Features
Medics are unsung heroes on the battlefield
“Rush To Danger: Medics In The Line of Fire”
By Ted Barris
(HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. 406 pg. $32.99)
Reviewed by MARTIN ZEILIG
During the Second World War, Alex Barris was a front line medic with the 319th Medical Battalion of the United States 94th Infantry Division in Europe.
“While others in the heat of combat on the front line might ultimately choose to flee from the perceived or real danger, it was his duty and moral obligation to rush toward it,” writes author Ted Barris of his father in this engrossing illustrated (with numerous photographs) book.
Ted Barris has now published 19 non-fiction books, a dozen of them wartime histories, notes his bio. For 50 years, he has worked as a broadcaster on electronic media in Canada and the U.S. He has taught journalism and broadcasting at Toronto’s Centennial College. His book, The Great Escape: A Canadian Story won the 2014 Libris Award for Best Non-Fiction Book of the Year; while his book, Dam Busters: Canadian Airmen and the Secret Raid Against Nazi Germany, was a national bestseller and received the RCAF Association NORAD Trophy in 2018.
Sergeant Alex Barris earned a Bronze Star citation for retrieving four wounded US stretcher-bearers in Campholz Woods, Germany on 12 February 1945.
“His personal disregard for personal safety and his continual service to his organization over and above the call of his particular duties are in keeping with the highest of army traditions,” says the citation, which is shown in the book.
The story of Alex Barris, who went on to have a successful career as a journalist and author after the war, provides, as the author says, the thread that allows him to discuss military medics, surgeons, nurses, stretcher-bearers, dentists, orderlies and ambulance drivers. These are the people who were/are tasked with saving lives when others are taking them.
One learns in fascinating detail about the origins of the field ambulance by a man named Jonathan Letterman at Fredericksburg, Virginia in 1862 during the U.S. Civil War; the invention of gas masks during the Great War (First World War); about the role of medics at Dieppe, Bastogne, D-Day, and in the Pacific; saving lives in the Korean, Vietnam, Afghanistan and Iraq wars; and much more.
In essence, the book is a panorama of military medical history.
“The book reminds us again and again of the quiet heroism of military physicians, nurses, and medics who have provided medical care to hundreds, sometimes thousands, of wounded and ill soldiers under enemy fire,” writes Brian Goldman, MD, in the Foreword. “Some were enlisted. Many were drafted in to the wars of their times. Others just rose to meet the challenge of a lifetime that they encountered by happenstance.”
For instance, he points to Augusta Chiwy, who was a 23 year-old-registered nurse originally from the Belgian Congo who just happened to be heading home to visit her parents in Bastogne, Belgium, in the days leading up up to Christmas 1944. She arrived just as Adolf Hitler had sent more than 400,000 German troops and 1400 tanks into the Ardennes as part of Operation Watch on the Rhine, “a desperate attempt to thwart the Allied advance toward Germany.
“Working beside U.S. Medic Jack Prior, Chiwy volunteered to lend her nursing skills to Allied troops. During a week-long siege of Bastogne, they treated hundreds of casualties while dodging enemy fire that destroyed the makeshift aid station where they worked.”
Then, there was Dr. Jacob Markowitz, a Canadian medical doctor who enlisted in Britain’s Royal Royal Army Medical Corps and served as surgical officer during the fall of Singapore.
“He was eventually captured by the Japanese. Despite being given no medical equipment and surgical know-how to tend to thousands of fellow prisoners of war, often working up to eighteen hours a day for many days at a time. He even risked his own life by hiding meticulous accounts of their working and living conditions in amongst the many bodies of prisoners who died in captivity.”
We learn about Airman 3rd Class Norm Malayney, a resident of Winnipeg, who served in 483rd USAF Hospital, the second largest military facility, n South Vietnam for during the late 1960s.
The hospital had 485 beds for general surgery, chest surgery, neurosurgery, orthopedics, urology, opthamology, and dental surgery and a 200 bed capacity casualty staging unit (CSU).
“Cam Ranh Bay served as one of three aerial delivery and mobility bases-the other two were at Saigon and Dan Nang— supporting the US war effort in Vietnam,” writes the author. “It was Malayney’s wartime address for a year. Until he landed at Cam Ranh Bay, Malayney had never had to deal with the dead. But, in Vietnam, the job of packing the body fell to medical corpsmen, including Malayney.”
He also helped save the lives of many wounded men.
“Whenever he found time, Malayney observed experienced nurses packing wounds; by the end of the tour he could handle the toughest dressing assignments as well as any of the nursing staff,” says Barris.
During an interview with the author, Malayney said that his experience in Vietnam was “one of the two greatest experiences of my life”, the other being attending the University of Winnipeg after returning home.
Canadian Armed Forces medic Master Corporal Alannah Gilmore served in the Panjawaii district during Operation Medusa, and in Kandahar City in 2006.
Her training as a medic in the CAF proved useful after returning to the civilian world. She helped save the life a woman in the immediate aftermath of a terrible automobile accident in Ottawa.
‘“Medics on the whole— we’re not a very familiar trade,”‘ she said to the author. ‘“I’m basically a glorified first-aider. I have knowledge and I will use whatever I need to. I’ll MacGyver whatever I have to, to make it happen.’”
Rush to Danger shines a much needed light on the lives of very invisible and often heroic people.
“They deserve to be remembered,” as author Barris states.
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.
Features
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.