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Interfaith Dialogue: Building Bridges Between Jewish and Other Communities in Manitoba

Interfaith dialogue in this province isn’t just a hopeful concept; it’s a lived experience. In a province known for its chilly winters, it turns out the warmth comes from its people—people who, regardless of faith, lean into conversation, curiosity, and kindness.

A rabbi, an imam, and a priest walk into a Winnipeg café.

No, this isn’t the start of a joke—it’s a Tuesday morning in Manitoba.

Interfaith dialogue in this province isn’t just a hopeful concept; it’s a lived experience. In a province known for its chilly winters, it turns out the warmth comes from its people—people who, regardless of faith, lean into conversation, curiosity, and kindness. In a world growing louder with division, Manitoba is quietly building bridges—and the Jewish community is right in the heart of it.

Why Interfaith Dialogue Matters Now More Than Ever

Canada is proudly multicultural, but multiculturalism doesn’t always mean mutual understanding. In 2021, Statistics Canada reported over 450 religious affiliations among Canadians. Manitoba alone reflects that diversity, with Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Sikh, Jewish, Indigenous Spirituality, and other groups coexisting—and, at times, colliding.

That’s where interfaith dialogue comes in.

It’s not just “Kumbaya” circles and shared hummus (although food definitely helps). It’s deep listening, mutual respect, and sometimes uncomfortable conversations that lead to long-term understanding.

As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, the former Chief Rabbi of the UK, once said:

“True dialogue is not about one side winning. It’s about both sides learning.”

And learning is something Manitobans are good at—whether it’s fixing a snowblower or rethinking a stereotype.

A Prairie Legacy: Jewish Roots in Manitoba’s Interfaith Journey

The Jewish community in Manitoba has long understood the value of dialogue. From early 20th-century immigrants who settled in Winnipeg’s North End to present-day community leaders, Jewish Manitobans have often been a voice for inclusivity and education.

Back in the day, synagogues doubled as community centres where neighbours of all backgrounds could gather for food drives, cultural nights, and winter coat donations (you can’t skip that in Winnipeg). Fast-forward to today, and those traditions continue through institutions like the Jewish Federation of Winnipeg, which actively partners with other faith groups on events ranging from peace vigils to holiday exchanges.

There’s also grassroots involvement—like teachers from Jewish schools co-hosting panels with Muslim educators to help students understand each other’s holidays, traditions, and sometimes confusing dietary laws. (“Wait, you can’t eat pork either?”)

Real Conversations, Real Progress: Interfaith in Action

Every February, Interfaith Harmony Week brings together representatives from mosques, churches, temples, and synagogues across Winnipeg for events that aim to replace suspicion with stories.

One event in 2023, called “Faith and Food,” invited participants to bring traditional dishes and share the story behind them. Turns out, nothing bonds people faster than realizing their grandmother’s chicken soup could cure anything from a cold to heartbreak—no matter what faith she followed.

Another initiative, the Muslim-Jewish Dialogue of Winnipeg, has been quietly fostering real friendships across communities. Members discuss everything from sacred texts to family life, and sometimes even Netflix (hey, we’re all human).

These efforts aren’t just symbolic. In 2021, a joint Muslim-Jewish charity project raised over $30,000 for local families in need, proving that dialogue can lead to impact.

Of Misunderstandings and Mosaics

Of course, it’s not all smooth sailing. Misconceptions persist. Political conflicts abroad can strain even the strongest local relationships. One Jewish high school student shared how a casual question about Israel at lunch spiralled into a tense debate with a classmate.

“It was awkward, yeah,” she said, “but we talked it out. We both walked away with a bit more understanding—and respect.”

It’s in those uncomfortable moments that dialogue matters most.

As former U.S. President Jimmy Carter once said:

“We have become not a melting pot but a beautiful mosaic. Different people, different beliefs, different yearnings, different hopes, different dreams.”

That mosaic only works if we keep the grout strong—and in Manitoba, that grout is made of shared humanity.

Youth Leading the Charge

Younger generations are pushing interfaith efforts into new territory—online, on campus, and in coffee shops.

At the University of Manitoba, interfaith student clubs host discussion nights on topics like climate change, social justice, and yes—dating while religious. There’s humour, honesty, and an openness that older generations sometimes tiptoe around.

Social media, too, has become a tool for bridge-building. TikToks and Instagram reels featuring light-hearted interfaith Q&As are breaking stereotypes one view at a time. (“Yes, Jews do eat bacon—sometimes. Shh, don’t tell bubbe.”)

It’s this openness that signals a promising future.

Building Bridges… And Fixing Fridges?

Let’s pause the philosophy for a second.

Because even in the deepest conversations about faith, someone’s fridge breaks. Or their oven dies the night before Shabbat dinner.

One of the unexpected threads that ties communities together is the shared need for simple, reliable help—like appliance repair. It’s in those everyday problems where neighbours come together, regardless of belief. One local interfaith volunteer group once joked that their meetings should be held at the laundromat because “someone’s washing machine is always broken.”

And if you’re ever in Vancouver and need that kind of help, TechVill techvillvancouver.ca is a go-to for appliance repair that’s as dependable as grandma’s brisket.

A Prairie Future Built on Conversation

So what does the future hold for interfaith dialogue in Manitoba?

More of it, hopefully. More dinners, more shared prayers, more “wait, you do that too?” moments. More partnerships between religious leaders, community activists, and yes—even appliance repair technicians.

It’ll require patience. And empathy. And probably a lot more coffee.

But as the Talmud reminds us:

“The highest form of wisdom is kindness.”

And kindness? It’s something that transcends every book, every ritual, every label.

So next time you pass someone whose beliefs differ from your own, start a conversation. You might not change the world—but you might just change your day.

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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

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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.  

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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.        

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