Features
Former Winnipeggers Ari & Pablo Schor have Canada’s 8th best restaurant
Since 2016 “Canada’s 100 Best Restaurants” (https://canadas100best.com/), edited by Jacob Richler, has been publishing lists of the 100 best restaurants in Canada. This year the list was determined by a panel of 135 judges.
As the Canada’s 100 Best Restaurants website explains, “Our judging panel is a balanced mix of informed culinary enthusiasts, food writers and critics, chefs, restaurateurs and other food service professionals. Their number in each province and region is proportional to the population. Judges were asked to vote for restaurants based on the complete dining experience provided – service, decor, the depth of the cellar and, above all else, food quality…each judge must vote for a minimum of three restaurants outside of their home region.”
Year after year, Montreal restaurants have consistently dominated the selections – and the most recent edition of “Canada’s 100 Best” is no exception – with 27 of the top restaurants being situated in Montreal. (Toronto had 18 on the list, Vancouver -15, Ottawa – 8, Calgary – 7, and Halifax – 4.
Winnipeg, alas, had but one: “Deer and Almond.”)
Placing number eight on the list, however, was a restaurant that had actually first made it on to the list last year, when it placed in 16th place: “Beba.”
Beba,” which is located in Verdun, a borough of Montreal, has only been opened since 2019.
What might make Beba especially interesting for readers of this paper is the fact that it is owned and operated by two brothers who grew up in Winnipeg – after having moved here with their parents from Argentina in 1997.
Ariel and Pablo Schor are the sons of Monica and Eduardo Schor. Their aunt and uncle, who also came to Winnipeg in 1997, are Anna and Carlos Schor.
Ariel (who prefers to be known simply as Ari, and who was born in 1984) and Pablo (born in 1986) are both former students at Gray Academy, with Ari having graduated from there in 2001, while Pablo went to Gray Academy until the end of Grade 10, whereupon he transferred to the University of Winnipeg Collegiate for his final two years of high school. Ari also told me that he went on Birthright in 2002, Pablo some years later.
Beba is a quite small restaurant, seating only 28, but its reputation is such that you would need to make a reservation at least a month in advance in order to have a table there.
Here is what Canada’s 100 Best 100 Restaurants had to say about Beba: “THIS COZY 28-SEAT BISTRO on an out-of-the-way corner in Verdun is staying true to its Argentinian and Jewish roots while expanding its range. To wit: Spanish and Italian influences artfully mashed up via imported seafood, as exemplified by chef (and co-owner) Ari Schor’s Iwashi Montadito. This dish features Japanese sardines prepared Spanish style on sesame toast, with butter, horseradish and chives. Consider it a nod to schmaltz herring. As they hit their fourth birthday, Schor and chef de cuisine Dixon Cone are expanding their offerings while keeping menu favourites, such as their famous empanadas, along with Swiss chard– wrapped involtini and grilled rabbit, best enjoyed on Beba’s diminutive summer patio. You might find firefly squid when they can get it, or guinea fowl with chorizo and saffron-laced caldoso. To this mix, add brother Pablo and sommelière Anaïs Flebus, whose old-world wine list showcases organic, minimal-intervention bottles. The Schors’ convivial and unstuffy neighbourhood restaurant is worth a detour.”
Recently, I managed to speak to Ari Schor – just after he had helped put to bed his two daughters, Isabel, age 4, and Olive, age 2. I asked him how he had come to end up in the restaurant business in Montreal, and how did he and Pablo get the idea to open their own restaurant?
Ari explained that, after graduating Gray Academy, he took the culinary arts course at Red River College. He told me that he had always had an interest in preparing food from scratch. “I have pictures of me rolling fresh pasta when I was 10,” he said.
His first job in a Winnipeg kitchen was at the Fairmont Hotel, Ari noted, followed by stints at the Lobby on York, and Pizzeria Gusto (on Academy).
In 2012 Ari left Winnipeg for Montreal, when he began working at the well-known “Joe Beef.”
In 2013 he moved over to Liverpool House, which is owned by the same owners as Joe Beef. Ari became head chef there. Perhaps his most famous moment during his time there came in 2017 when he cooked dinner for Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and a recently-retired President Barack Obama.
Pablo Schor took a somewhat different route into the restaurant business. He attended the University of Manitoba, where he studied small business management and human resource management.
After graduating, Pablo went first to Vancouver, but Ari says that he and Pablo had long talked about opening their own restaurant.
An article in the Montreal Gazette described the challenges that awaited the brothers – much to their chagrin, in opening Beba: “They opened Beba in the late summer of 2019, having sunk their life savings, $200,000, into the spot. Seven months later COVID-19 came and they had to shut down. On top of that, Ari’s daughter Izzy was just born.
“ ‘I contemplated becoming an electrician or a refrigeration specialist, something, anything, to pay the bills,’ Ari recalled. ‘We poured everything we had into this place. But I’m so glad we stuck to our dream. For lack of a better phrase, the proof is in the pudding now.’”
I asked Ari why he and Pablo chose to open quite a small restaurant in Verdun which, until a few years ago, was mainly a working class neighborhood of Montreal (as opposed to downtown Montreal, which is where most of the other restaurants on the top 100 list are located)?
He answered that there were two reasons: The first is “you have to stand out and be unique on a quiet street,” while the second reason is that “when you’re starting out, you want to start small.”
Ari added that because “a small space means small storage,” Beba changes its menu just “about every second day.”
And, while the restaurant does attempt to source its foods locally, Ari says that “local produce is not really our ethos…We want the best we can serve,” he says.
“We’re getting white asparagus from Holland, for example,” he notes.
As for what roles they play in the restaurant, while Ari is the head chef, Pablo “is a very experienced bar tender” with an extensive knowledge of wines, Ari adds.
Also, Pablo’s business training equips him to handle the front of the house, as well as bookkeeping duties, Ari says.
While the restaurant seats only 28, the fact that it is so consistently busy had led to Beba employing a staff of 18. But, because Ari knows firsthand how grueling it can be working in a restaurant – often starting at 10 in the morning and working until well past midnight – he and Pablo have deliberately organized the restaurant’s schedule so that no employee – including the owners, will ever have to work more than 40 hours in any given week.
“It takes a lot of time to change the way we work in restaurants,” Ari observes, but “Covid taught us what’s really important,” which is to maintain a proper work-life balance.
Since Ari already told me that he has two daughters, I ask him whether he’s married. (You can’t assume anything.)
He said that his wife’s name is Ashley Joseph and that her father is from Israel.
That got me to wondering about the Schor family itself and where Ari and Pablo’s grandparents came from – since I guessed that, like almost all Argentinean Jews, they had emigrated to Argentina from Europe in the first half of the 20th century.
“Our grandfather on our father’s side is from Romania,” Ari answers, while “our grandmother on our mother’s side is from Poland or Lithuania.” (He wasn’t quite sure which.)
As for their mother’s parents, their grandfather is from England, while their grandmother is from Germany.
I said to Ari that his and Pablo’s ancestry is reminiscent of so many Winnipeg Jews’ ancestry, and that it was probably just luck of the draw that drew their grandparents to Argentina rather than Canada or the U.S.
The fact that one of their grandparents was from England also led to their speaking English, as well as Spanish, when they were growing up in Argentina – which was of tremendous benefit when they both started school in Winnipeg.
In fact, Ari told an amusing story about his first year at Gray Academy, when he would have been 13. He said that he was a very quiet student – and his teacher naturally assumed it was because he had difficulty speaking English. But, when he took a reading comprehension test – and aced it, the teacher was somewhat astonished, and asked Ari why he had kept his ability to speak and understand English such a secret?
Returning to Beba – and what all the acclaim has meant for Ari and Pablo, Ari suggests that “you shouldn’t go after accolades, you should go after goals.
He says that one of his biggest recent thrills was being able to cook for Gail Simmons (whom I had never heard of, apparently because I never watch the Cooking Channel). Simmons has been a judge on Bravo’s Emmy-award winning show “Top Chef “ since 2006, according to Wikipedia.
When I ask Ari whether, given the enormous success that Beba has enjoyed in the relatively brief period since it opened, he and Pablo have any plans to expand the restaurant or perhaps open another one, he answers, “I’d rather not have two mediocre restaurants. I’d rather have one that’s always improving. For now, we’re very happy running the restaurant.”
Features
Why People in Israel Can Get Emotionally Attached to AI—and How to Keep It Healthy
Let’s start with the uncomfortable truth that’s also kind of relieving: getting emotionally attached to a Joi.com AI isn’t “weird.” It’s human. Our brains are attachment machines. Give us a voice that feels warm, consistent, and attentive—especially one that shows up on demand—and our nervous system goes, “Oh. Safety. Connection.” Even if the rational part of you knows it’s software, the emotional part responds to the experience.
Now, if we’re talking about Jewish people in Israel specifically, it’s worth saying this carefully: there isn’t one “Jewish Israeli psychology.” People differ wildly by age, religiosity, community, language, politics, relationship status, and life history. But there are some real-life conditions common in Israel—high tech adoption, a fast-paced social environment, chronic background stress for many, and strong cultural emphasis on connection—that can make AI companionship feel especially appealing for some individuals. Not because of religion or ethnicity as a trait, but because of context and pressure.
So if you’ve noticed yourself—or someone you know—getting attached to an AI companion, the goal isn’t to panic or label it as unhealthy by default. The goal is to understand why it feels good and make sure it stays supportive rather than consuming.
Why attachment happens so fast (the psychology in plain language)
Attachment isn’t just about romance. It’s about regulation. When you feel seen, your body calms down. When you feel ignored, your body gets edgy. AI companions can offer something that’s rare in real life: consistent responsiveness. No scheduling. No misunderstandings (most of the time). No “I’m too tired to talk.” Just a steady stream of attention.
From an attachment perspective, that steadiness can act like a soft emotional “hug.” For someone with anxious attachment, it can feel like relief: finally, a connection that doesn’t disappear. For someone with avoidant tendencies, it can feel safe because it’s intimacy without the risk of being overwhelmed by a real person’s needs. For someone simply lonely or stressed, it can feel like a quiet exhale.
And unlike human relationships, AI won’t judge your worst timing. You can message at 2:00 a.m., when your thoughts are loud and the apartment is silent, and you’ll still get an answer that sounds caring. That alone is powerful.
Why it can feel especially relevant in Israel (for some people)
Israel is a small country with a big emotional load for many people—again, not universally, but often enough that it shapes daily life. A lot of people live with a background hum of stress, whether it’s personal, economic, or tied to the broader environment. When life feels intense, the appeal of a stable, gentle interaction grows. Not because you’re fragile—because you’re tired.
Add a few more very normal realities:
High tech comfort is cultural. Israel has a strong tech culture. People are used to tools that solve problems quickly. If you’re already comfortable with digital solutions, trying an AI companion doesn’t feel like a strange leap.
Time is tight. Between work, family responsibilities, reserve duty for some, long commutes, or simply the pace of urban life, many people don’t have the energy for long, messy social processes. AI can feel like connection without the logistics.
Social circles can be both close and complicated. Israeli society can be community-oriented, which is beautiful—until it’s also intense. In tight-knit circles, dating and relationships sometimes come with social pressure, opinions, and “everyone knows everyone.” A private AI chat can feel like a relief: no gossip, no explanations, no performance.
Language and identity complexity. Many Jewish Israelis move between languages and cultures (Hebrew, Russian, English, French, Amharic, Arabic for some). AI chat can become a low-stakes space to express yourself in the language you feel most “you” in—without feeling judged for accent, vocabulary, or code-switching.
None of this means “Israelis are more likely” in any absolute sense. It means there are situational reasons why AI companionship can feel particularly soothing or convenient for some people living there.
The good side: when AI attachment is healthy
Emotional attachment isn’t automatically a problem. Sometimes it’s simply a sign that something is working: you feel supported. You feel calmer. You’re expressing yourself more. You’re practicing communication instead of shutting down. You’re less likely to make impulsive choices from loneliness.
Healthy use often looks like:
You feel better after chatting, not worse.
You can still enjoy your real life—friends, work, hobbies, family.
You don’t hide it in shame; you just treat it like a tool or pastime.
You use the AI to practice skills you bring into real relationships: clarity, boundaries, confidence, emotional regulation.
In that version, AI companionship is closer to journaling with feedback, or a comforting ritual—like a cup of tea at the end of the day, not a replacement for dinner.
Where it can slip into unhealthy territory (quietly)
The danger isn’t “having feelings.” The danger is outsourcing your emotional world to something that will never truly share responsibility.
Warning signs usually look like:
You cancel plans with humans because the AI feels easier.
You feel anxious when you’re not chatting, like you’re missing something.
You start needing the AI to reassure you constantly.
Your standards for human relationships collapse (“Humans are too complicated, AI is enough”).
You feel a “crash” after chatting—more lonely, more restless, more disconnected.
The biggest red flag is when the AI becomes your only reliable source of comfort. That’s not because AI is evil. It’s because any single source of emotional regulation—human or non-human—can become a dependency.
How to keep it healthy (without killing the fun)
Here’s the approach that works best: don’t ban it, contain it.
Give it a role.
Decide what the AI is for in your life: playful flirting, stress relief, practicing communication, roleplay, bedtime decompression. A defined role prevents the relationship from becoming vague and all-consuming.
Set a “time container.”
Not as punishment—just as hygiene. For example: 20 minutes at night, or during commute time, or only on certain days. Ending while you still feel good is the secret. Don’t chat until you feel hollow.
Keep one human anchor active.
A friend you text, a weekly family dinner, a class, a gym routine, a community event—something that keeps your real social muscles moving. In Israel, community can be a huge protective factor when it’s supportive. Use it.
Use consent and boundary language even with AI.
It sounds odd, but it trains your brain in healthy dynamics:
“Slow down. Keep it playful, not intense.”
“No jealousy talk. I don’t like that vibe.”
“Tonight I want comfort, not advice.”
If you can do that with an AI, you’ll be better at doing it with humans.
Watch the “replacement” impulse.
If you catch yourself thinking, “I don’t need anyone else,” pause and ask: is that empowerment—or is it avoidance? Sometimes it’s a protective story your brain tells when it’s tired of disappointment.
Check in with your body after.
Not your thoughts—your body. Calm? Lighter? More grounded? Good sign. Agitated? Empty? Restless? Time to adjust.
And if you’re noticing that AI use is feeding anxiety, sleep problems, isolation, or obsessive thinking, it may help to talk to a mental health professional—especially someone who understands attachment patterns. That’s not a dramatic step. It’s basic self-care.
People in Israel—Jewish Israelis included—can get attached to AI for the same reason people everywhere do: it offers consistent attention in an inconsistent world. Add the local realities of stress, pace, and social complexity, and it can feel even more comforting for some individuals. The healthiest path isn’t to judge yourself for it. It’s to use it intentionally, keep your human life active, and treat the AI as a supportive tool—not the center of your emotional universe.
Features
Three generations of Wernicks all chose to become rabbis
By GERRY POSNER Recently I was at a Shabbat service at Beth Tzedec Synagogue in Toronto and the day unfolded in some unexpected ways for me.
It began when I was asked to be a Gabbai for the service, that is to stand up at the table where the Torah is placed and to check the Torah reading to make sure there are no errors. I have done this before and it has always gone smoothly. I attribute that fact in large part to the Torah reading ability of the reader at Beth Synagogue. He is fast, fluent and flawless. Well, on this particular day after he had completed the first two portions, he began the shlishi or third aliyah. I could not find his reading anywhere. It was as if he had started somewhere fresh, but not where he was supposed to be. I looked at the other Gabbai and he did not seem to recognize what had happened either. So, I let it go. I had no idea where the Torah reader was. He then did another and still I was lost. He came to what was the 6th aliyah when a clergy member walked over to him and indicated to him that he had read the fourth and fifth aliyah, but that he had missed the third one. The Torah reader then said to me “this is what you are here for.” Now, it might have been one thing if I had missed it entirely. Alas, I saw the error, but let it go as I deferred to the Torah reader since he never makes a mistake. He ended up going back to do the third aliyah before continuing on. This was a very unusual event in the synagogue. I felt responsible in large part for this gaffe. A lesson learned.
The feeling of embarrassment was compounded by the fact that on this particular day the service was highlighted, at least for me, because of the rabbi delivering the sermon. This rabbi, Eugene Wernick, was none other than the father of my present rabbi, Steven Wernick of Beth Tzedec Synagogue. He was also the same rabbi who was the rabbi at Shaarey Zedek between 1979-1986 and who had officiated at my father’s funeral in 1981, also a few years later at my oldest son’s Bar Mitzvah in Winnipeg in 1984. As I listened to him speak, I was taken back to the 1980s, when Rabbi Gene was in the pulpit at Shaarey Zedek. Of course, he is older now than in his Shaarey Zedek days, but the power of his voice was unchanged. If anything, it’s even stronger. As in the past, his message was relevant to all of us and resonated well. Listening to him was a treat for me. Still, my regret in not calling out the mistake from the Torah reading was compounded by the fact that I messed up in front of my former rabbi, Eugene Wernick – never mind my present rabbi, Steven Werinck.
On this Shabbat morning, aside from all the other people present, there were not only the two Rabbis Wernick, but one Michelle Wernick was also there. Michelle, daughter of Rabbi Steven Wernick, is a first year student at the Jewish Theological Seminary. She is following in the family business – much like with the Rose rabbinical family in Winnipeg.
As it turned out, there was a Bat Mitzvah that day. And the Bat Mitzvah family had a very real Winnipeg connection as in the former Leah Potash, mother of the Bat Mitzvah girl, Emmie Bank and the daughter of Reuben and Gail Potash (Thau). It occurred to me that there might be a few Winnipeg people in the crowd. As I scanned the first few rows, I was not disappointed. Sitting there was none other than Chana Thau and her husband Michael Eleff. I managed to have a chat with Chana (even during the Musaf service). In the row right behind Chana and Michael was a face I had not seen in close to sixty years. I refer to Allan Berkal, the eldest son of the former rabbi and chazan at Shaarey Zedek, Louis Berkal. I still remember the first time I met Allan at Hebrew School in 1954 when his family moved to Winnipeg from Grand Forks, North Dakota. That was many maftirs ago. So this was another highlight moment for me.
Of course, there are other Winnipeggers who attend Beth Tzedec most Shabbats. I speak of Morley Goldberg and his wife, the former Marcia Billinkoff Schnoor. As well, Bernie Rubenstein and his wife, the former Sheila Levene were also present for this particular Shabbat. In all, this Shabbat had a particularly Winnipeg flavour to it. Truth be told, you do not have to go far in Toronto at any synagogue and the Winnipeg connections emerge.
Features
In Britain Too, Jews Are in Trouble
By HENRY SREBRNIK Antisemitic attacks in Britain have surged to levels unseen in decades, with Jewish schools under guard and synagogues routinely targeted. Jews suffered the highest rate of religious hate crimes in the year ending March 2025, according to interior ministry data. And it has only become worse.
Jewish Post and News readers know, of course, about the attack on Jewish worshippers at the Heaton Park Synagogue in Manchester at Yom Kippur services on October 2, 2025. The attack killed Adrian Daulby, 53, and Melvin Cravitz, 66, and left three others injured.
Greater Manchester Police Chief Sir Stephen Watson said fear within the Jewish community had risen sharply, with even young children asking for armed police protection to simply attend Hanukkah parties.
While the blame for the violence lies with the assailant, an immigrant from Syria, who was shot dead by police, the responsibility for the circumstances in which two Jews died and where a Jewish community that has contributed loyally to British society for centuries fears for its existence lies with the leaders of the British establishment.
The Labour government, many of whose supporters and elected representatives flirt with pro-Hamas positions, has fueled the flames with its denunciations of Israel’s war and recognition of a Palestinian state. Many younger people, their minds filled with postmodern “anticolonialist” left ideology, are eager recruits to the cause.
Ruth Deech is a British academic, bioethicist and politician who sits in the House of Lords. Ten years ago, she warned that some of the country’s top universities had become “no-go zones” for Jewish students. But, in the wake of the October 7 atrocities and ensuing war in Gaza, she believes the situation is much worse.
“The warfare on the streets is being continued in the universities,” Deech told the Times of Israel Dec. 25. “The universities on the whole are not facing up to it, and the University of London campuses are probably amongst the worst. None of the vice chancellors seem to be able to summon up the courage to deal with it,” Deech contends.
“They take refuge behind freedom of speech, without realizing that freedom of speech stops where hate language begins.” Deech is highly critical of Oxford, where she has spent much of her academic life. British universities must take stronger action to protect Jewish students and use every tool available to confront hate and division.
But the reaction by authorities has generally been one of appeasement. For years, police refused to enforce hate-crime laws. Universities tolerated mobs chanting for Israel’s destruction. Politicians equivocated in the name of “balance.”
For instance, in Birmingham, the West Midlands Police, which cover the city, classified as “high risk” a soccer match between Maccabi Tel Aviv and Aston Villa on Nov. 6. The police cited “safety” as the reason for banishing fans of the Tel Aviv team, which now seems to be standard when unjustified bans are put in place.
As the Jewish Leadership Council noted on X, “It is perverse that away fans should be banned from a football match because West Midlands Police can’t guarantee their safety.” Prior to the event, masked men hung “Zios Not Welcome” signs in the windows of shops or restaurants. “Zio,” of course, is a not-so-coded word for Israelis and/or Jews.
Over the past two years, the Board of Deputies of British Jews, the country’s main representative body for the Jewish community, has faced questions of their own about how to conduct debates on Israel. Last April, 36 of the board’s members signed an open letter, which was published in the Financial Times, protesting against “this most extremist of Israeli governments” and its failure to free the hostages held since October 7. “Israel’s soul is being ripped out and we fear for the future of the Israel we love,” the letter read.
Five members of the Board were suspended for instigating the letter. The Board’s Constitution Committee found that they had broken a code of conduct by creating the “misleading impression that this was an official document of the Board as a whole.” But for some, the letter represented a watershed moment where some of the conversations about Israel happening in private within the Jewish community could be had in public.
Board President Phil Rosenberg argued that there has long been healthy debate among the 300 deputies. His primary concern is the safety of British Jews but also how the community sees itself. “We have a whole range of activities to confront antisemitism,” he maintained. “But we also believe that the community needs not just to be seeing itself, and to be seen, through the prism of pain.
“It already wasn’t right that the only public commemoration of Jewish life in this country is Holocaust Memorial Day. And the only compulsory education is Holocaust education. Both of these things are incredibly important, but that’s not the whole experience of Jews.”
Given all this, a new political party divide is emerging among British Jews, with support rising fast for the left-wing Greens, now led by Zack Polanski, who is Jewish, and buoyed by younger and “anti-Zionist” Jews, while the older Orthodox turn to Nigel Farage’s upstart right wing Reform UK, as trust in the two main parties collapses.
Support for Labour and the Conservatives among British Jews had fallen to 58 per cent by July 2025 from nearly 84 per cent in 2020, according to a November 2025 report from the Institute of Jewish Policy Research (JPR), entitled “The End of Two-party Politics? Emerging Changes in the Political Preferences of British Jews.”
Labour has been typically favoured by more “secular” Jews while the Conservative party is traditionally preferred by more “observant” Jews. But for the first time in recent British Jewish history, support for the Labour and Conservative parties combined has fallen below 60 per cent.
“Reform UK is more likely to attract male, older, orthodox, and Zionist Jews; the Greens are more likely to attract younger, unaffiliated and anti-Zionist,” according to Dr. Jonathan Boyd, JPR’s executive director. The surge in Jewish support for Reform UK, a party whose rhetoric on immigration and nationalism would typically be expected to alienate minority communities, including Jews,” was described as “striking” by the JPR.
“Significant parts of the Jewish population may gravitate toward voices promising strength and clarity, regardless of ideological baggage” when mainstream parties were perceived as “weak or hostile,” the report added. “It may signal a structural shift in Jewish political identity.”
Three forces appear to be driving this fragmentation: the war in Gaza and its polarising effect on Jewish attitudes; rising antisemitism, culminating in the Heaton Park Synagogue terrorist attack; and a broader collapse of trust in mainstream parties.
“Together, these factors are pushing Jews toward parties that offer clarity — whether through populism or radical progressivism. If recent developments persist,” the report suggested, “British Jews are likely to become more politically polarised, prompting further internal community tensions.”
Henry Srebrnik is a professor of political science at the University of Prince Edward Island.