr. Newman’s remarks.

“I write to you today because I was both hurt and appalled by the remarks the valedictorian, Gem Newman, gave at last week’s Max Rady College of Medicine convocation, and I was extremely disappointed in the University’s inadequate response. Newman’s speech not only dishonored the memory of my father, but also disrespected and disparaged Jewish people as a whole, including the Jewish students who were in attendance at that convocation.”

In subsequent weeks Jewish physicians in Manitoba organized themselves into a new group, “The Jewish Physicians of Manitoba.” As Dr. Michael Boroditsky, who was then President of Doctors Manitoba, noted, “Jewish physicians in cities across Canada and the U.S. have been forming formal associations in response to heightened antisemitism following the Hamas massacre of October 7.”

After October 7, Jewish students at the University of Calgary’s Cumming School of Medicine reported exposure to repeated antisemitic posts by peers on social media, being subject to antisemitic presentations endorsed by faculty during mandatory classes, social exclusion and hateful targeting by university-funded student groups, and removal from learning environments or opportunities subsequent to antisemitic tirades made by faculty in public spaces. 

In addition to online vitriol, medical students have been subject to antisemitic actions coordinated by university-funded student groups with physician-faculty support under the guise of advocating against the actions of the Israeli government. All instances of discrimination, they stated in a brief, have been witnessed by and/or reported to senior leadership of the medical school without incurring condemnation of the discrimination.

In Vancouver, social media posts vilifying Israel and espousing Jew hatred were circulated by physicians at the Faculty of Medicine of the University of British Columbia, noted an article in the National Post of May 25, 2025. Allegations included Christ-killing, organ trafficking, and other nefarious conspiracies supposedly hatched by Jewish doctors. Some asserted that Jewish faculty should not be allowed to adjudicate resident matching because the examining doctors were Jewish and might be racist. 

In November of 2023, one-third of all UBC medical students signed a petition endorsing this call. Jewish learners who refused to sign were harassed by staff and students on social media. When challenged, the Dean of the medical faculty refused to recognize antisemitism as a problem at UBC or to meet with the representatives of almost 300 Jewish physicians who had signed a letter expressing concern about the tolerance of Jew hatred, and the danger of a toxic hyper-politicized academic environment. This led to the public resignation of Dr. Ted Rosenberg, a senior Jewish faculty member.

Here in the Maritimes, things seem less dire. I spoke to Dr. Ian Epstein, a faculty member in the Division of Digestive Care & Endoscopy at the Dalhousie University Faculty of Medicine. He helps coordinate a group supporting Jewish and Israeli faculty, residents and medical students. 

“Our group is certainly aware of growing antisemitism. Many are hiding their Jewish identities. There have been instances resulting in Jewish and Israeli students being excluded and becoming isolated. It has been hard to have non-Jewish colleagues understand. That said our group has come together when needed, and we have not faced some of the same challenges as larger centres,” Dr. Epstein told me. Dalhousie has also taken a stand against academic boycotts of Israel, which some view as a form of antisemitism.  The University of Prince Edward Island in Charlottetown has just opened a new medical school. Let’s hope this doesn’t happen here.

Lior Bibas in Montreal indicated that his group is worried “not only as Jewish doctors and professionals, but for Jewish patients who are more than ever concerned with who they’re meeting.” Can we really conceive of a future where you’re not sure if “the doctor will hate you now?”

Henry Srebrnik is a political science professor at the University of Prince Edward Island.

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