Features
New book by Winnipeg-based refugee advocate Shauna Labman delves into Canada’s refugee resettlement program
Shauna Labman (second from right) & familyBy MYRON LOVE
In launching her first book, “Crossing Law’s Border: Canada’s Refugee Resettlement Program”, at McNally Robinson earlier this year, Shauna Labman took a somewhat different approach to this particular book launch. Rather than just reading an excerpt from the book, she invited one of her former students and one current student as well as the executive director of the Immigrant and Refugee Community Organization of Manitoba Inc. (IRCOM) – all of whom came to Canada as refugees – to share their stories.
“We had a huge crowd for the launch,” Labman recalls. “I wanted to provide some personal perspectives.”
She adds that the book, which examines the intersection of international rights, responsibility and obligation in the absence of a legal scheme for refugee resettlement, was ranked by The Hill Times as among the best 100 Canadian non-fiction books for 2019 and reached second place on McNally’s best-seller list under paperback non-fiction for the week of January 12-22 following the book launch.
“The book has received a great response,” she says. “Crossing Law’s Border” is raising awareness of who refugees are, why it’s important to protect them, and the different ways that refugees seek protection through resettlement and asylum.
“The book has been of particular interest to those working with and sponsoring refugees in Canada as well as Canadian officials overseas working on resettlement.”
The author has devoted most of her working life to the twin causes of human rights and refugees. This writer previously profiled her in the pages of this newspaper about ten years ago. At that time, she had recently returned to Winnipeg after 15 eventful years away.
The Ramah School and Balmoral Hall graduate and eldest daughter of Cyril and Jean Labman left Winnipeg right after high school for UBC and, later, the University of Victoria. While studying law at the University of Victoria, Labman was exposed through a co-operative law program to the work of the now defunct Law Commission of Canada which dealt with issues such as the Residential Schools cases, same sex marriage, workers’ rights and human rights and discrimination.
After graduation, she began her legal career at the Federal Court of Appeal, working on issues ranging from immigration to tax and patent law. “I soon realized,” she said in that earlier interview, “that I wasn’t interested in working in a traditional law practice. I had done some work in Ottawa with refugees. So I applied to the United Nations and I was posted to India for a six-month consultancy with the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR).”
Her work with UNHCR involved conducting refugee status determinations of Burmese asylum seekers and preparing resettlement referrals for Afghan refugees. Labman was struck by the reality that most refugees never make it to countries such as Canada, which might be willing to offer permanent protection, and instead remain in protracted states of limbo.
Following a stint at the Canadian Embassy in Beijing where she gained an appreciation of Canadian diplomacy and policy considerations, she returned to Canada with a clear cause and career goal. Using the academic avenues open to her, she began exploring how the voluntary programs of government resettlement and private sponsorship operate alongside of Canada’s obligations in international law to refugees who claim asylum. Her research examines, analyzes, and ultimately advocates for the protection needs of the refugees she left behind in India, as well as those of other refugees who wait patiently, but powerlessly, around the world.
Labman reports that “Crossing Law’s Border: Canada’s Refugee Resettlement Program” grew out of her Ph.D. thesis, which she completed in 2013. The focus of the future book, however, changed considerably after the Trudeau Government introduced its Syrian refugee resettlement program in 2015, she notes.
“My work,” she points out, “is bookended by the resettlement of Indochinese refugees in the 1970s and the recent Syrian arrivals.
“While both moments were driven by a humanitarian impulse to help unknown refugees, in the intervening years much of the private sponsorship program has involved family reunifications.”
Labman notes that most private sponsorships over the past few years have involved family re-unifications. Private sponsors voluntarily accept financial responsibility for the care and integration of the refugees that they adopt.
She adds that her family and several friends in their Wolseley neighbourhood have privately sponsored a family from Colombia.
Labman is concerned about the Federal Government’s shift in refuge policy more to private sponsorships in recent years. It used to be, she says, that government took responsibility for two-thirds of refugee sponsorship with private sponsors the remaining third. Currently, private sponsors account for two-thirds of refugees coming to Canada.
“There is a danger in becoming overly reliant on individual Canadians,” she as-serts.”
She also writes and advocates for the suspension of the Safe Third Country Agreement between Canada and the United States, under which refugees must claim asylum in the first country they reach. Labman argues the United States is not a safe country for refugees.
Labman is greatly concerned about the effects of the ongoing Covid-19 pandemic for refugees. “There is a lot more uncertainty and disappointment,” she says. “Many refugees have been waiting a long time already to be re-united with family in Canada. But our borders are closed.”
For refugees already recently arrived in Canada, she points out, the lockdown only adds heightened challenges as they adapt to a new country.
And Labman is wondering what Canadian refugee policy will look like after the pandemic is over. “Will a financially-strapped government be willing to bring in thousands of refugees from all over the world?” she asks. “Will private sponsors have the financial means and ability to support refugee families?”
About a year ago, Labman shifted from teaching law at the University of Manitoba to taking up the position of Associate Professor of Human Rights at the University of Winnipeg’s Global College. “The position encourages greater community engagement and I get to work with students from a broader range of backgrounds and perspectives while spending all my time talking about refugees, international law and human rights.”
With a young family – her son, Hugo, is eight and her daughter, Yael, is five – the move also lessened her commute and allows her to bike and walk to work until she, like many others, moved to working from home in March.
She continues to works closely with the Immigrant and Refugee Community Organization of Manitoba and currently sits on their Board of Directors.
Labman reports that she will have a second book coming out in August – “Strangers to Neighbours: Refugee Sponsorship in Context” – this one a b edited collection that offers the first dedicated study of refugee sponsorship policy. She notes that one of the chapters is being written by Madison Pearlman (who, this writer profiled in the December 7, 2016, issue of the JP&N).
As Labman’s research assistant at Robson Hall, the two women co-authored an article on refugee sponsorship and now, as a newly-minted young lawyer, Pearlman is contributing a chapter on Operation Ezra, our Jewish community’s successful effort to sponsor more than 50 Yazidi refugees and reunite them with family here.
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.