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Remembering a forgotten book: “Winnipeg Stories”

Irena Karshenbaum
“Winnipeg Stories”
published in 1974

By IRENA KARSHENBAUM We take for granted that books will always be available to buy, but in fact, many books go out of print. Personally, I prefer rare titles as they are the most interesting.

Over the years I have assembled a library of hard-to-find works, some of which I have found while traveling. In St. Julian’s, I bought Oliver Friggieri’s “Koranta and other Short Stories from Malta”. In Prague, I picked up “Franz Kafka and Prague”, “The Prague Golem: Jewish Stories of the Ghetto” and the beautifully illustrated “Jewish Fairytales and Legends”. (I love folk tales.) Years ago on the discount table at Chapters, I found Brazilian Moacyr Scliar’s “Max and the Cats”. (How can this great work be relegated to the discount table?) I was quite proud of finding “Chess” by Stefan Zweig, only to be questioned by my mother on how I did not know Stefan Zweig, one of the greatest writers of the 20th century. There is “The Postman” by Chilean, Antonio Skarmeta, that I fell in love with after watching the movie based on the book; also “Moses Ascending”, by Trinidadian Sam Selvon, who spent his last years in Calgary and who was a guest speaker in one of my English classes 30 years ago. A year later, I read in the Calgary Herald that this great writer, who could not get published in his last years, had died suddenly. There is the painfully honest “Yocandra in the Paradise of Nada” by Cuban writer, Zoé Valdés. I almost felt my stomach bloat from the protagonist’s constant hunger.

My latest (embarrassing) habit is looking for rare books in free little libraries I encounter on my walks. In one of these, I found a copy of Kinky Friedman’s “The Mile High Club”. I didn’t know Kinky Friedman — a former Texas governor hopeful and writer of such memorable songs as “They Ain’t Making Jews Like Jesus Anymore” — was also a fiction writer? In reading the book – wowza, a breeze of non-politically-correct fresh air.

This leads me to “Winnipeg Stories”, a collection of short stories I fished out of a garbage bin in Calgary, thrown there by a book sorter who told me the book would never sell on account of it being so old.

Published in 1974 by Queenston House, the paperback edition with a red cover and a black ink drawing of a tree-lined street sold for $2.25 when it was released. The back cover reads, “Winnipeg Stories is an entertaining collection of short stories… From lively comedy to poignant reminiscence, from the Great Depression to the present day, here is a collection of 16 stories by Winnipeggers and former Winnipeggers.” Out of the 16 stories, four are by Jewish authors and these, in my biased opinion, are my favourite.

The collection opens with, “Courting in 1957,” by David Williamson and reads like a Leave-it-to-Beaver-saccharine-sweet tale about, you guessed it, dating in 1957. With this first piece, I thought that maybe “Winnipeg Stories” should have been left in the garbage bin. I persevered, though. The next story, “My Uncle’s Black-Iron Arm” was by Mort Forer — a Jewish sounding name, I wondered?

“My Uncle Solomon was given only second-class respect in our family because he was without learning.” Quickly I knew I was reading a story with a Jewish subject. The story seemed to pound with a metaphorical fist, recounting the tragic events of Uncle Solomon’s life that took him from the struggles of Czarist Russia to Winnipeg, where his life never changed for the better.

I sat silently thinking about Uncle Solomon and the bitter fate he was dealt.

Who was Mort Forer who wrote so powerfully about the Jewish immigrant experience? The collection lists biographies of all the contributors. Forer, who was originally from Brooklyn, lived for a time in Winnipeg and was “presently residing in Toronto. He is also the author of the well-acclaimed novel, ‘The Humback’ ”, published in 1969. A Google search of the author’s name brought up no Wikipedia page, no obituary or any other information, other than what was written in “Winnipg Stories” about him.

My initial impression of the collection – that I was reading some naive fluff, was turned on its ear. I continued with renewed interest.

In Miriam Waddington’s “Summer at Lonely Beach” the narrator remembers his (I think the narrator is a he, although I can’t be certain) childhood summers spent at Gimli. The mother has a friendship with an “emancipated” Miss Menzies, who stays at the aptly named Lonely Beach and who is “married, but did not care to live with her husband, a Mr. Warren. He had no sympathy or feeling for intellectual things and expected Miss Menzies to live with him on a farm in Alberta.” The narrator learns about the complexities of life by observing his mother’s friendship with Fanya, as Miss Menzies is named, listening to them speak Russian, reading Pushkin and comforting each other as women do who have been abandoned by their men.

The story is a glimpse into another time, into another place, that feels remarkably familiar. Or is it that all Russian Jewish homes are sort of similar?

Waddington, who was born Miriam Dworkin in Winnipeg and was part of the Montreal literary circle that included Irving Layton, had her story published eventually in its own collection, “Summer at Lonely Beach and Other Stories”, by Mosaic Press in 1982. The collection is now out of print.
(Ed. note: Irena, not being from Manitoba, is obviously unaware that the name “Lonely Beach” is a play on “Loni Beach” in Gimli.)

Ed Kleiman contributed “Westward O Pioneers!” about a womanizing English professor of the Catholic faith,who eventually meets his amorous match before they head west to an unspecified location. A Winnipeg Free Press obituary published September 7, 2013, states that Kleiman was born in the North End to Jewish parents from Russia and is described as “one of Canada’s best short story writers.” He was the author of “The Immortals” (1980), “A New-Found Ecstasy” (1988) and “The World Beaters” (1998), all of which are now out of print.

Author of “Raisins and Almonds” and “The Tree of Life”, both of which are out of print, Fredelle Burser Maynard in “That Sensual Music” writes poignantly about her desperate attempts at dating, set in stark contrast to the dating successes of her older sister, Celia.

Burser Maynard’s writing sizzles with subtle hints of eroticism: “She was applying scarlet fingernail polish that day, painting each nail with long sure strokes, then holding out each hand, fingers spread, to study the effect. “No problem,” she said. “There’s a list of boys who’ve already asked somebody, right? So you take out your yearbook, cross out those names, pick who you want from the ones that are left. And you vamp that one.””

Who was Joan Parr, whose name appears as editor on the cover of “Winnipeg Stories”? Her obituary — she passed away on November 5, 2001 — states she grew up in the Icelandic community of Winnipeg’s West End, married, raised two daughters and, in 1974, started Queenston House Publishing, “which she put her heart and soul into and as a result was awarded the Woman of the Year in Arts in 1981. Joan helped to launch the careers of many Manitoba writers through her work in publishing.”

If we remember and write about great people who are no longer with us, why can’t we write about books that are no longer in print? It is the stories in these lost works that give voice to the forgotten, yet great writers, who wrote to be read, and probably never expected to disappear with time.

Irena Karshenbaum writes in Calgary .

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Features

The greatest escape

Bernard Pinsky

Author’s father survived Holocaust with grace, joy intact

By MARTIN ZEILIG Former Winnipegger Bernard Pinsky grew up listening to his father Rubin Pinsky’s stories of his childhood in Poland and his time spent living in the forest, where he survived the Holocaust after fleeing a Nazi work camp in 1942.

“My father’s stories didn’t make the Holocaust scary for me as a child,” Pinsky says.

“He told me about scavenging for food in the forest, learning what berries and roots he could eat, making baskets and other things from birch bark and twigs, learning the animal sounds, etc.”

Pinsky, who lives in Vancouver, will speak at the Winnipeg launch of his book,Ordinary, Extraordinary — My Father’s Life (Behind the Book), on Sunday — the anniversary of Kristallnacht — in honour of International Holocaust Remembrance Day.

The program will feature a conversation between Pinsky and Belle Jarniewski, executive director of the Jewish Heritage Centre. The event is presented by the centre in partnership with Jewish Child and Family Service and the philanthropic Ronald S. Roadburg Foundation, for which Pinsky, a retired lawyer and community leader, is the chairman.

Of his father, a former yeshiva student, Pinsky says, “He was not a particularly successful businessman in Canada, although we didn’t feel poor; we had what we needed. I saw how hard he worked, how positive he was, how he provided for his family despite not knowing any English or French when he came to Canada in his 20s.

“Despite his being an ordinary man, I realized that his life had taken an extraordinarily difficult route, which he overcame to create a normal, ordinary life for himself and his family.”

Pinsky wanted to honour his father, so for his 72nd birthday in 1996, he wrote a manuscript about his life as a gift.

“He was very happy to get it, but by then he had some mini-strokes (TIAs) and I doubt he ever read the whole manuscript,” Pinsky says via email.

He also sent the manuscript to some relatives, including Melvin Fenson, a Winnipegger and former partner of Walsh Micay law firm, who had made Aliyah (immigration of Jews from the diaspora to Israel) in the 1970s.

“Melvin read the manuscript and said that it contained some good information about the Holocaust and Yad Vashem (Israel’s official memorial museum to the victims of the Holocaust) might accept it for their archives,” Pinsky says.

The manuscript was submitted in 1997 and Yad Vashem said it would be included in its catalogue, but nothing happened for a decade.

Then, in 2007, Pinsky received a letter from a history teacher in Djatlovo, Belarus, who was hoping to translate the manuscript into Russian.

It turned out to be the same town as Pinsky’s father grew up in — prewar Gzetl, Poland.

“I went to Djatlovo in 2012 and saw both the incredible work that the teacher, a Russian Orthodox woman, and others like her were doing to create memorials to the Jewish community that perished in the Holocaust, and I saw the small museum in that teacher’s high school that she had created based on my work.

“She said she did it because she is religious and preserving the memory of the Jews, who were now all gone, was the right thing to do.”

At the time, Pinsky was a lawyer with a busy practice and planned to finish the book when he retired. However, at 67, he moved on to a new job at a charitable foundation that also left him little free time.

Finally, his wife pointed out that, since it seemed likely he would work long hours for the rest of his life, the time to finish the book was “now or never.”

He spent evenings and weekends in 2023 finishing the book, had it edited and self-published it.

Ordinary, Extraordinary is the survival story of Rubin Pinsky and some of Rubin’s immediate family,” he says. “But it is also the story of what Rubin did with his life after the Holocaust, his attitude towards life and his ability to pick himself up and to live life fully after every one of life’s blows, mostly with determination and with joy.

“His life could be an example of what people can endure in life and still be fulfilled and happy.”

Pinsky will offer one copy of the book to each family attending the event at the Berney Theatre. Register at 204-478-8590 or jewishheritage@jhcwc.org

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Features

“Sharing Shalom” – new children’s book explores how children deal with antisemitism

"Sharing Shalom" cover/author Danielle Sharkan

While her peers dance, swim, or practice martial arts outside of class, Leila attends Hebrew school twice a week, an act that makes her feel “connected to her grandparents, her aunts and uncles,” writes debut author Danielle Sharkan.

Illustrator Selina Alko (Stars of the Night), working in collage and thick swathes of jewel-tone acrylic paint, shows faces of relatives past and present, layered with texts of liturgical music and prayers.

When Leila arrives at the synagogue one day and finds it vandalized, she’s told that “Some people think we’re different, and they don’t like that.” She worries about how she’s perceived by others, not wanting “anyone to see she was Jewish”- In her anxious state, even her bagel lunch feels like a giveaway. But the more Leila tries to blend in, “the more she noticed the way her friends stood out,” and when she sees community members helping to repair the damaged synagogue, she embraces her identity once again.

The creators address an act of antisemitism with candor and sensitivity, reassuring readers that one can belong to multiple communities without hiding one’s beliefs or identity. Characters are portrayed with various abilities and skin tones.

An author’s note and glossary conclude. Recommended for ages 4-8.

About the author: Originally from Chicago, Danielle Sharkan now lives by the foothills of the Rocky Mountains in Boulder, Colorado. When she’s not eggsploring the area with her two kids, she enjoys yoga, hiking, chai tea lattes and eggsperimenting in the kitchen. She’s eggstatic to introduce the world to Ellie the Eggspert, next March.

Sharing Shalom
By Danielle Sharkan, illus. by Selina Alko.
Holiday House, $18.99 *32p) ISBN. 978-0-8234-5556-0

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Features

“No Jews Live Here” – new book tells poignant story of Hungarian survivors of the Holocaust

Review by JULIE KIRSH (former Sun Media News Research Director)
In 1950 my parents made the decision to leave Hungary, the country of their birth and ancestors. Both were Holocaust survivors. My father survived Auschwitz and was liberated from Buchenwald. My mother hid with false Christian papers in Budapest during the war. Most of their families perished. Coming to Canada without language, money or family support took courage. I am the lucky recipient of their strength, optimism and resilience.
In journalist John Lorinc’s book, No Jews Live Here, his parents and maternal grandmother, Ilona, arrived in Canada in 1956, the second and larger wave of Hungarian refugees. Many were Jewish Holocaust survivors.
Hungary was unique in the east European countries. Lorinc provides an excellent historical overview of Jewish life in Hungary before World War Two.
However the author emphasizes that freedom to succeed in Hungary came at a cost. Lorinc explains why many Jews became Christian converts. In Budapest, an enclave for a thriving Jewish population, Jews constituted 5% of Hungary’s total population. By 1941, over 17% of Budapest’s Jews had converted.
Lorinc’s grandparents who came from wealthy Jewish families converted in the 1920s. However it is important to note that the converts were not saved from the mass deportations in Hungary in 1944. Jews and converts died together in the gas chambers of Auschwitz. Over the course of less than 3 months, with the complete cooperation and enthusiasm of the Royal Hungarian Gendarmerie, 440,000 Jews were murdered. Lorinc’s grandfather was ordered to join a forced labour unit. He marched off wearing a white armband signifying that he was a converted Jew.
One of Lorinc’s poignant stories is his own father’s history as a slave labourer in the copper mines of Bor in Serbia. Often the labourers, of which many were middle class Jewish Hungarians who had never held a tool other than a writing pen in their hands, were starved, tortured and killed. The Hungarian overseers were especially cruel, according to Lorinc’s father.
Chapter 10 is titled Aftermath and although the Russian army liberated the surviving Hungarian Jews, the horrors of the Red Army soldiers are described relentlessly. Women and girls were raped. Looting was prevalent. Lorinc relates that it was not unusual for a Russian soldier to have 4 or 5 watches on his arm.
Ilona, ever the resilient survivor, along with other survivors in Budapest came up with creative ways to feed her family and at the same time, wrangled with legal authorities and her in-laws for the return of their farm and property. The feud between Ilona and her mother-in-law became much more than logistical. It was tangled with betrayal, grief and financial desperation, a classic family conspiracy theory.
In 1956 after the revolution in Hungary, Lorinc’s parents along with many other Hungarian refugees found themselves in Vienna. Choices to leave Europe were dependent on how easy it was to get an exit visa. The entry gates to Canada had been opened and the lineup at the Canadian embassy permitted applicants to stand in a foyer instead of waiting outside.
Toronto in the mid-50s was a “closed” city on Sundays. Even the swings in playgrounds were chained up to discourage children’s use. Italian men were hounded by police to prevent gathering on the sidewalks of Little Italy.
Like many other immigrants, Lorinc’s parents found jobs and gained a foothold in the security of Canadian life.
The author explains that as a child, he and his sister were baptized at a United Church, a classic “just in case” move for the still traumatized survivors.
Then at age 10, Lorinc’s father told him that he was Jewish but didn’t explain why this was a secret. The need to understand Jewish history in Hungary was planted at an early age.
The author goes on to describe his family’s life in the Toronto suburbs of the ‘70s and ‘80s.
A frequent visitor at the family home was his grandmother Ilona, colourful, dramatic and stubborn. She was consumed with “vanities and accusations” and insisted on wearing high heels and fashionable clothing well into old age. Ilona deeply harboured old family disagreements over ownership of the farm in Hungary.
Ilona’s obsession with her fading looks and the family history of betrayal never left her. Hungarian “Jewish Christmas” with Ilona became a battlefield of wounds and grievances.
After she died, Lorinc reflects that her stubborn character still influences his own world perspective, blurring the line between the life of the author and his grandmother’s story.
Lorinc recounts in detail the need for conversion and hiding one’s Jewishness in an historical context. Before the war, Hungary’s Jews looked the same and had the same freedoms as non-Jews. Seeing themselves first as loyal Hungarians didn’t save converted Jews from persecution and the gas chambers. In fact Lorinc argues that conversion contributed to anti-Semitic theories.
Finally Lorinc and his wife make a trip to Bor, the mine and labour camp where his father was interred. The author’s dedication to telling the story of his family’s tragedy and survival is admirable. Readers will find themselves savouring every word, looking within their own family history as part of the saga of human survival.
No Jews Live Here
by John Lorinc
(Coach House Books), 2024

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