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
*****
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
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
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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.
