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JCFS works to meet the needs of Holocaust survivors
By BERNIE BELLAN In 1933 the Jewish population of Europe was 9.5 million. Following the war it was 3.5 million. Two thirds of European Jewry perished in the Holocaust. Prior to the war Poland had the largest Jewish population in Europe: over 3 million. Following the war, it was reduced to about 45,000.
There were approximately 4 million Jews living in the Soviet Union or Soviet Union-occupied territories prior to the war. Approximately 1.5 million survived – either by hiding in the forest or fleeing deeper into the Soviet Union.
By 2020, however, according to the Claims Conference, which represents all Holocaust survivors in negotiations for reparations with various governments, particularly the German government, only 400,000 of the 3.5 million Holocaust survivors still remained alive.
But, where did the Holocaust survivors end up?
A good many Holocaust survivors made their way to Israel, where about 400,000 were still alive in 2020. Of the rest, the majority made their way to North America, primarily the US.
According to the Jewish Heritage Centre though, approximately 35,000 Holocaust survivors made their way to Canada by 1953, of whom about 1,000 settled in Winnipeg.
The number of Holocaust survivors here took a further increase some years later, according to Adeena Lungen (who is one of two social workers working full time for Jewish Child and Family Service in the area of Holocaust Support Services, the other being Sonja Iserloh. There is also a Russian-speaking worker on the staff of JCFS, Margarita Iskijavev, who also deals to a certain extent with Holocaust survivors.)
There were actually two waves of Holocaust survivors whose origins were mostly from within the former Soviet Union, and who made their way to Winnipeg within the past 40 years, according to Adeena. The first wave was made up of emigrés who had been allowed to leave the Soviet Union in the 1970s and early 1980s.
The second, and more recent wave, has been made up of parents of younger immigrants who were adults and who have come to Winnipeg, primarily from Israel.
Still, with the inevitable attrition as a result of the fact that almost all Holocaust survivors are now at least in their 80s or 90s, the number of Holocaust survivors in Winnipeg has been dwindling.
According to Adeena, there are “around 100 in the JCFS database”.
We were curious to know though, how the lives of these Holocaust survivors has been impacted by Covid in the past two years, so we spoke with Adeena to find out more about a group about which most of us don’t know very much.
It turns out that I have encountered many of these Holocaust survivors – without realizing it, several times at the Lubavitch Jewish Learning Centre, when I’ve attended various events there, also at the Adas Yeshurun – Herzlia Synagogue (which is where we used to have our office), and where I would occasionally see groups – almost all made up of women, congregating there. (Adeena explained that, prior to Covid, the Herzlia used to play host to frequent luncheons for Russian speaking Holocaust survivors.)
Adeena told me that she began working at JCFS in 1999 and moved into working with Holocaust survivors in 2000.
Much of her work has involved dealing with compensation claims through the aforementioned Claims Conference, which has distributed over $457 million in compensation to survivors around the world to date.
(I noted, in talking to Adeena, that we had been publishing a full page ad every year for quite some time that would be sent to us by an Israeli advertising agency, in which new information about claims and eligibility for survivors would be listed. It occurred to me that we haven’t received an ad of this sort for quite some time, so I contacted our Israeli intermediary to ask him if he knew why that was. He told me that he has also been asking the Claims Conference why they haven’t publicized any new announcements regarding compensation. Subsequently he told me that he forwarded my inquiry to the Claims Conference and he did receive a response back from them. In his words, “This looks promising.”)
While it may seem unusual for governments, especially Germany’s, to constantly be revising the criteria for compensation for Holocaust victims, Adeena explained to me that the process of negotiation is an ongoing one, with new criteria for eligibility for compensation being added on a constant basis. Interestingly, she noted, the government of Romania has also now engaged in negotiating compensation for Romanian Jews.
As a result, much of Adeena’s work over the years has involved filing applications for individuals. As one might expect, there is a great deal of documentation required in the process, but Adeena says the results have been gratifying.
In addition to compensation received from outside sources, the JCFS has created special programs designed to meet the particular needs of Holocaust survivors within our local community.
For instance, JCFS is able to provide home care services for Holocaust survivors, depending on their physical and financial needs, with financial assistance coming either from the Claims Conference or a Montreal-based centre known as the Cummings Centre. Those two organizations allocate funds to partner agencies such as the JCFS which, in turn, decides who gets home care.
I asked Adeena what types of services are available through home care?
She said: “Cleaning, doing laundry, and companionship – above and beyond what the WRHA might provide.”
Given the advanced ages of most of Holocaust survivors, I wondered how many are still able to live on their own?
Surprisingly, Adeena said the answer is that most are still living on their own – and the home care, as well as other support services provided by JCFS and other agencies such as the Gwen Secter Centre and the Rady JCC, have played instrumental roles in allowing so many of these survivors to remain relatively autonomous.
“Since 2000, the Gwen Secter Centre has been hosting a luncheon program twice a month for Holocaust survivors,” Adeena noted (a program, incidentally, she started), although of late that program has been scaled back to once a month.
Adeena further added that “For the last several years Heather Mandell-Kraut, the JCFS Team Lead in Older Adult Services, and Keith Elfenbein, JCFS Case Aide in Older Adult Services, have coordinated and run the group. With the arrival of Covid, both Heather and Keith have kept the group operating both virtually and in person, when possible. The continuity of this program, especially during these challenging times, has had a positive impact on the overall well being of survivors.”
The Chabad Lubavitch has also been very involved with Russian speaking seniors – not just Holocaust survivors, Adeena said. And, while in-person meetings are not taking place as a result of Covid, there is a “tight knit” group that meets regularly online, and which is facilitated by another JCFS worker, Anna Shoichet.
“Before the pandemic that group numbered around 40-50,” Adeena noted; however, since the pandemic took hold the number has shrunk to “20-30”, she said.
I wondered though, whether the advent of Covid has had any more traumatic effect on Holocaust survivors than the general population?
Adeena responded that survivors are having to deal with “some of the same issues that affect us all”….yet there is no doubt that the “confinement” associated with Covid, along with the even more traumatic isolation associated with the lockdowns to which seniors especially have been subjected have exacerbated the feelings of isolation that were already fairly common with Holocaust survivors.
“For these people the fear of dying is always present,” Adeena said, “yet they still show incredible resilience and resourcefulness.”
For survivors, the common refrain, she noted, is that “I’ve survived the Holocaust; I’ll survive this, too.”
“I don’t think survivors are in worse shape than they were before Covid,” Adeena added, although she cautioned that one area that has had a particularly debilitating effect, not only on survivors, but on many other seniors, is in decreased visits to doctors.”
In that regard, JCFS is in constant communication with all its senior clientele, almost always by phone, checking to make sure that things are all right and that day to day affairs are being tended to.
Adeena pointed to the hiring of Danielle Tabacznik as the JCFS’s “Seniors Concierge” in 2020 as an example of how JCFS is taking a pro-active approach in reaching out to isolated seniors in the community. Danielle keeps in touch with regular groups of seniors, often facilitating communication among seniors over the phone through group chats. Adeena clarified that “the creative initiatives developed by Danielle Tabacznik, the Jewish community’s Senior Concierge, are the results of a pilot project of the Jewish Federation of Winnipeg that is housed at JCFS.”
And, while more recently, Adeena and other workers have been able once again to see many of their clients in person, the restrictions necessitated by Covid protocols still entail much of thier work being conducted over the phone.
Over the past couple of years I’ve often been focusing on the work that many of our agencies have been doing in adapting to the hardships thrust upon so many of the less fortunate among us. In so many ways Winnipeg’s Jewish community can be proud of how agencies such as the JCFS have continued to seek out new ways of interacting with those among us who might otherwise go unnoticed. And, as we note in our story about the Jewish Federation and its continued success in helping those agencies to meet those goals on page1, this is one Jewish community that continues to meet the challenges thrust upon it by Covid.
Features
New autobiography by Holocaust survivor Hedy Bohm – who went on to testify in trials of two Nazi war criminals
Book Review by Julie Kirsh, Former Sun Media News Research Director
My parents were Hungarian Jewish Holocaust survivors who arrived in Toronto in 1951 without family or friends. In the late 50s my mother met Hedy Bohm outside of our downtown apartment and quickly connected with her. Both women had suffered the loss of all family in the Shoah. Over the years our families’ custom became sharing our dining table with the Bohm family for the Jewish high holidays. The tradition continues today with the second generation.
Hedy was born in 1928 in the city of Oradea in Romania. She was a pampered only child, adored by her father and very much attached to her mother. Although Hedy was an adolescent, she was kept from hearing about the rising anti-semitism around her in her hometown. She was protected and sheltered like any child. Memoirs from other adolescents like Elie Wiesel, aged 15 in Auschwitz, Samuel Pisar, liberated at 16, and Rabbi Israel Meir Lau, who was found in Buchenwald by American soldiers at age 8, made me wonder about the resilience and strength of children who survived like Hedy.
Hedy was only 16 years old when she walked through the gates of hell, Auschwitz-Birkenau. Hedy’s poignant retelling of this pivotal moment in her young life was the sudden separation from her father and moments later from her mother. Somehow Hedy’s mother got ahead of her upon their arrival at Auschwitz. Hedy called out to her. Her mother turned and they looked at each other. A Nazi guard prevented Hedy from joining her mother. Hedy has always been tormented by this moment of separation. Did her mother know that she was walking to her death?
Hedy writes that she was focused on survival in the camps. She concentrated on eating whatever food was given and keeping clean by washing daily in icy, cold water before the roll call. When she contracted diarrhea, she remembered her mother’s homemade remedy of gnawing on charred wood. Her naivete and innocence were overcome with a strong inner determination to stay alive so that she could see her mother again.
Hedy recounts the terrible hunger that everyone endured. One day, spotting some carrots in a warehouse, Hedy was appointed by her aunt to run and grab what she could. Luckily she evaded the armed guard who would have shot her on the spot.
On April 14, 1945, Hedy’s day of liberation, she learned the terrible fate of her mother. The return home for the survivors was a further tragedy when they realized the loss of family and community.
In her memoir, Hedy describes meeting Imre, an older boy from her town whom she eventually married. Their flight from Romania to Budapest to Pier 21 in Halifax to Toronto is documented in harrowing detail.
Hedy recounts how in Toronto no one wanted to know the stories of the survivors. This was a world before Eichmann’s trial in Israel in 1961 and the TV series, The Holocaust, in 1978. The floodgates for information from the survivors opened late in their lives.
In Toronto, after many failed enterprises, Imre and Hedy stumbled onto the shoe selling business. In 1959, they leased a small shoe store close to Honest Ed’s in downtown Toronto. Surprisingly, the business according to Hedy, became very profitable. Many years later, after Imre’s sudden death due to a heart attack, Hedy continued to manage their shoe business while taking care of her daughter, Vicky and son, Ronnie.
In 1996, Hedy was introduced to Rabbi Jordan Pearlson. Their love match made Hedy feel that she had been given a wonderful gift, late in life, which she welcomed.
Jordan died in 2008. Hedy endured and carried on with yoga and tai chi both as a teacher and devoted practitioner.
A new purpose in life opened up for Hedy when she was invited to be a speaker for the Holocaust Education Centre (now the Toronto Holocaust Museum). She spoke to mostly non-Jewish students whom she visited at their schools outside of Toronto.
Visiting Auschwitz with the March of the Living for the first time in 2010, Hedy faced her fears about returning to the place that held the horrors. She was fortunate to meet Jordana Lebowitz, a student from Toronto who developed a multimedia presentation called ShadowLight. Hedy’s contribution to teaching others about the Holocaust by sharing her experience, is immeasurable.
In 2014, Hedy was asked to be a witness at the trial of Oskar Groning , “the accountant of Auschwitz”, in Germany. In 2016, she appeared as a witness for the trial of the Nazi guard, Reinhold Hanning. He was sentenced to a mere five years in prison and Groning died before he could start his jail sentence. In having the courage to participate in these war criminal trials, Hedy spoke for her parents and all the innocents who could not speak for themselves.
Hedy’s talks to students always include an admonishment to be kind, to trust in themselves and work for the greater good. She rose above her own fears of sharing her story by speaking publicly.
Hedy’s story of survival and perseverance will remain a beacon to future generations, ensuring that hope and good will endure even in the worst of times.
Reflection
by Hedy Bohm
Published in 2026 by The Azrieli Foundation
To order a copy of the book go to https://memoirs.azrielifoundation.org/titles/reflection/
Features
Optimizing mobile wagering convenience with bassbet casino
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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.