Features
Proliferation of Middle Eastern restaurants in Winnipeg satisfies desire for Israeli foods
By BERNIE BELLAN
In recent weeks I’ve had occasion to meet the owners of some Arab restaurants in this city. Sure, it was to talk to them about advertising – but it was also a chance to discuss their feelings about relations between Jews and Muslims.
If you’ve been following news from Toronto of late you’d be aware that there’s palpable tension in the air there over what have been overt displays of anti-Israel behaviour. In our last issue we reported on the disturbing situation regarding a particular food establishment known as Foodbenders and how the owner of that establishment seemed to be going out of her way to foment hatred toward anyone who was pro-Israel.
I’m glad to see that many other food establishments that had been buying food from Foodbenders have now canceled their orders and that many public figures in Toronto came our four square against the stance that Foodbenders had taken.
Then, a couple of weekends ago, there was yet another display of crude anti-Semitic behaviour in Toronto – this time at a rally organized by pro-Palestinians where the slogan “Palestine is our country and the Jews are our dogs!” was chanted by some of the attendees. (See the report from B’nai Brith about that rally on page 15.)
Now, while it’s not unusual for there to be displays of hostility toward Israel on university campuses throughout North America, with everything else that’s going on in the world it seems a little confounding for outbursts of anti-Israel behaviour to be occurring in Toronto right now.
There is a certain element of spill-over from the Black Lives Matter movement that can’t be denied as having something to do with these displays of overt hatred for Israel but, by and large, while there are undeniably certain individuals who are prone to displaying abject ignorance about Jews within the Black Lives Matter movement, these two recent examples of extreme hostility toward Israel in Toronto would seem to be exceptions to the relative indifference most Canadians have toward Israel (except, of course, for those of us watching the apparent re-emergence of COVID in Israel on a massive scale).
On top of all that, it looks like Netanyhau’s putative move to annex parts of the West Bank (and I use that term deliberately – not the term “Judea and Samaria”, which has a different connotation) has been put on hold for the time being. Apparently word has come out even from the Trump camp that annexation would not be viewed positively within Trumpland. That’s a little bit hard to understand since Trump has made it a policy to defy traditional thinking whenever he can.
Still, there doesn’t seem to be anything going on within Israel or the West Bank that might be considered all that provocative right now, preoccupied as most people there are with fending off COVID – so why there should be outbursts of anti-Israel sentiment at this time is a little hard to understand.
So it was that I met with the owners of two popular Arab restaurants in Winnipeg – and while we didn’t talk politics much, I was interested to hear that both Ramallah Cafe on Pembina and Arabesque on Corydon have many Jewish patrons, especially Israelis.
I wrote about some other Arab restaurants two summers ago, including Yaffa Cafe on Portage Avenue and Les Saj on St. James Street in an article titled “In search of Israeli cuisine – in Winnipeg”.
(I also wrote about Joy Coffee Bar on Roblin Blvd., which is owned by Israeli Alex Meron-Gamili and serves some Israeli foods although Alex takes pains to explain that his specialty is coffee, not food; and, of course, Falafel Place, which serves some Israeli foods. At the time that I wrote the article Bermax Caffe was also still around and I wrote about that place as well. Don’t bother asking me if I know what’s happened to the owners of that establishment. I don’t.)
That article prompted some readers to suggest other places that serve great food that would be familiar to anyone who’s been to Israel: Baraka Bakery on Main Street and the aforesaid Ramallah Cafe. (I’ve also been to Blady Middle Eastern on Portage Avenue and had something delicious there, but for the life of me I don’t know what it was. I just said to the person behind the counter: “Give me something delicious” – and he did.)
There are also loads of shawarma restaurants now in Winnipeg – something that anyone who has been to Israel would find quite familiar.
So – if you’re looking to try some of the foods that you might have eaten when you were in Israel, well – there is certainly a wide choice of establishments available here from which to choose. Unlike a city such as Toronto, however, which has a huge expatriate Israeli community, Winnipeg doesn’t have a uniquely Israeli restaurant.
I’m sort of surprised at that. I know there have been attempts in the past to have an authentically “Israeli” restaurant in Winnipeg, and what with the fairly large influx of Israelis we’ve had move here over the years, you would think that someone would have tried to create an Israeli restaurant catering to that specific community.
But, just as in Israel, where Jews and Arabs eat so many of the same foods – over and over again whenever I’ve asked the owners of Arab restaurants here whether they have many Jewish customers, they all answer in the affirmative, noting in particular that many Israelis come to their restaurants.
But, let’s be honest: There are readers of this paper who wouldn’t dare set foot in a restaurant called “Ramallah Cafe” (and I’ve been to Ramallah – it’s not my favourite place to visit, I’ll admit, but it did have some great food).
When I met with the owners of Ramallah Cafe and they told me they’d like to advertise in this paper, I wanted to ask them whether they’d consider changing the name of their restaurant to “Tel Aviv Cafe” – just for a short while, so that some readers of this paper who would never consider entering an establishment called “Ramallah Cafe” would give them a try – but I didn’t end up suggesting that after all.
They’re really nice guys though – and, just like every other restaurant in this city, the pandemic and resulting lockdown has really hurt them, but they seem confident they’ll weather the storm.
By the way, it was Ami Hassan of Falafel Place who told me about the latest Arab food establishment to open here, called “Tarboosh”. It’s also on Pembina Highway – in Fort Garry, and it’s owned by the same two people who own Arabesque on Corydon.
I stopped in there one day when I was cycling down Pembina Highway and noticed the sign. It’s still under construction as they haven’t opened the restaurant portion yet, but wow – is it ever big – and what an assortment of foods and spices it has!
I was talking to a charming young woman by the name of Heba Abdel-Hamid while I was there. Heba is co-owner of both Arabesque and Tarboosh. She told me she’s from Montreal originally and grew up in a largely Jewish neighbourhood where she had many Jewish friends.
She agreed with my observation that people generally get along in Winnipeg – in contrast with Montreal and Toronto, which both have quite a bit more ethnic tensions among residents, I think it’s fair to say.
Maybe I’m just naive but I know that individuals such as Belle Jarniewski have done much to bring disparate groups here together over the years – and I don’t recall a single instance of hearing about an imam in a mosque here ever delivering the kind of hateful sermon against Jews that we read about from time to time as having happened in Toronto, Ottawa, or Montreal – and not too long ago, in Calgary as well.
So, when Heba Abdel-Hamid told me that she’s also a part of the Arab-Jewish Dialogue, it served as a reminder how lines of communication are more open in Winnipeg than many other cities. Since we don’t have Folklorama this year, if you’re interested in replicating to some extent the experience of enjoying various ethnic foods, then some of the restaurants I’ve just mentioned here might be worth a try. They all have take-out by the way.
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.