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Joe Diner: a lifetime of experience

By GERRY POSNER If you want to find a life that has had a series of twists and turns mixed in with a wide variety of experiences, look no further than Joe Diner. He has had a lifetime of what I would call rich experiences in many different places and settings.
It began simply enough as Joe was born in 1942 to Clara (Brenner ) and Lou Diner, the middle child of three boys (including the late Alex and Richard). Until Joe was nearly 12, he was raised in the north end of Winnipeg. In 1954 the family moved to 621 Waterloo Street in River Heights.
Joe went to Kelvin High School and later obtained a BA from Moorhead State in Minnesota. That might well have led to the start of a different path for Joe as compared to most of us. Who could have predicted what would follow?
His first job upon graduating was with the Department of Education on the Peguis Indian Reservation, where he was a teacher of an adult upgrading program. Before he could even blink, he was promoted to assistant to the supervisor. As part of his work he travelled to several reserves and, in fact, had a two-month assignment administering a new course in Churchill, Manitoba.
Joe wrote a social orientation programme; however, in doing that he ended up losing his job – at the behest of the then Minister of Education, because Joe had dealt with the Federal Government without authority.
Joe Diner was not afraid to speak up then or now. That firing prompted him to connect with a former professor from Moorhead State. Subsequently, that led to Joe’s going to New Orleans, where he had a teaching assistantship in a Master’s program in government.
While in New Orleans, Joe did what he has always done best: he made a series of connections that proved to be fortuitous. One summer in Louisiana he worked as a jockey’s agent for the renowned jockey, Esteban Medina, followed by doing the same with the then leading apprentice jockey, Harry Lee Patin, and others. How that came about surely is a story waiting to be told in greater depth.
Joe was even befriended by the famous breeder, trainer and horse owner, C. Wade Navarre, and the leading quarterhorse jockey, Leroy Miller. Joe had the opportunity through these contacts to take a champion horse by the name of Tru Tru to New Mexico for high altitude training prior to competing in the most prestigious of all quarterhorse races, the All American Futurity race, which had a purse of $ 1,000,000 – back when that was a lot of money! It is certain that Joe did not pick up those horse skills on Waterloo Street.
Soon thereafter, Joe accepted an offer to work as an assistant to one John W. Mecom, the king of deep sea oil well drilling. Mecom happened to be a very well known horse breeder and owner, as well as being the owner of an NFL football team, the New Orleans Saints. That job might have continued a long time but sadly, Joe was asked politely to leave the country, as he was living there on an expired student visa.
What might have seemed calamitous in fact created yet another twist and turn for Joe – and ultimately led to his finding his true vocation. He reached out to an old friend, Len Steingarten, who was the accountant for a prominent realtor in Winnipeg, J.J.Gibbons and it was not long before Joe was working for that firm. Joe’s friend, Michael Nozick, provided him with substantial business at the beginning of his career and that business has continued ever since for Joe. It’s allowed him, as Joe puts it, “to make it” in the real estate business.
That training period with Gibbons ultimately led to his purchasing (with some financial assistance) the former Aronovitch & Leipsic empire (a rather remarkable accomplishment) and later, to his becoming a member of the Canadian Commercial Real Estate Network. In fact, Joe suggested that all independent associates give up individual names and instead adopt the national name of JJ Barnicke Ltd. Sure enough, A & L became JJ Barnicke.
Joe Diner became very friendly with JJ Barnicke himself and was so well regarded within that company that he received the JJ Barnicke Lifetime Achievement Award. His success in real estate led to Joe’s acquiring such major clients in Winnipeg as Michael Nozick (Fairweather Properties), Monte Nathanson (United Equities-MPN Holdings), and Arni Thorsteinson (Shelter Canadian Properties).
As part of his work in real estate, Joe also became a consultant for both the Province of Manitoba and Government of Canada. One major assignment that he was given was an invitation to present a marketing plan for the redevelopment of the old CPR rail station. It was Joe’s idea to sell the station to Aboriginal organizations, which would then own, occupy and manage the site for themselves. Joe also was able to arrange financing for the project. Now that was an idea that was highly original for that time.
As anyone who has been to the site would recognize, Joe’s concept succeeded beyond expectations. In addition, Joe has been a part of major real estate shopping centre developments, including Madison Square, the Brick Centre, Leon’s Centre, and even the Eaton’s Warehouse Building, also the Free Press downtown building.
Perhaps one of Joe’s greatest coups was his work on a voluntary basis as agent for the Winnipeg Jewish Community when he engineered the acquisition of the present 13-acre Asper Campus site. He also aided the Assembly of Manitoba Chiefs and Southeast Resource Development in several major acquisitions. In short, over a span of 40 years, Joe Diner was been a pivotal figure in the city of Winnipeg. You probably just didn’t know it.
However, Joe would consider his greatest project one he undertook for himself and his wife, the former Sandi Kraut, whom he married in 1980. In 1989 he purchased a waterfront lot on Salt Spring Island, BC, and some twelve years later, he finished the building of their home there. As Joe puts is so well, that is where “they live and smile today.”
Joe Diner has a been through a lot in his lifetime, but he would say much of what he did was because of what he learned and absorbed at the feet of his parents. Joe says that his mother Clara was up ever day at 7am, baking, cooking and cleaning, in addition to being very active in Hadassah and Meals On Wheels later on in her life. His father Lou, a former sargent major in the Canadian army during WWII, a founding member of Rosh Pina Synagogue, a councillor on the town council of Winnipeg Beach, a past president of the Maple Leaf Curling Club, and a supporter of many community causes, provided Joe with what might be called perspective in life by his appreciation for “having lived to see stage coaches across the west all the way to a man on the moon.” Based on what Joe told me about his life, I would say that he was a good student and learned his lessons well.
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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.
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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.
