Features
Leipsics – father Peter, son Jonathon, lead annual campaigns in Winnipeg & Vancouver
By REBECA KUROPATWA
Father and son, Peter Leipsic and Jonathon Leipsic, are chairing the Jewish Federation annual campaigns in their respective hometowns. Peter is co-chair, with Neil Duboff, of the Winnipeg fundraising effort, while Jonathon is in his third consecutive year of leading the fundraising here in Vancouver.
For Peter, “growing up, helping others was something that just got ingrained in you. You see somebody in trouble, you reach down and help them. My father served in Europe and following in his steps I went to Israel as a volunteer, in the ’67 war. It was just an automatic.
“I remember being at our synagogue and … on the cover of Time Magazine, I guess May of ’67 … there was a picture of 800 Syrian tanks, 600 Egyptian and Iraqi…. It made Israel look like they were going to be toast. At the synagogue, they were asking for money from all the members and I remember the cheques being torn up and being returned to people … saying, that, ‘No, we’re not interested in this. We’re interested in a cheque that hurts. Don’t give us your $1,000…. We want $10,000.’
“When I saw that,” said Peter, “I was probably 21. I think that just sort of instilled in me how to look out for the underdog. People would make fun of me for handing out money to people on the street and I’d say to them, ‘Where are you sleeping tonight? Are you having a shower or not?’”
Peter has been raising money for the Combined Jewish Appeal (CJA) for more than 50 years now, and he has learned that, with some people, giving is automatic, one doesn’t even need to ask. “In the end, we all end up in the same place. Eventually, I don’t know where the cemeteries are in Vancouver, but, in Winnipeg, they’re in the North End – we’re all going to end up there, and you ain’t taking it with you!”
The Leipsics do their best to help out beyond the Jewish community, as well. Peter established a scholarship program at Winnipeg’s Gordon Bell High School, where applicants are judged, not according to scholastic achievements, but on how much of a mensch they are. This past year, there were nine recipients – the highest number yet. “They sent the bios on these people, and, they were just gut-wrenching,” said Peter. “After reading the bios, I said, ‘OK. Can I add another $1,000?’ And, of course, I sent [the list] to Jonathon, too. Well, I raised it to $6,000 and Jonathon doubled it, up to, I think, $11,000. So, instead of them getting $400 per person, they each were given $1,018. And Jonathon, of course, explained to them the significance of 18 in Jewish life. To me, I’m tickled … to actually be able to see somebody’s face, and how I changed that face – taking a massive weight off of them.”
While both Peter and Jonathon are calling on people to help, they each have their own unique styles, with Peter being more direct and Jonathon having a more diplomatic approach.
“I probably burned a couple of bridges,” said Peter of his method. “When you know that somebody has the ability and you tried to explain to them the need, yet they back off and they back off … and, at some point, they say, ‘Do you want me to hang up on you now?’ Some people just don’t get it.”
Even in times such as these, some people, like the Leipsics, are downplaying the negative aspects and focusing on the needed work at hand.
“I mentioned in my campaign opening address that we, the Jewish people, certainly have known challenges greater than COVID,” said Jonathon. “While the challenges are profound, I always like to remind people that, even though, in the last 1,000 years, the challenges were seemingly insurmountable, we overcame and moved from strength to strength by never forgetting our call from Sinai and the centrality of community and Klal Yisroel. I think that COVID has been an eye-opener for people of my generation and younger. It has to start at home, I think.”
Jonathon said that he has really learned from his father’s commitment and that it has set the tone. “We’re taught in our homes and taught through Torah … we have to make community a priority, and my father has always done that,” said Jonathon. “Whether he does it by giving more, giving his time and whatever we were in the position to be able to do, he made those decisions up front – not after all our spending was done, rather at the beginning. ‘First things first,’ as they say. He showed me the way to a life of tzedakah, commitment and meaning…. To be in the same position with him, I think, is actually really, really special.”
Having had the benefit of helping fundraise in Winnipeg, Jonathon understands the different challenges that exist in Vancouver. “We have a bigger community, but it’s spread out,” he noted. “And, as a result, the binding of the community is less tight than it was when our community was more closely tied to Oak Street [in the past, and in] the North End of Winnipeg.”
Learning from both campaigns, Jonathon said, “We work together and do what we can. At the end of the day, food security and access to safe housing is becoming more and more challenging. And then, the isolation with COVID, obviously, is really profound with the elderly and those who can’t get out…. I can imagine, when it’s raining all winter or cold, the social isolation will become even more profound … the potential [effects] it can have on them, but also, their sense of community. I think, more than ever, these sorts of community initiatives are essential.”
“If you want Jewish life to continue,” Peter added, “you must reach down and support the people that are in need. You never know who the next leaders of your community are going to be. A lot of people that have received help had nowhere else to turn, and they may turn out to be your future leaders.”
As far as both Leipsics are concerned, Judaism is defined by the talmudic words, Klal Yisroel areivim zeh bah zeh (all of Israel is a guarantor for one another).
Reprinted with permission from the Vancouver Jewish Independent
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.