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
The Torah on a Lost Dog: Hashavat Aveidah in a Modern Canadian City
A neighbour’s dog wanders into your yard on a Wednesday morning in May, dragging a leash and looking confused. You have a choice. You can close the door and assume someone else will deal with it, call the city, or take a photo, knock on a few doors, and try to find out where he belongs.
For most people in Winnipeg and elsewhere in Canada, that choice plays out in a flash of moral instinct rather than reflection. The hand reaches for the phone and the walk around the block begins. The neighbour, if it goes well, is at the door before lunch. The decision feels minor, but it matters more than it looks.
In Jewish tradition, the act of returning a lost animal sits at the centre of one of the oldest practical commandments in the Torah. Deuteronomy 22, near the end of Parashat Ki Teitzei, contains a passage that has become the foundation for an entire body of Jewish ethical law: “If you see your fellow’s ox or sheep going astray, you shall not hide yourself from them; you shall surely bring them back.” The verse goes on to extend this duty beyond animals to any lost property. “So shall you do with every lost thing of your brother’s which he has lost and you have found.” Then comes the line that has occupied rabbis for two thousand years: “You may not hide yourself.”
The Hebrew name for this mitzvah is hashavat aveidah, the returning of a lost thing. It is one of the more practical commandments in a tradition full of practical commandments, and the rabbinic literature surrounding it is unusually thick.
A small commandment with big implications
The reason hashavat aveidah occupies so much rabbinic attention is that, on closer reading, it sets a high ethical bar. The Talmud, particularly the second chapter of tractate Bava Metzia known as Eilu Metziot, devotes pages to questions a modern reader would immediately recognize. How long must you wait for the owner to claim the item? How hard do you have to look for them? What if the animal needs feeding while you search? What expenses can you recover, and what counts as fair? What if the item is too inconvenient to safely return?
The rabbis answer all of these. The answers are not always intuitive. The finder is obligated to feed and shelter the animal while looking for the owner. The animal must not be put to work for the finder’s profit. The owner, when found, repays reasonable costs but is not on the hook for unreasonable ones. If the search takes too long, there are procedures for what to do next, none of which involve quietly keeping what is not yours.
Underneath the legal detail is a moral assumption that is easy to miss in a hurried reading. The Torah does not say to return the animal if it is convenient. It explicitly forbids the act of hiding yourself, of pretending you did not see, of crossing to the other side of the street. The commandment is as much about the person who finds as it is about the animal that is lost.
What this looks like in 2026
Most people who encounter a stray dog in a Winnipeg neighbourhood today are not thinking about Bava Metzia. They are thinking about whether the dog is friendly, whether they should call the City, whether they have time. The instinct to help is usually present. The question is what to do with it.
The practical infrastructure for hashavat aveidah in this country has changed considerably in the last decade. A finder in Winnipeg in 2026 has access to a regional humane society, a network of local Facebook groups, neighbourhood newsletters, and a handful of national platforms that gather sightings and missing-pet alerts across more than 180 Canadian cities. The mechanism is straightforward. A clear photo and a location pin can reach the right owner within hours when the system works, which it usually does.
The most underused of these resources, in any community, is the simple act of posting a sighting. Many people who find a stray feel they need to first catch the animal, find it food, take it home, or in some way solve the problem in full. The rabbis would actually disagree with that framing, and so does modern pet-recovery practice. The first responsibility is to make the sighting visible. The owner is almost certainly already looking. The finder’s main job is to surface what they have seen.
For people in Winnipeg looking for a place to start, a practical guide for what to do when you find a stray walks through the basic steps. Take a clear photo, note the cross-streets and time, check for a tag, and post the sighting where local owners will see it. The work is small. The effect, on the owner who has been awake for two nights and then sees a photo of their dog with a phone number underneath, is much larger than the work itself.
The ethical centre of the commandment
There is a strain of Jewish thought that reads hashavat aveidah as a kind of training in noticing. The deeper commandment goes beyond returning what is lost. It asks the finder to be the kind of person who sees what is lost in the first place, who does not cross to the other side of the street, who does not pretend not to have noticed.
That reading lines up with another Jewish ethical concept that often gets paired with this one: tza’ar ba’alei chayim, the obligation to prevent unnecessary suffering to animals. The Talmud derives this principle from several places in the Torah, including the rest commanded for animals on Shabbat. The two principles overlap in the case of a lost pet. The animal is suffering. The owner is suffering. The finder is, briefly, the only person in the position to do anything about it.
In a small way, the entire Canadian volunteer ecosystem around lost pets, from neighbourhood Facebook groups to national platforms to the dog walker who recognizes a posted photo, is an example of this ethical structure in action. People do not necessarily think of it in those terms. The framework is there anyway, doing its quiet work.
A community-scale point
Winnipeg’s Jewish community has always understood itself as a network of responsibilities to others, the kind that get described as chesed when they are visible and assumed when they are not. The work of returning a lost animal sits comfortably in that frame. It is not heroic, does not make the bulletin, and is exactly the kind of small obligation that knits a community together when nobody is paying attention.
The dog in the yard on a Wednesday morning in May, leash trailing, is one version of the question Deuteronomy asks. The answer, then and now, is the same. Do not hide yourself.
Features
Basketball: How has Israel become one of the best basketball countries in Europe in the last few years?
When Israeli Deni Avdija became the first Israeli to be drafted as the highest Israeli draftee in NBA history in 2020 – then emerged as a key NBA wing in Portland, it was not so much the breakthrough it appeared to be, but a portent of things to come. Israeli basketball development has been decades in the making, and in recent years its clubs have made Europe take notice.
This is why Maccabi Tel Aviv, Hapoel Tel Aviv, and the national basketball team of Israel are now the subjects of serious discussion in European basketball. It is only natural that fans and bettors reading form, depth of the roster, and momentum would look at our Euroleague predictions and then evaluate how Israeli teams would fit into the continental picture.
A rich history: The Maccabi Tel Aviv mythos
The contemporary narrative dates back to before Avdija. Maccabi Tel Aviv won its maiden European Cup in 1977, beating Mobilgirgi Varese and providing a nation under pressure with a sporting icon. Tal Brody’s declaration: “We are on the map” became not just a quote, it became a declaration of Jewish confidence, Israeli strength and a basketball dream.
Maccabi turned out to be the team of the nation since it bore Israeli identity past the borders. Maccabi has been a cultural ambassador before globalization transformed elite lists into multinational conundrums. Its yellow jerseys were the symbol of excellence, rebellion, and identification for the Israeli people at home and Jewish communities abroad.
The six European championships for the club provided a benchmark that has influenced the Winner League and Israeli basketball. Children were not just spectators of Maccabi, they dreamed of Europe as something accessible. Coaches studied in the continental competition. Sponsors and broadcasters realized that basketball had the potential to be the most exportable Israel team sport.
The modern pillars of Israeli basketball’s success
The recent ascendancy of Israel is no magic. It is the result of history, astute recruiting, youth-building and pressure-tested league culture. The nation has made its size its strength: clubs find talent at a young age and enhance the potential with foreign professionals.
Nurturing homegrown talent: The Deni Avdija effect
The most obvious example is that of Avdija. He was a high-ranking contributor in the system of Maccabi Tel Aviv, was chosen as a teenager, and was picked number 9 by Washington in the 2020 NBA Draft. His career was a reminder that an Israeli prospect could be more than a local star; he could be a lottery pick with two-way NBA potential.
Israeli NBA player Omri Casspi had already opened that door, and Avdija opened it even further for the next generation. Their achievements captivated the expectations of youthful players in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, Holon, Herzliya, etc. An Israeli teenager is now able to envision a path from youth leagues to the Winner League, the EuroLeague, and ultimately – NBA minutes.
It is that dream that has been followed by investment. Israeli clubs put more emphasis on skills training, strength training, and analytics, as well as international youth tournaments. The success of the national program in the face of the best of Europe has also helped.
A global approach: The role of international and naturalized stars
The other pillar of the Israeli basketball program is the openness of Israel to global talent. The Winner League has been an important destination, not a stopover, for American guards and forwards. Most come in with NCAA or G league experience and become leaders due to the fact that the league requires scoring, speed and tactical flexibility.
It is enriched with naturalized players and Jewish players, who are able to use the Law of Return to come to Israel to play. Inspired by legendary players like Tal Brody, current imports who can bond both professionally and personally with Israelis have provided teams with uncharacteristic diversity in their rosters. The outcome has been a mixture of Israeli competitiveness, American shot making, Balkan toughness, and European spacing.
Making waves in Europe: Israel’s modern Euroleague footprint
Even in challenging seasons, Maccabi Tel Aviv has remained the flagship team. Currently, Maccabi is out of a playoff spot in the EuroLeague, but Hapoel Tel Aviv has shot up in playoff discussion. That juxtaposition speaks volumes: Israel is no longer represented by one lone, iconic club. Its profile has expanded.
Nevertheless, it is true that the reputation of Maccabi in the EuroLeague does count. Menora Mivtachim Arena in Tel Aviv is one of the most intimidating arenas for EuroLeague teams to play in: loud and emotional. Recent security and travel realities have affected the usual home-court advantage but the name of the club is still a potent brand.
It is the reason why there is an interesting betting discussion within Israeli teams. The name Maccabi still retains a historical impact, but analysts also need to quantify the present defensive performance, injuries, substitution of venues and guards, and fatigue in the schedule. The emergence of Hapoel has provided another Israeli point of reference and markets have to regard the nation as a multi-club force.
What’s next? The future of Israeli basketball on the world stage
Sustainability is the second test. The Israeli national basketball team desires more serious EuroBasket performances and a future world cup. It requires Avdija types – fit and powerful, more domestic big men, and guards capable of playing elite defense to get there.
The pipeline is an optimistic one. Israeli schools are more professional, teams are bolder with young talents, and the Winner League is a test ground where potential talents have to contend with older, tougher imports each week. Not all players will turn into an Avdija, yet additional players ought to be prepared to participate in EuroCup, EuroLeague, and even NBA games.
To the Jews in the Canadian diaspora, the impact is not only sporting, it is also emotional. Israeli basketball brings pride, drama and a common language to the continents. To the European fan, it provides tempo, creativity and unpredictability. To analysts, it provides a sign that a small nation, with memory, ambition and adaptation, can rise to become a true basketball power. Israel has ceased to be the unexpected guest on the table of Europe. It is a part of it, season after season.
Features
In recent years, we have been looking for something more than a house in Israel – we have been looking for a home
For many Jewish families in the diaspora, Israel has always been more than a destination. It is the land of tefillah, memory, family history and belonging. But in recent years, many families have begun asking a practical question too: should Israel also become a place where we have a home?
Not necessarily immediate aliyah. Sometimes it begins with a future option, something good to have just in case, or simply roots with a stronger connection to Eretz Yisroel.
But what does it mean?
A Jewish home is shaped not only by what is inside the front door, but by what surrounds it: neighbours, synagogues, schools, parks, local services, safe streets and the rhythm of Jewish life. For observant families, these are not small details. They are the things that turn a house into a place of belonging.
This is not a new idea. It is a need that has helped shape Jewish communities in Israel before. The Savyonim idea is rooted in the story of Savyon, the Israeli community established in the 1950s by South African Jews who wanted to create a green, safe and community-minded environment in Israel. It was a diaspora dream translated into life in the Jewish homeland.
That idea feels relevant again today. Many Jewish families abroad are now making plans around where they can feel connected in the years ahead.
Recent figures point in the same direction. Reports based on Israel’s Ministry of Finance data showed that foreign residents bought around 1,900 homes in Israel in 2024, about 50% more than the previous year, with Jerusalem emerging as the most popular place to buy. In January 2026, foreign residents still purchased 146 homes, broadly similar to January 2025, even as the wider housing market remained cautious.
For Lior David, International Sales & Marketing Manager at Africa Israel Residences, part of the continued interest may lie in the fact that today’s residential projects are increasingly built around the wider needs of Jewish families abroad: not only buying a property in Israel, but finding a setting that can support community, continuity and everyday Jewish life. That idea is reflected in Savyonim, the company’s residential concept, which places the surrounding environment at the heart of choosing a home.
This can be seen in Savyoney Givat Shmuel, where the surrounding environment includes synagogues, parks, educational institutions, local commerce, playgrounds and transport links, and in Savyoney Ramat Sharet in Jerusalem, located in one of the city’s established green neighbourhoods.
For families abroad, these things matter. Jerusalem and Givat Shmuel are never just another location. They are home to strong Jewish communities, established religious life and surroundings that allow a family to imagine not only buying property, but building a Jewish home in Israel.
Together, these projects reflect a broader understanding: that for many Jews in the diaspora, the decision to create a home in Israel is not only practical, but rooted in identity, continuity and community. The Savyonim story began with a Zionist community from abroad that succeeded in building a real home in Israel; today, that same vision continues in a contemporary form.