Connect with us

Features

Four years after launching her dream project, Jacquie Seipp has seen “One More Candle” spread around the world

By BERNIE BELLAN
A while back I was speaking with Jacquie Seipp who, four years ago, came up with a novel and very thoughtful idea: Invite individuals and groups to participate in commemorating the memories of the “1.5 million children murdered in the Shoah”.

We’ve written before about Jacquie’s project, which became known as “One More Candle” – and Jacquie herself has produced an excellent brochure describing how One More Candle came about. As well, last year Sharon Chisvin wrote a very good article for the Free Press which you can access online titled “Non-profit remembers lost generation”.
Recently, I had a long conversation with Jacquie during which we discussed the history of the project which she had started – and how successful it’s been, but it was when Jacquie told me that she had spent the winter in Israel, I began to think that, if I were to write about One More Candle, I would also want to include a mention of what Jacquie had done in Israel this past winter as well – which really has nothing to do with One More Candle.

Here then is a brief description of what One More Candle is all about, taken from the brochure that Jacquie has put together:
“More than a decade ago at Yom Kippur High Holy Day services, while remembering the Shoah (Holocaust)…the story that 93 girls chose to take their own lives rather than allowing their bodies to be used and desecrated as sexual objects for Nazi officers…caught me in a way that I had not felt before. Their last plea was ‘all we ask is, say Kaddish for us. For all 93, say Kaddish’.”
The brochure goes on to describe how Jacquie began to formulate an idea in her mind that would involve getting people to light candles for each of the 1.5 million children who perished in the Shoah. She discussed her idea with Rabbi Green at the Shaarey Zedek, who was extremely supportive. Eventually she fleshed out the idea with members of the congregation.
Jacquie took her idea to representatives of Yad Vashem, which provided a database of names of children whose memories could be preserved through One More Candle.
Then, in the midst of planning One More Candle, as Jacquie notes: “While considering how to move forward on this, my mother (z”l) passed away.
“From sad things, good things happen,” she writes in the brochure.

In November 2015 the Manitoba Theatre Centre produced a play titled “Wiesenthal”. As Jacquie explains, attending that play “helped solidify the idea” of bringing One More Candle to fruition.
In her words, “Wiesenthal” is “about an ordinary man who acted extraordinarily to bring light to the darkness of the Holocaust. Simon Wiesenthal always had a sunflower on his desk as he searched for the murderers of six million Jews….As each show ends, as he leaves the stage, Wiesenthal takes the sunflower, and gently hands it to one person in the audience.” (Jacquie was the recipient of the sunflower the night she attended the theatre.)
“Receiving that sunflower broke me,” she write. “I knew that One More Candle was bashert (meant to be) and that I, an ordinary woman, have been divinely given an extraordinary task.
“One More Candle took form in April 2016.”

Jacquie Seipp SarelThe One More Candle brochure goes on to describe what individuals can do to help perpetuate the memory of one of those 1.5 million children murdered in the Shoah:
Contact One More Candle at www.onemorecandle.org
“Upon adopting a child of memory, light a candle on the yahrzeit (anniversary) of the child’s passing. (Reminder: add your adopted memory’s name to the yearly yahrzeit list at your synagogue.)
“Lighting a candle in honour of those who have passed is a tradition to express what we cannot communicate with words.
“With each candle, the life of a child who lives – and was murdered, is remembered and honoured.”

Although One More Candle is a registered charity, “there is no charge to adopt a memory”, the One More Candle brochure states, noting though that “donations are graciously accepted and contribute to honouring the memories of children murdered in the Shoah.”

In the fall issue of the Shaarey Zedek bulletin, known as the “Shofar”, Jacquie provided an update of how One More Candle has progressed.
Shaarey Zedek was the “first synagogue to accept the adoption of the memories of 399 children (365 + 29 – can’t forget the leap month of Adar II) who were murdered in the Shoah. Each one of their names is called daily at minyan services throughout the year.
“Since the inception of One More Candle in 2016, there are synagogues across Canada – in Ontario, Manitoba, Alberta, and Saskatchewan, as well as the United States, that support the project. People from around the world have also chosen to adopt the memory of a One More Candle child.
“Bar and Bat Mitzvah children have also made the commitment of adopting a memory.”
As the back of the One More Candle brochure says: “We are committed to one simple act: Remember.”

As I noted at the beginning of this story, Jacquie also spent a good part of this past winter (prior to the onset of the pandemic) in Israel, volunteering on a military base with Sarel, the organization for older volunteers who would like to contribute in some way to the Israel Defense Forces.
While on the base (Base 559, Mishmar Ha Negev, west of Be’er Sheva), Jacquie says, she was joined for two weeks by Patrick Elazar, who is well known to many Winnipeggers for the many ways in which he contributes to our community.
During their time together Jacquie and Patrick planted a tree together. I asked Jacquie if she could send me some pictures of her and Patrick, which we have included with this story.

 

Continue Reading

Features

I Speak “Jew”

Morrocan Jewish fish dish

By MARK E. PAULL I grew up in Montreal. Born in 1956. Anglo by birth, sure. But that never quite fit. I don’t speak “Anglo” the way they mean it. My real language is Jew.
And I don’t mean Hebrew or Yiddish. I mean the language of reading the room before you enter it. The code-switching, shame-dodging, laugh-first-so-they-don’t-pounce dialect we pick up early. It’s a language built on side-eyes and timing and ten generations of tension.
I speak French—enough to make myself understood. Enough to charm a dinner table, crack a joke, get someone’s uncle to nod. I’m not fluent, but I’m fast. Doesn’t matter. In Quebec, language isn’t grammar—it’s inheritance. It’s who your grandfather cursed out in a hardware store.
To the Francophones, I’ll never be one of them. My accent betrays me before I say a word. I’m just an Anglo. And not even that, really. Because when the lens tightens, when they look closely, I’m just un Juif. Just a Jew.
And to the Anglos? Same thing. I can wear the suit, speak the Queen’s English, order the wine properly—still a Jew. Even in rooms where I “pass,” I don’t belong. I’m not invited in to be myself. I’m invited in to behave. To be safe. To not say the thing that makes the air stiff.
We’re the only people still called by our religion. No one says “Orthodox” for a Greek. No one says “Vatican” for an Italian. No one calls a Black man “Baptist” before they see his face. But “Jew”? That sticks. That’s the label. Before passport. Before language. Before hello.
I’ve mostly made peace with that. But there’s still this ache—knowing you can live your whole life in a place and never really be from there.
Let me tell you a story.
We had this block party once—the folding-table, paper-plate kind. Kids zipping by on scooters. Music low. Everyone asked to bring something from “your culture.”
The Greek guy brought lemon potatoes and lamb—felt like it came with a side of Byzantine history. The Italians brought two lasagnas—meat and veggie—with basil placed like confetti. The Vietnamese couple brought shrimp rolls that vanished before they hit the table. Even the German guy—built like a fridge—brought bratwurst and a six-pack with gothic lettering.
And then us.
My partner made Moroccan fish. Her grandmother’s recipe. Red with tomatoes, garlic, cumin. Studded with olives and preserved lemon. I brought a bottle of white wine. Dry. Crisp. From the Golan Heights. Not Manischewitz. Not even close.
We laid it out. Someone leaned over: “Moroccan? But I thought you were Jewish.”
We smiled. “We are.”
Then: “So… where’s the brisket? Isn’t Jewish wine supposed to be sweet?”
That’s when it hits you. No matter how long you’ve lived here, how many snowstorms you’ve shoveled through, you’re still explaining yourself. Still translating your presence.
Because they don’t know. They don’t know Jews came from everywhere. That “Jewish” isn’t one dish—it’s a whole map. That we had Jews in Morocco before there was even a France. That some of us grew up on kreplach, some on kefta. That some of our mothers sang in Yiddish, others in Arabic, and some in both—depending on who was knocking.
They don’t know. And worse—they don’t ask.
And that’s the part that gets you. Not the slurs. Not the graffiti. Not even the occasional muttered cliché. It’s the blankness. The shrug. The image they already have of you that’s built out of dreidels and sitcoms.
“Jewish” as nostalgic. As novelty. Something they saw once on a bagel.
Sometimes, when those questions come, I float. One version of me walks out. Another turns into a mouse. One turns into a Frisbee. Just gone. Not mad. Just tired.
Because being a Jew isn’t cute. It’s not nostalgic.
It’s ancient.
Before Montreal.
Before France.
Before Poland. Before Spain.
Before pogroms.
Before ghettos.
Before Hitler.
Before even the word Europe.
We were there.
Go back to the 5th century. 2nd century.
Go back to Jesus—our kid, by the way.
Go further—Babylon. Persia.
Keep going—Temple. Exile. Wandering.
And still, after all that, I’m at a table in Quebec explaining why our fish has cumin in it.
It’s almost funny. If it didn’t wear you down a little.
I’m not looking for pity. This isn’t a complaint.
I’m proud. I know what I carry. I walk into any room with five thousand years behind me. I come from people who kept the lights on through every kind of darkness—and laughed through it, too.
But sometimes, I just wish I didn’t have to explain so much.
All I want is to put down my dish…
…and hear someone say:
“That smells amazing. Tell me the story.”

That’s all.


Mark E. Paull, C.A.C. is a Certified ADHD Coach – IPHM, CMA, IIC&M, CPD Certified
Writer | Lived-Experience Advocate | Type 1 Diabetic since 1967

He has been published in:
The New York Times, The Globe and Mail, Folklife Magazine, Times of Israel, CHADD’s Attention Magazine, The Good Men Project

Continue Reading

Features

At 104, Besse Gurevich last original resident of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence

By MYRON LOVE At 104, Besse Gurevich is the last of the original residents of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence. She may also be the oldest member of our Jewish community.
Although her vision and her hearing have diminished considerably, her mind and memory are still intact.  A few weeks back, this writer sat down with her in her suite as she recalled a life filled with highs and lows and her many  contributions to her community, both in Winnipeg and Fort William before that.
The daughter of Jack and Rebecca Avit, her life’s journey began in 1921 in a home on Carlton Street near Ellice Avenue, near her father’s furniture store.  He later operated a cap factory.
When she was ten, the family – she had two brothers and a sister – moved to Manitoba Avenue in the old North End. “My father had put a deposit down on a house on Scotia,” she recalls.  “But my parents didn’t feel that the neighbourhood was Jewish enough.”
Her schooling included Peretz School and, like so many of her generation, St. John’s Tech (as it was known back then.)  “I was actually supposed to be going to Isaac Newton for high school,” she says.  We were living on the wrong side of the tracks for St. John’s.  After one day at Isaac Newton, I found a way to transfer to St. John’s.”
In 1940, 19-year-old Bessie Avit married Jack Gurevich, a young man from Fort William.  The wedding was marred though, by the sudden, untimely passing of her father.
Following the wedding, Besse moved with her new husband to Fort William where Jack Gurevich worked in retail clothing sales.  “We lived in Fort William for 20 years,” she says.  “Our three children (Judy, Richard and Howard) were born there.”
She recalls that there were about 200 Jewish families – including her sister and one of her brothers for some years – in town, during the time she lived there. “We were very well known in the community,” she recalls. “I was involved in everything.”
Her community activism continued after the family’s return to her home town. While Jack went to work as a salesman for Western Glove Works, Besse became an indefatigable community volunteer. At one time or another, she served as vice-president of ORT, Hadassah and National Council of Jewish Women in Winnipeg. She was also a long time B’nai Brith member.
In the business world, the highlight of her career was the building of Linden Woods.  “I became involved in real estate development for a time,” she recalls. “I was hired by Genstar to develop Linden Woods.  The company estimated that it would take about 20 years to complete.  I got it done in two.”
She also taught hair dressing for a while. “I worked with many young Jewish brides,” she says.
Recent years have not been kind to Besse Gurevich. Her beloved husband, Jack, died in 2016 – after almost 65 years of marriage.  Older son, Richard, passed away in Vancouver in 2018 and, most recently –six months ago – younger son, Howard, followed.  She notes that there were 200 mourners at Howard’s funeral.
(Howard Gurevich was in marketing for many years before turning his talents to the art world. In recent years, he was best known for Gurevich Fine Art in the Exchange District and his support of local artists.)
Besse Gurevich celebrated her 100th birthday – which took place at the height of the Covid shutdown – quietly. 
While she used to enjoy reading. she is unable to do so any more. She can still listen to television.
And while she has few family members to visit her any more, she does have a group of friends interesting enough from the local theatre scene.  For many years, she was a close friend of the late Doreen Brownstone, one of the leading figures in theatre in Winnipeg for more than half a century.  Besse became part of the group that would visit Doreen every week and, since Doreen passed on three years ago, the members of the group have continued to visit Besse on a weekly basis.  

Continue Reading

Features

Winnipeg author’s first novel gripping tale of romance, action and intrigue, set in 15th century Spain and Morocco

“The Chronos of Andalucia” author Merom Toledano

By MYRON LOVE “The Chronos of Andalucia”, a novel just released by first-time author Merom Toledano, is a historical romance set in late 15th century Spain and Morocco, filled with passion, action, intrigue, unexpected twists and turns – and, of course, with the requirement of any medieval story – a quest.
The easy-to-read, 190 page book follows the adventures of Catalina, a young woman living by her wits on the streets of Granada in the year 1487, (just after the Christian armies of Ferdinand and Isabella had recaptured all of Spain from the Moors) – while trying to evade the agents of the Inquisition, who had murdered her Jewish mother and Christian father 10 years earlier.  She was left with an insatiable desire to learn about astronomy, along with a mysterious map and an astrolabe (an instrument formerly used to make astronomical measurements) – the importance of which will only be unveiled if she can get to the city of Tangier in Morocco.
Early on, there is a reference to Abraham Zacuto, a prominent Spanish rabbi famed for his knowledge of astronomy and astrology.
The action begins when she has a casual interaction with a former Spanish soldier, Diego.  When the forces of the Inquisition approach, she flees with the soldier – who is also her love interest – and who helps her to escape.  They turn for help to a childhood friend of Catalina’s – Roberta, a nun, who helps them on their perilous  journey to Tangier – a journey that includes being captured by pirates, surviving a shipwreck, being separated for a long period of time and, of course, finding each other again and realizing the success of their joint quest.
In his writing, the author paints vivid word pictures of the different characters and beautifully invokes the colour, sights, sounds and scents of the time and the places. 
What I found truly remarkable about the writing of “The Chronos of Andalucia” is that English is not Merom  Toledano’s first language.  The Israeli-born author – he grew up near Haifa – came to Winnipeg with his young family just eight years ago.
“I have had this book in mind for several years now,” says the satellite engineer whose working career takes him to many different parts of the world. 
He notes that he has always felt a connection to Spain, Spanish music and literature – a reflection of his family’s modern origins in that country.  His great-grandparents, he relates, lived in Toledo – hence the family name, Toledano.  His parents lived in Meknes in Morocco while his father attended university in Tangier before making aliyah.
Toledano just published “The Chronos of Andalucia” in April on Amazon. He reports that the book – which is available here at McNally Robinson – has been selling well –close to 100 copies – with orders coming from a bookstore chain in England, a bookstore in Denmark, and one in Italy.
“I have had between 30 and 40 positive reviews so far,” he reports.
Toledano adds that he envisages “The Chronos of Andalucia” to be the first in a series – a la the writer Danielle Steele.  He is already working on a sequel – which is hinted at the end of “The Chronos” and, he reports, he is establishing his own independent publishing operation.        

Continue Reading

Copyright © 2017 - 2023 Jewish Post & News