Features
My transitions in Jewish education
By PHYLLIS LIPSON DANA From 1941 until 1945 I lived on Mountain and Aikins and was a student from Kindergarten to Grade 4 at the Folk School, located in a 3 storey house at the corner of St Johns and Charles.
In my final year there the school merged with the I L Peretz School, which was then located in a large building on Aberdeen just west of Salter. We had moved to a house on Lansdowne Avenue east of Main so I attended Luxton School by day and went to Peretz evening classes for two years. By then our family had joined the Shaarey Zedek on Dagmar Street, so I continued my Jewish education there at the Sunday School, and began to sing with the synagogue choir.
As I recall, the Folk School had a strong Zionist perspective. Many older students were members of Habonim, which met in the building. There was emphasis on the land of Israel, though the Jewish curriculum was taught mostly in Yiddish, focusing upon language, with a little bit of Hebrew being taught, and there was a significant celebration of Jewish holidays and festivals. I retain many happy memories of my years there. The school population was quite small. In my class were only nine students (Pearl Ash, Elliot Berman, Victor Chernick, Ronald Ganetsky, Sheila Naimark, Hersh Shapera, Barbara Sherebrin, Shirley Schicher, and myself). I can’t find any class pictures but I do have a picture of our kindergarten teacher, Esther Prasso sitting on the school’s steps. Other teachers I remember were Miss Bulstein (who became Mary Yukelis), Miss Kranis (who became Yetta Grysman), Mr. Lapin, Mr. Zeitlin, and Mr. Cantor (who became the principal when the merger occurred.
Since I was no older than nine when the schools merged, I had no idea at the time why the change had taken place. In retrospect, however, I do remember my mother more than once assembling items from home to donate to the “rummage sale” to raise money to buy coal. I suppose that the larger economic base of the Peretz “shool Mispoche” allowed the smaller school to continue in some form. Peretz was secular in philosophy and there were no actual prayers as part of the curriculum in the early grades when I attended. Bible studies were presented as historia (Jewish history) and, although the holiday celebrations were important, I don’t remember any mention of God in the commemorations. However, there were High Holiday services taking place in the school’s basement, which featured my Zaida Nate Lifshitz as one of the cantors. I remember a huge celebration of the end of World War II for which we were transported to the Peretz building for an assembly.
At the Shaarey Zedek I was exposed to a totally different view of Jewish education. Hebrew language was taught through the prayers, and the Bible studies definitely focused on the miracles attached to many celebrations which gave the credit where it was due. At 11 I joined the choir, so of course that meant that I became familiar with the order of Friday evening services and holidays. The synagogue on Wellington Crescent was opened in 1950 and when a junior choir was formed I was required by the choir master, Jack Garland, to join. We performed at Saturday morning services for many years. My parents were regular attendees and my brother became a frequent Torah reader there. I continued in the Shaarey Zedek choir for many years as I married and had two children.
When each of our children were five years old, I truly believed that they were the perfect age. In my experience children at five were adventurous, inquisitive, totally honest, highly sociable, and eager to learn. I had begun taking upgrading classes with the goal of going into Education at university, when Fay Zipman asked me if I would be interested in assisting her in her four-year-old class at Peretz School on Jefferson. I met the principal and he decided to give me a chance. The year was 1965-66 and my career was launched. Fay left teaching a year after I joined her, so I assisted Sara Green until 1969, when she moved to Vancouver.
That fall I began as the Nursery teacher and I was to assist in the kindergarten; the teacher with whom I had been working was needed to take on another class, so I was upgraded to Kindergarten teacher, learning the curriculum at night while I taught all day. I was also continuing my university education at night. The Peretz atmosphere was very family oriented with a strongly Jewish cultural approach. There were many evening gatherings with music, plays, and lectures primarily in Yiddish and always highlighting student performances. While “Shabbes” celebrations were held in the classrooms, with candles, challah and juice distributed, there were no prayers chanted. Students were taught the Hebrew language, but synagogue skills were not part of the curriculum. Some boys had Bar Mitzvahs, but many did not, and initially I never heard of girls becoming “Bat Mitzvah”. Over time the Ashkenazi pronunciations of Hebrew words was replaced by the more modern one and there was a strong focus upon Israel in celebration and song. Little by little Brachot were coming into the Friday candle-and-challah gatherings in classrooms. It seemed that most students were becoming Bar Mitzvah and some girls celebrated Bat Mitzvot.
For many years many kindergarten students rushed home for lunch and then proceeded to their neighborhood schools to attend afternoon kindergarten classes. TV did not provide much stimulation for children in the afternoon and our winters can be very cold. Over the years I met many public school teachers who complained that kids would frequently tell them they had done “that” in their morning school. In the school year 1976-77 an all-day kindergarten was begun at Peretz School and I had the privilege of initiating this concept. Soon other schools incorporated these classes as well.
In the early 80s a number of parents prevailed upon Seven Oaks School Division to begin providing a Hebrew-bilingual program. When it was implemented, registration at the north-end Jewish schools declined…there was no fee at public schools. At the same time the Board of Jewish Education was formed and when, by 1983 – as our school numbers were steadily decreasing (I had a class of only eight children that year), there was a strong movement to merge the I L Peretz Folk School with Talmud Torah.
As anticipated by the smaller school’s most loyal supporters, the Yiddish component of the curriculum became reduced over time to an occasional song being taught and “optional” Yiddish language classes being offered. The teaching of synagogue skills and assemblies in the synagogue were a major component of the Judaic curriculum as well as Hebrew language, reading and writing skills and a strong emphasis upon the land of Israel. As happened with the merger of the Folk Shul with Peretz, the larger school ideology swallowed the smaller. With the burden of teaching full-time, going to university part time, and looking after my family, I had left the Shaarey Zedek choir. Over time I sang for several years in the Rosh Pina choir and in later years with the Temple Shalom choir for High Holiday services.
I have wonderful memories of my more than 30 years teaching in the Jewish day schools, and a photo album full of pictures of most of my classes. Having visited other schools over time to observe teachers and programs, I was glad to notice that the vast majority loved children and were happy to be in kindergarten. The odd time I encountered teachers who were in the wrong place, having little patience for their students and obviously wishing they were in a higher grade. Most teachers of early childhood try to convey a feeling that “school is a happy and safe place where I can succeed”. I hope that children I have taught felt that way in my classrooms.
Ed. note: I had asked Phyllis to send me as many class pictures from her time at Peretz School as she could. She was able to send me eight pictures in total.
Features
The Torah on a Lost Dog: Hashavat Aveidah in a Modern Canadian City
A neighbour’s dog wanders into your yard on a Wednesday morning in May, dragging a leash and looking confused. You have a choice. You can close the door and assume someone else will deal with it, call the city, or take a photo, knock on a few doors, and try to find out where he belongs.
For most people in Winnipeg and elsewhere in Canada, that choice plays out in a flash of moral instinct rather than reflection. The hand reaches for the phone and the walk around the block begins. The neighbour, if it goes well, is at the door before lunch. The decision feels minor, but it matters more than it looks.
In Jewish tradition, the act of returning a lost animal sits at the centre of one of the oldest practical commandments in the Torah. Deuteronomy 22, near the end of Parashat Ki Teitzei, contains a passage that has become the foundation for an entire body of Jewish ethical law: “If you see your fellow’s ox or sheep going astray, you shall not hide yourself from them; you shall surely bring them back.” The verse goes on to extend this duty beyond animals to any lost property. “So shall you do with every lost thing of your brother’s which he has lost and you have found.” Then comes the line that has occupied rabbis for two thousand years: “You may not hide yourself.”
The Hebrew name for this mitzvah is hashavat aveidah, the returning of a lost thing. It is one of the more practical commandments in a tradition full of practical commandments, and the rabbinic literature surrounding it is unusually thick.
A small commandment with big implications
The reason hashavat aveidah occupies so much rabbinic attention is that, on closer reading, it sets a high ethical bar. The Talmud, particularly the second chapter of tractate Bava Metzia known as Eilu Metziot, devotes pages to questions a modern reader would immediately recognize. How long must you wait for the owner to claim the item? How hard do you have to look for them? What if the animal needs feeding while you search? What expenses can you recover, and what counts as fair? What if the item is too inconvenient to safely return?
The rabbis answer all of these. The answers are not always intuitive. The finder is obligated to feed and shelter the animal while looking for the owner. The animal must not be put to work for the finder’s profit. The owner, when found, repays reasonable costs but is not on the hook for unreasonable ones. If the search takes too long, there are procedures for what to do next, none of which involve quietly keeping what is not yours.
Underneath the legal detail is a moral assumption that is easy to miss in a hurried reading. The Torah does not say to return the animal if it is convenient. It explicitly forbids the act of hiding yourself, of pretending you did not see, of crossing to the other side of the street. The commandment is as much about the person who finds as it is about the animal that is lost.
What this looks like in 2026
Most people who encounter a stray dog in a Winnipeg neighbourhood today are not thinking about Bava Metzia. They are thinking about whether the dog is friendly, whether they should call the City, whether they have time. The instinct to help is usually present. The question is what to do with it.
The practical infrastructure for hashavat aveidah in this country has changed considerably in the last decade. A finder in Winnipeg in 2026 has access to a regional humane society, a network of local Facebook groups, neighbourhood newsletters, and a handful of national platforms that gather sightings and missing-pet alerts across more than 180 Canadian cities. The mechanism is straightforward. A clear photo and a location pin can reach the right owner within hours when the system works, which it usually does.
The most underused of these resources, in any community, is the simple act of posting a sighting. Many people who find a stray feel they need to first catch the animal, find it food, take it home, or in some way solve the problem in full. The rabbis would actually disagree with that framing, and so does modern pet-recovery practice. The first responsibility is to make the sighting visible. The owner is almost certainly already looking. The finder’s main job is to surface what they have seen.
For people in Winnipeg looking for a place to start, a practical guide for what to do when you find a stray walks through the basic steps. Take a clear photo, note the cross-streets and time, check for a tag, and post the sighting where local owners will see it. The work is small. The effect, on the owner who has been awake for two nights and then sees a photo of their dog with a phone number underneath, is much larger than the work itself.
The ethical centre of the commandment
There is a strain of Jewish thought that reads hashavat aveidah as a kind of training in noticing. The deeper commandment goes beyond returning what is lost. It asks the finder to be the kind of person who sees what is lost in the first place, who does not cross to the other side of the street, who does not pretend not to have noticed.
That reading lines up with another Jewish ethical concept that often gets paired with this one: tza’ar ba’alei chayim, the obligation to prevent unnecessary suffering to animals. The Talmud derives this principle from several places in the Torah, including the rest commanded for animals on Shabbat. The two principles overlap in the case of a lost pet. The animal is suffering. The owner is suffering. The finder is, briefly, the only person in the position to do anything about it.
In a small way, the entire Canadian volunteer ecosystem around lost pets, from neighbourhood Facebook groups to national platforms to the dog walker who recognizes a posted photo, is an example of this ethical structure in action. People do not necessarily think of it in those terms. The framework is there anyway, doing its quiet work.
A community-scale point
Winnipeg’s Jewish community has always understood itself as a network of responsibilities to others, the kind that get described as chesed when they are visible and assumed when they are not. The work of returning a lost animal sits comfortably in that frame. It is not heroic, does not make the bulletin, and is exactly the kind of small obligation that knits a community together when nobody is paying attention.
The dog in the yard on a Wednesday morning in May, leash trailing, is one version of the question Deuteronomy asks. The answer, then and now, is the same. Do not hide yourself.
Features
Basketball: How has Israel become one of the best basketball countries in Europe in the last few years?
When Israeli Deni Avdija became the first Israeli to be drafted as the highest Israeli draftee in NBA history in 2020 – then emerged as a key NBA wing in Portland, it was not so much the breakthrough it appeared to be, but a portent of things to come. Israeli basketball development has been decades in the making, and in recent years its clubs have made Europe take notice.
This is why Maccabi Tel Aviv, Hapoel Tel Aviv, and the national basketball team of Israel are now the subjects of serious discussion in European basketball. It is only natural that fans and bettors reading form, depth of the roster, and momentum would look at our Euroleague predictions and then evaluate how Israeli teams would fit into the continental picture.
A rich history: The Maccabi Tel Aviv mythos
The contemporary narrative dates back to before Avdija. Maccabi Tel Aviv won its maiden European Cup in 1977, beating Mobilgirgi Varese and providing a nation under pressure with a sporting icon. Tal Brody’s declaration: “We are on the map” became not just a quote, it became a declaration of Jewish confidence, Israeli strength and a basketball dream.
Maccabi turned out to be the team of the nation since it bore Israeli identity past the borders. Maccabi has been a cultural ambassador before globalization transformed elite lists into multinational conundrums. Its yellow jerseys were the symbol of excellence, rebellion, and identification for the Israeli people at home and Jewish communities abroad.
The six European championships for the club provided a benchmark that has influenced the Winner League and Israeli basketball. Children were not just spectators of Maccabi, they dreamed of Europe as something accessible. Coaches studied in the continental competition. Sponsors and broadcasters realized that basketball had the potential to be the most exportable Israel team sport.
The modern pillars of Israeli basketball’s success
The recent ascendancy of Israel is no magic. It is the result of history, astute recruiting, youth-building and pressure-tested league culture. The nation has made its size its strength: clubs find talent at a young age and enhance the potential with foreign professionals.
Nurturing homegrown talent: The Deni Avdija effect
The most obvious example is that of Avdija. He was a high-ranking contributor in the system of Maccabi Tel Aviv, was chosen as a teenager, and was picked number 9 by Washington in the 2020 NBA Draft. His career was a reminder that an Israeli prospect could be more than a local star; he could be a lottery pick with two-way NBA potential.
Israeli NBA player Omri Casspi had already opened that door, and Avdija opened it even further for the next generation. Their achievements captivated the expectations of youthful players in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, Holon, Herzliya, etc. An Israeli teenager is now able to envision a path from youth leagues to the Winner League, the EuroLeague, and ultimately – NBA minutes.
It is that dream that has been followed by investment. Israeli clubs put more emphasis on skills training, strength training, and analytics, as well as international youth tournaments. The success of the national program in the face of the best of Europe has also helped.
A global approach: The role of international and naturalized stars
The other pillar of the Israeli basketball program is the openness of Israel to global talent. The Winner League has been an important destination, not a stopover, for American guards and forwards. Most come in with NCAA or G league experience and become leaders due to the fact that the league requires scoring, speed and tactical flexibility.
It is enriched with naturalized players and Jewish players, who are able to use the Law of Return to come to Israel to play. Inspired by legendary players like Tal Brody, current imports who can bond both professionally and personally with Israelis have provided teams with uncharacteristic diversity in their rosters. The outcome has been a mixture of Israeli competitiveness, American shot making, Balkan toughness, and European spacing.
Making waves in Europe: Israel’s modern Euroleague footprint
Even in challenging seasons, Maccabi Tel Aviv has remained the flagship team. Currently, Maccabi is out of a playoff spot in the EuroLeague, but Hapoel Tel Aviv has shot up in playoff discussion. That juxtaposition speaks volumes: Israel is no longer represented by one lone, iconic club. Its profile has expanded.
Nevertheless, it is true that the reputation of Maccabi in the EuroLeague does count. Menora Mivtachim Arena in Tel Aviv is one of the most intimidating arenas for EuroLeague teams to play in: loud and emotional. Recent security and travel realities have affected the usual home-court advantage but the name of the club is still a potent brand.
It is the reason why there is an interesting betting discussion within Israeli teams. The name Maccabi still retains a historical impact, but analysts also need to quantify the present defensive performance, injuries, substitution of venues and guards, and fatigue in the schedule. The emergence of Hapoel has provided another Israeli point of reference and markets have to regard the nation as a multi-club force.
What’s next? The future of Israeli basketball on the world stage
Sustainability is the second test. The Israeli national basketball team desires more serious EuroBasket performances and a future world cup. It requires Avdija types – fit and powerful, more domestic big men, and guards capable of playing elite defense to get there.
The pipeline is an optimistic one. Israeli schools are more professional, teams are bolder with young talents, and the Winner League is a test ground where potential talents have to contend with older, tougher imports each week. Not all players will turn into an Avdija, yet additional players ought to be prepared to participate in EuroCup, EuroLeague, and even NBA games.
To the Jews in the Canadian diaspora, the impact is not only sporting, it is also emotional. Israeli basketball brings pride, drama and a common language to the continents. To the European fan, it provides tempo, creativity and unpredictability. To analysts, it provides a sign that a small nation, with memory, ambition and adaptation, can rise to become a true basketball power. Israel has ceased to be the unexpected guest on the table of Europe. It is a part of it, season after season.
Features
In recent years, we have been looking for something more than a house in Israel – we have been looking for a home
For many Jewish families in the diaspora, Israel has always been more than a destination. It is the land of tefillah, memory, family history and belonging. But in recent years, many families have begun asking a practical question too: should Israel also become a place where we have a home?
Not necessarily immediate aliyah. Sometimes it begins with a future option, something good to have just in case, or simply roots with a stronger connection to Eretz Yisroel.
But what does it mean?
A Jewish home is shaped not only by what is inside the front door, but by what surrounds it: neighbours, synagogues, schools, parks, local services, safe streets and the rhythm of Jewish life. For observant families, these are not small details. They are the things that turn a house into a place of belonging.
This is not a new idea. It is a need that has helped shape Jewish communities in Israel before. The Savyonim idea is rooted in the story of Savyon, the Israeli community established in the 1950s by South African Jews who wanted to create a green, safe and community-minded environment in Israel. It was a diaspora dream translated into life in the Jewish homeland.
That idea feels relevant again today. Many Jewish families abroad are now making plans around where they can feel connected in the years ahead.
Recent figures point in the same direction. Reports based on Israel’s Ministry of Finance data showed that foreign residents bought around 1,900 homes in Israel in 2024, about 50% more than the previous year, with Jerusalem emerging as the most popular place to buy. In January 2026, foreign residents still purchased 146 homes, broadly similar to January 2025, even as the wider housing market remained cautious.
For Lior David, International Sales & Marketing Manager at Africa Israel Residences, part of the continued interest may lie in the fact that today’s residential projects are increasingly built around the wider needs of Jewish families abroad: not only buying a property in Israel, but finding a setting that can support community, continuity and everyday Jewish life. That idea is reflected in Savyonim, the company’s residential concept, which places the surrounding environment at the heart of choosing a home.
This can be seen in Savyoney Givat Shmuel, where the surrounding environment includes synagogues, parks, educational institutions, local commerce, playgrounds and transport links, and in Savyoney Ramat Sharet in Jerusalem, located in one of the city’s established green neighbourhoods.
For families abroad, these things matter. Jerusalem and Givat Shmuel are never just another location. They are home to strong Jewish communities, established religious life and surroundings that allow a family to imagine not only buying property, but building a Jewish home in Israel.
Together, these projects reflect a broader understanding: that for many Jews in the diaspora, the decision to create a home in Israel is not only practical, but rooted in identity, continuity and community. The Savyonim story began with a Zionist community from abroad that succeeded in building a real home in Israel; today, that same vision continues in a contemporary form.