Features
Letters from readers responding to the list of Manitoba synagogues

By BERNIE BELLAN Elsewhere on this website (http://jewishpostandnews.ca/8-features/987-a-list-of-all-winnipeg-synagogues-that-ever-existed) you can see the list of synagogues that may have existed at one time or another in Manitoba. That article led to quite a few responses from readers, some of whom offered recollections of their own of synagogues from a bygone era. In addition, we were made aware of one synagogue, known as the “Pavlitcher” synagogue, located at the corner of Dufferin & Aikins, that was not included in the list of synagogues. Click on “Read more” to see the letters we received, also a story about a building that still stands on Pritchard, known as the Hebrew Friends Temple, about which we knew nothing.

Bernie:
Carol and I continue to enjoy both your in print and on line versions of the Jewish Post.
Your recent article on the former synagogues in Winnipeg needs a minor adjustment.
The Ateres Yisroel Synagogue was located on the north-east corner of Magnus and Powers – not on Manitoba Ave. as claimed
Our family lived a few doors down from the synagogue towards Salter St. The Litz crane facility was located across the street from our abode.
We continued to go that synagogue for services even after we moved to Machray Ave.
Needless to say, we walked to shul. Eventually, we moved our religious focus to the Talmud Torah Synagogue on Matheson and Powers.
The Ateres Yisroel was converted to a First Nation group (not sure when) but was torn down more recently according to information available on the Vintage Winnipeg web site where I copied the photo shown above.
Stay safe and best wishes for a Happy New Year to you, your family and your paper’s readership.
Chuck Faiman (Cleveland)
Ed. note: The mistake to which Chuck refers is in the caption we had for the montage of synagogues circa 1925 which appeared in our Nov. 24 issue. The caption was supplied by the Jewish Heritage Centre. In our actual list of synagogues the Ateres Yisrael Synagogue was correctly identified as having been located on Magnus Avenue.
*****

Hi Bernie,
Further to your list of synagogues in the north end, I did some research in the past using Hendersons Directories and came up with something called Hebrew Friends Temple at 229 Pritchard Ave. I found listings under this name from 1925 – 1940. From 1940-44 it was simply listed as Hebrew friends and from 1945-1960 as Hebrew Friends Hall. Not really sure if this actually was a Jewish institution or not. Stan Carbone was unfamiliar with it. (Ed. note: We have a story about the Hebrew Friends Temple following the letters.)
In addition, I have a photo of the cornerstone of the Andrews St. Talmud Torah (a.k.a. the Little Talmud Torah). Unfortunately, the left edge appears to have been plastered over and the entire cornerstone has been subsequently covered up in the last few years following exterior renovations. In the event that this may be of interest to you, I have also attached a photo of this as well as the building itself.
Bert Schaffer
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Dear Bernie,
I am enjoying the Jewish Post and happy to be getting it virtually. I was a member of the Lubavitch Shul on Magnus and my cousin Jerry Cohen was bar-mitzvahed there. We women and girls sat upstairs and rained candy down on him. My Uncle Leiba and my Zaida helped run services. Those were the days !!!
Jackie Simkin (Miami Beach)
*****
Bernie,
I continue to enjoy The Jewish Post and News, and marvel at how diverse the various articles are. I also wonder where you find the energy to continue working at your pace.
Regarding the December 8 2021 edition, and specifically the list of historic Manitoba Synagogues, I couldn’t help but notice that there is no mention of Congregation Shir Tikvah, a breakaway High Holiday Synagogue which existed from 2003 to 2018. It was very successful (at least for most of its lifetime). By the way, I’m very impressed with the list, most of which I had never heard of.
Best wishes for for 2022.
David Bloomfield
Ed. note: We overlooked both the Shir Tikvah and another congregation, known as “Haminyan” which existed in the late 1980s, and which held services at the former Ramah Hebrew School.
Shir Tikvah held high holiday services every year from 2003-2019, all but two of those year in the Viscount Gort Hotel. (The other two years services were held in the Blue & Gold room of the old Winnipeg Stadium.)
The Hebrew Friends Temple (was never really a temple, it turns out)
Our story elsewhere on this website (http://jewishpostandnews.ca/local/983-ashkenazie-synagogue-sees-to-repurpose-itself-into-a-synagogue-museum) about the Ashkenazie Synagogue looking to repurpose itself as a synagogue/museum, led to our being alerted to the existence of a building at 229 Pritchard Avenue that served some sort of function for the Jewish community. We went out to look at the building, which is located just a hop, skip, and a jump from Main Street.
While I would say that it would need a bit of work before it might be considered a viable alternative to what the board of the Shaarey Zedek has planned for its synagogue, the fact that it still remains standing serves as a reminder of the type of building that was typical of Winnipeg synagogues back at the turn of the 20th Century.
We decided to investigate further as to what purpose the building at 229 Pritchard served. To that end we received valuable assistance from Stan Carbone, Curator of the Jewish Heritage Centre of Western Canada, and Dr. Gordon Goldsborough, President and Head Researcher of the Manitoba Historical Society.
Eventually, Stan Carbone found materials pertaining to the history of the building. Thanks as well to Christian Cassidy, who belongs to a group known as West End Dumplings, and who has done stellar research on since vanished buildings that once served as important institutions in the Jewish community.
Following is a composite of two articles Stan Carbone sent me:
Salvation Army Hall / Hebrew Friends Temple (229 Pritchard Avenue)
In late 1910, the Salvation Army commissioned a Hall at this site in Winnipeg. Completed for a total cost of $5,000, its initial configuration had a main floor auditorium with seating for 200 to 250 and approximately the same in the basement, the latter of which also housed a Sunday School. The facade highlighted red brick along with Tyndall stone cornices along its 25-feet Pritchard frontage. The No. 2 Corps moved from their former quarters at 907½ Main Street and held an official opening for their new facility on 12 March 1911. This site served as a centre for local operations in the community until around 1925 when the Corps relocated to 1525 Main Street for a few years before re-establishing at 226 Atlantic Avenue around 1930.
From “Winnipeg Places”, by West End Dumplings, Sept. 7, 2020
By Christian Cassidy
The next group to call 229 Pritchard home was the Hebrew Friends. Until the late 1940s it was most often referred to as the Hebrew Friends Temple. Through the 1950s and 1960s, it was usually referred to as the Hebrew Friends Society Hall.
The Hebrew Friends Society was part of a large number of Jewish fraternal societies, such as the Hebrew Free Loan Society and Hebrew Sick Benefits Association. Unlike these organizations, however, there was no coverage of its annual meetings and other happenings in mainstream newspapers or the Jewish Post.
A number of weddings took place here in the 1930s and 40s, but for the most part it hosted teas, wedding and funeral receptions, and was a venue for speeches. It had a bowling club in the 1930s and 40s that used the hall for its meetings and year-end banquets. The 25th anniversary celebration of the Jewish Chess Club took place there in 1944.
The Hebrew Friends were at this address until at least 1965. Soon after, it faded away and vacated the hall.
Features
I Speak “Jew”

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

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.