Features
Return to Ukraine: searching out the Rosner family past
Introduction: Not too long ago we were contacted by former CBC Manitoba managing editor Cecil Rosner, who asked us whether we’d be interested in publishing a story about a trip he took in 2012 to visit the area in Ukraine where both his parents were born. Although it’s been 10 years since Cecil visited Ukraine, given the current situation in that country we thought it timely to get a sense of what life was like in Ukraine prior to the Russian invasion.
By CECIL ROSNER ““Oi — look at the way the schlemiel drives.”
We are bouncing along the potholed roads of Western Ukraine, heading from Lviv to my mother’s hometown of Buczacz. Our driver and guide isn’t Jewish, but that doesn’t stop him from endlessly whistling Fiddler on the Roof tunes and inserting Yiddishisms into every second phrase.
“These guys are all ganefs (thieves),” he says of the policemen we pass, as he forms his thumb and forefinger into a pistol and slowly pulls the trigger. Alex doesn’t like the speed traps the highway patrols set up, and he appreciates oncoming drivers signalling him to beware of cops just beyond the next hill. It’s an important issue for our driver, who crisscrosses Ukraine’s roads all year-long, ferrying tourists to distant towns and villages in search of their Jewish ancestors.
For Alex, who holds a history degree and is an expert at tracing genealogical roots, it’s an occupation he never dreamed he would have. But in the chaos of the Soviet Union’s collapse, when jobs were evaporating and everyone was trying to reimagine their lives, it seemed like a useful niche to pursue – especially as foreigners were finally trying to discover exactly what had happened to their relatives during the Second World War.
That’s why I’m here too, along with my wife and a cousin. Both of my parents were born in the region, and both were here when the Nazis occupied the area in 1941. In different improbable and miraculous ways, they both survived the war and emigrated to Canada. But every single other family member was shot, gassed, beaten or starved to death by the Nazis and their collaborators. We came here to see what traces of their lives remained.
It seemed logical to make our first stop the local museum, right across from the old city hall. Buczacz is little more than a village, with about 13,000 people. In the early part of the 19th century, Jews made up two-thirds of the population. While that number ebbed and flowed over the years, Jews were still in the majority when the Nazi occupation began. But that would have been difficult to discern in the museum.
In all the display cases, and in the colourful photo album that the town produces, there is no specific mention of a Jewish population. There is scarcely any reference to the Second World War, except for a notation that the town “was released from German invaders and captured by the Soviet Union.” Wouldn’t a town’s museum want to address what became of the majority of the population? What happened to thousands of farmers, shop owners, tailors, tinsmiths, doctors, lawyers and politicians? Doesn’t the mass roundup and extermination of most people in town even rate a mention?
The only hint of any Jewish presence came in the form of artifacts from the life of Shmuel Agnon, a Jewish writer born in Buczacz who won the Nobel Prize for literature. But the entire fate of the people Agnon wrote about had been erased.
Alex had little luck getting the museum’s employee to throw any light on what the town was like in the immediate pre-war period. She genuinely seemed not to know. But there were a few things I already knew.
My mother, Mina, had been born here in 1913, and her family owned a wholesale distribution company. They carbonated water and stored it in big, forty-litre copper cylinders, shipping them along with ice to shops throughout the area. When she was 25, she married my father, Michael Rosner, who came from nearby Kolomaya. In 1939, they opened a small retail store on the main town square, probably within metres of the present-day museum.
When the war broke out in September 1939, there was a reprieve. The region came under the control of the Soviets, and Jews were under no immediate threat. All that changed when Hitler marched eastward in 1941. My father was conscripted by the retreating Soviets, and my mother was trapped behind Nazi lines for the remainder of the war.
For the next three years, every member of my mother’s family – her parents, five brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles and cousins – were dragged from their hiding places, bludgeoned or shot, or sent off to be executed. They were all dumped into unmarked graves. My parents’ first-born child – my brother – also fell victim, dying at the age of three in 1942.
My mother’s survival defied any normal odds. She fled from one hiding place to another, escaping just in time to avoid capture. She spent 11 months in the attic of a Polish family along with five other Jews. She took an assumed name and boldly convinced the Nazis she was Christian. Finally, after Buczacz was liberated, she re-united with my father and they came to Canada to start anew in 1948.
I had been to Buczacz once before, with my mother, in 1990. We came with a documentary crew to record her first visit back home since the war. It was an emotional trip and a difficult one for both of us. But we learned very little of the actual events that had transpired in the town, or the exact locations where they happened. That’s why, nearly 15 years after my mother’s death, I was returning for a second time.
I convinced Alex that our best strategy on this trip would be to find older people and ask them what they knew about the 30s and 40s. Alex seemed skeptical. For one thing, the war had begun more than 70 years ago, so it was unlikely there would be any useful first-hand witnesses at hand. And there was also the collective amnesia that pertained to inconvenient truths.
After all, a segment of the population had actively collaborated with Hitler. They were instrumental in helping identify and round up the Jews, the Communists, and all the other elements the Nazis wanted to destroy. Some might still be living in Buczacz and surrounding areas. Their children and grandchildren almost certainly are here.
The museum’s employee finally gives us a sliver of hope. There is someone in town we should visit – someone who knows the history and might be able to help us. His name is Mykola.
We drive for a few minutes and stop at Mykola’s house. I am expecting to find an elderly man who may have been a teenager during the war. Instead, we come upon a 40-something man in sweatpants and a Maple Leafs T-shirt. He is clutching a handful of papers and photographs. One of them shows a photo of Buczacz’s surviving Jews standing beside a memorial gravestone in 1944. Out of the original population of 10,000, no more than 100 survived. One of the people in the photo is my mother.
Mykola has taken an interest in wartime history, and now helps visiting tourists locate family remnants. He has a variety of interesting documents, including a map of pre-war street names, and a mid-19th century register of townsfolk. It turns out that he knows about some of the Jewish families that lived in Buczacz during the war – a handful of them have returned over the years, and he has helped them find their old homes and landmarks.
We ask Mykola if he could help solve a puzzle my mother and I couldn’t figure out on our previous trip. Her family had lived on a street called Zeblickevicie, which had changed names several times after the war. From her description, though, we knew it was beside a stream that ran into the Strypa River, a subsidiary of the Dniester.
We pile into the car along with Mykola and he directs us to the location. The stream had been covered over, except at the point where it emptied into the Strypa. Though the original home was no longer there, he shows us the exact location where my mother’s family had lived. I saw the idyllic surroundings, the lush vegetation around the quiet river, and for the first time I had an inkling of the peaceful life my mother experienced before the war changed everything.
While we were all walking along the old Zeblickevicie street, Mykola bumps into a friend and exchanges a few words with him. As we walk on, the friend stops my wife, Harriet, and our cousin Nina and says: “Mina Rosner – I am a Witness.” That is the name of my mother’s book. Alex is impatient. He had rich experience of locals trying to pester visitors, and he was eager to move us all along. But Harriet and Nina persist. It turns out the man on our chance encounter knows all about my mother’s story, and offers to take us on a tour of where she lived, where she went to school, where she hid during the war, and where her family members were killed.
Over the next 24 hours, Alex grudgingly admits he was wrong. Our serendipitous encounter has linked us up with Jura, a 60-year-old retired computer technician, astrologist and local historian. He knows my mother’s exact birthdate, and, it appears, everyone else’s in town. He has a photocopied version of my mother’s book, and he has pieced together her recollections with precise locations of many of the events she describes. If photographic memories actually exist, we figure he has one. He is a visiting tourist’s dream come true, and Alex has to take a back seat while Jura takes us on a remarkable tour of my mother’s life.
The first stop is just around the corner, on a street that used to be called Chechego Maya. I remember it from my mother’s stories, but we could never pinpoint it on our previous trip. Jura shows us the building where my mother’s sister and her husband ran a hardware shop. He knows the address because it’s listed in trade publications of the era. Though my mother’s original house and her parents’ store no longer existed, I finally had an authentic touchstone of some of her family’s life at the time.
Jura takes us to the pre-war building on Kolejowa Street that served as the cheder, the religious school, where Jewish kids studied. We visit the girls’ school and middle school where my mother was a student, and walk into Buczacz’s Sokol theatre, where she watched dramatic performances and movies as a teenager. A group of children is rehearsing a musical concert on stage, and I can imagine my mother sitting in the auditorium with her brothers and sisters and friends.
Just down the road, near an orchard, Jura shows us the garden of a long-ago demolished home where my mother hid during one of the Nazi aktions, or periodic killing sprees. A bunker had been constructed in the cellar, and this helped shield her and other Jews from capture. The Nazis conducted four major aktions during their occupation of Buczacz before declaring the town Judenrein, or completely free of Jews. But the declaration turned out to be false. My mother, along with dozens of others, managed to survive with the aid of courageous gentile families who risked their safety to shelter them.
In the middle of our travels, Jura pulls out a sheet of typewritten names – people who had served as policemen, gendarmes and SS officers during the war. I recognize some of the names. Some of the Nazi war criminals and their collaborators have been brought to justice, but the vast majority remain undetected and untried for their crimes.
We go to the Jewish cemetery, where many of the town’s Jews – including my mother’s parents – were taken to be executed. The place is untended and overgrown, a jumble of brush and junk, with headstones in various states of disrepair. We find my great-grandmother’s grave. It’s significant, because two plots over my mother buried her first-born child, Isaac, in an unmarked plot. I clear away the branches and debris from the group of headstones in the area to get a better view. I bend down and touch the ground where the brother I never met is buried. Exactly 70 years later, someone has come back to this place to remember.
Jura takes me down a path through brambles to a spot where survivors had erected a memorial to the war’s victims. The place is overgrown with trees and bushes now, but he says there was nothing here before the war. The marker no longer survives, and even if it did, it’s unlikely anyone would be able to find it without an expert guide.
Our next stop is Fedor Hill, another killing ground where thousands perished. It’s difficult to see traces of anything here, but Jura once again guides us to a marker commemorating the killing of 450 people during the early days of slaughter in 1941. It had been erected by a survivor’s family well after the war.
A far more prominent memorial on Fedor Hill is dedicated to the UPA, the Ukrainian Insurgent Army, the military wing of a movement that initially collaborated with the Nazis in hopes of winning an independent homeland. In fact, throughout our travels in Western Ukraine, there were numerous new memorials to Ukrainian nationalist fighters in places where it might have been logical to place markers noting the victims of the Nazi era. We saw this on the side of a synagogue in Ivano-Frankivsk, near the Jewish ghetto entrance in Lvov, and many other places. In my father’s hometown of Kolomyia, it was a similar story — no mention of Jews or Nazi victims in the local museum, no remnants of the huge Jewish population, and a patriotic memorial to Ukrainian nationalist figures on the site of a former synagogue. In the re-written history of today, the UPA and its related Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists are presented as groups that fought both Soviets and Nazis; no mention is made of the collaboration in 1941 that led to so much destruction during the war.
Throughout our trip to Ukraine, we were reminded of the upcoming election campaign and the ever-present imagery of Ukrainian nationalism, especially in the Western part of the country. In a land that was exercising its brand of democratic activity, we had to wonder how thoroughly the country had come to grips with its recent history. Many countries are wrestling with related questions, trying to reconcile horrendous events of the past with a way forward. But as in any process or truth and reconciliation, there needs to be an initial recognition of what took place. Erasing and denying the past is rarely the path to building a healthy future.
At the end of our tour in Buczacz, Jura wanted to know the exact date of my mother’s death. He also was interested in our birthdates and any other information he could glean from us. In a country that chooses to forget so much, he was something of an anomaly.
Features
Gangster Mickey Cohen was a strong supporter of the Irgun – or as he liked to call them: “those Jew guys”
By BERNIE BELLAN The confluence of money and corrupt politicians is something we read about all the time. It’s never been as brazen as it has been under Donald Trump – who will take money from anyone who’s willing to give it to him – almost always for immediate favours or in return for favours down the road.
But Jewish history is replete with stories of corruption, much as many of us like to think that the “chosen people” are somehow more removed from the venal behaviour of the “goyim.”
My story about the brutality of a Jewish gang known as Zwi Migdal, which operated with almost total impunity in Argentina (and several other countries as well) for almost 70 years happened to coincide with my reading a book about a famous Jewish mobster by the name of Mickey Cohen.
This book though happened to be a sort of autobiography of Cohen, as told to a writer by the name of John Peter Nugent. It’s quite an old book – having been published in 1975, just one year before Cohen’s death.
What sets this particular book apart from other books about mobsters, however, is it’s told in Cohen’s own words.
When he refers to his fellow Jews, for instance, he often describes them as “dem Jew guys” or something like that. There was nothing particularly admirable about Cohen. He was a thug, a thief, and a killer, but to read his descriptions of his various sordid activities, you’d think: “Well, that’s one way to make a living.”
Perhaps best known for his friendship with Benjamin Siegel (who hated to be called “Bugsy,” by the way,) I suppose what sets Cohen apart from so many others of his ilk is that he died peacefully in his bed, at the age 62. There had been nine separate attempts on his life during his lifetime, so you might say this guy was extraordinarily lucky to have survived them all.
Cohen is very matter of fact in his descriptions of mob hits – even hits on his own guys. When someone had to be killed, more ofen than not he says the guy “had to have his lights out.” While he certainly enjoyed beating up people – he was only 5’3″, yet he was a terrific fighter who had fought many times as a boxer when he was younger. Still, quite often, while he was beating the crap out of someone – and could easily have killed whoever it was he was mauling, he would hold off. It was just business – you understand. The next day, he would often sit down with the same guy he had just about killed – hey, just because you had to teach someone a lesson didn’t mean you couldn’t still be friends.
I suppose one way you could describe Mickey Cohen was “cruel, but fair” – if you can accept that there is an accepted code of conduct among mobsters.
But, in reading his colourful autobiography, one chapter jumped out for me. Cohen’s being Jewish almost never comes into play in any of the stories he tells. He doesn’t describe having family gatherings during Jewish holidays, for instance and, as for attending synagogue – forget about it.
Other than his preferring to be in the company of other Jews – in the same way that Italian and Irish gangsters also prefer to associate with individuals with whom they share common backgrounds, there wasn’t much about Mickey Cohen that made him seem Jewish – other than his name.
It was in the year 1947, however, that Mickey Cohen’s otherwise totally submerged Jewish identity came to play a prominent role in leading him to become heavily involved in the fight that was going on at that time between Jewish groups and British soldiers in what was then British Mandate Palestine.
Mickey Cohen describes how he first became aware that Jews were trying to get the British kicked out of Palestine. He explains that he had a friend by the name of Mike Howard, who introduced Cohen to the famous Hollywood screenwriter Ben Hecht (of whom Mickey Cohen had never heard. As you might expect, MIckey Cohen was hardly what you would call “worldly,” although he did enjoy the company of many famous Hollywood celebrities, including Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr., and for a time, Lana Turner – with whom he had a love affair.)
In any event, here’s how Cohen explains what led to his becoming a strong supporter of the Irgun (a para-military force that fought against the British, but which was also a rival to the Haganah, the widely recognized Jewish military force established prior to Israel’s establishment as an independent state and which became Israel’s de facto army during the 198 War of Independence.)
“Mike knew that I would do anything for a cause that was right, and particularly Jewish causes. So they come back and we sit down to talk. And the guy tells me this story about the Haganah, which was organized by the David Ben-Gurion guy. And he tells me especially about the Irgun and the type of war they’re fighting against the British, and they type of guys they are and all this. And I got high on him.
“But you know when you’re kinky, your mind runs kinky. I still figured this must be a racket thing. So I says to the guy, ‘Lookit, I don’t know nothing about these things. I didn’t even know there was a war going on in Israel. Let me think it over.’ “
Later, Cohen explains that he was invited over to meet with someone from the Irgun: “This guy (from the Irgun) got me so goddamn excited. He started telling me how these guys actually fight like racket guys would. They didn’t ask for a quarter and they gave no quarter.”
Cohen goes on to describe how he got quite caught up in raising funds for the Irgun: “Now I got so engrossed with Israel that I actually pushed aside a lot of my activities and done nothing but what was involved with this Irgun war. It’s a nature of mine, see. Either I go whole hog or nothing. So I got involved with this goddamn Israel war…”
He goes on to tell how incensed he was when the British hanged three Irgun members. He warned Ben Hecht that unless the Irgun got a hold of three British officers and hanged them in the same public square as where the Jewish kids from Irgun were hanged, “that’s going to be the end of my involvement with it.”
“And they done it. They hung up some British officers right in the public square.”
The same chapter describes how, with the help of some of his Mafia buddies out East, like Albert Anastasia, they were able to get a hold of a lot of U.S. army surplus that had come back from World War II and was destined to be mothballed, but instead a lot of it was sent to Israel because the Mafia controlled all the docks on the Eastern seaboard.
Why am I writing about Mickey Cohen? you might be asking yourself. Well, it’s the same reason that when I write about what went on during Israel’s War of Independence I say there’s a lot we don’t like to admit happened. I don’t want to revisit all those arguments over the “Nakba” and what happened to the Palestinians. I just thought it extraordinarily interesting to introduce one little known aspect of that war – and that was how Mafia types – some Jewish, some Italian, lent their support to Jews fighting, first against the British, then later against the Arabs.
Just as my story about Zwi Migdal exposes a little known side of Jewish history – including how cruel Jews can be to their own fellow Jews, writing about a famous Jewish mobster may awaken some people to the realization that not all Jews aspire to “Tikkun Olam,” which is a phrase we hear repeatedly is the maxim by which Jews should live. No – there is a very dirty side to Jewish history, but one we should not shy away from examining. I don’t suppose you’re ever going to hear a sermon from any rabbi about Zwi Migdal or Jewish gangsters though. It doesn’t really jive with the notion that Jews are righteous and the “People of the Book.”
Features
Hamilton Hebrew Academy refuses to let 2 Jewish students enrol – because their mother had a Conservative, not an Orthodox conversion
By BERNIE BELLAN (This story was originally posted July 14)
From time to time we receive a request to do an investigative piece about one matter or another. Before I even begin to entertain following up on that type of request I pose quite a few questions to the person or persons who sent me the request. I also send copies of whatever it is that I might consider publishing to subjects of the story for them to comment prior to its publication.
Recently I was contacted by a former member of our Winnipeg Jewish community by the name of Fabio Chusyd, who now lives in Hamilton with his wife, Soraya, and their two daughters (whose names will not be given here.)
Fabio Chusyd first contacted me on July 7. Here is what he wrote in an email:
“My name is Fabio Chusyd. We met years ago while I was living in Winnipeg, and I have always respected your work. My family and I are active members of the Jewish community in Hamilton.
“Hamilton Hebrew Academy is the only full-time Jewish day school in Hamilton. It shares its premises with Adas Israel Congregation, an Orthodox synagogue, and its Dean is Rabbi Daniel Green.
“At the same time, its mission states that it is “dedicated to fostering an inclusive learning environment that welcomes and embraces children and their families from diverse Jewish affiliations and backgrounds.”
“Our daughters, (names redacted) have experienced antisemitism in the public school system, which is why we sought a safe Jewish educational environment. They have received Jewish education at home and through Temple Anshe Sholom. …. also previously attended HHA’s daycare, where Saraya’s Conservative conversion was known and accepted. The girls were invited to visit the school, met the teachers, toured the classrooms, and naturally became excited about attending. They were then ultimately denied admission.
“After two meetings with Rabbi Green much of the discussion focused on Saraya’s Conservative conversion and our willingness to pursue an Orthodox conversion path. Shortly afterward, our daughters were denied admission.
“I lawfully recorded both meetings under Ontario’s one-party consent law. We later submitted six written questions seeking clarification of the decision, but the school declined to answer any of them, stating only that it had nothing further to add.
“The Hamilton Jewish News declined to publish our family’s response, which is why I am reaching out to you.”
I responded to Fabio and asked him whether he might consider trying to contact the Canadian Jewish News and ask them to do a story about his family’s situation – since the CJN website is by far the most important Jewish website in Canada, also Hamilton is only a short distance from Toronto, so it made more sense to try to get the CJN to cover the story.
Fabio wrote back: “Following your suggestion, I have also reached out to the Canadian Jewish News. I wanted to let you know out of courtesy.”
In a later email Fabio elaborated on the Hamilton Jewish News’ refusal to do a story about what had happened to his family. Further, the Hamilton Jewish Federation had also refused to intervene in the situation. By the way, the Hamilton Jewish News is run by the Hamilton Jewish Federation.
I found that all so surprising. And yet, while Hamilton is far removed from Winnipeg physically, a fair number of former members of Winnipeg’s Jewish community have moved to Hamilton in recent years. Hamilton now has a Jewish population over 5,000 and it has become a popular alternative destination for families looking for a cheaper place to live than Toronto. I was quite surprised that both the Hamilton Jewish Times and the Hamilton Jewish Federation had refused to delve into what had happened to the Chusyds. So, I told Fabio that I would be willing to write an article, but only after a thorough investigation of what had happened.
Hamilton actually has two Jewish day schools: the aforementioned Hamilton Hebrew Academy and a school called Kehila Heschel School. Hamilton Hebrew Academy offers classes from JK- Grade 8 (It also may be adding a Grade 9 this coming year.) and has approximately 200 students. On its website HHA describes itself as “dedicated to fostering an inclusive learning environment that welcomes and embraces children and families from diverse Jewish backgrounds.”
There is another important aspect to Hamilton Hebrew Academy. It is directly connected – both physically and spiritually, to Hamilton’s Orthodox synagogue, the Adas Israel. Here is what I was able to find about that connection: “The Hamilton Hebrew Academy (located at 60 Dow Ave) is located adjacent to and was founded by the Adas Israel Congregation (located at 125 Cline Ave S).
“The Orthodox synagogue established the school decades ago to serve the community, and they often share leadership; for instance, the spiritual leader of Adas Israel serves as the Dean of the academy.” (That last point is key to understanding what has happened to the family in this story.)
The other Jewish school in Hamilton, Kehila Heschel School, bills itself as an “independent, egalitarian, community school that welcomes families from the full spectrum of Jewish life” but, as was previously noted, it had only 35 students this past year, according to Fabio Chusyd.
One other point of interest from a Winnipeg perspective: The CEO of Hamilton’s Jewish Federation (until he retired in April) was Gustavo Rymberg. Like the Chusyds, Gustavo and his family first moved to Winnipeg after having emigrated from South America in the early 2000s. I wonder how Gustavo would have reacted to what has happened to the Chusyds? By the way, the new CEO of the Hamilton Jewish Federation, Marion Zeller, does not take over her role until August 10, 2026.
In a subsequent email, Fabio Chusyd elaborated on what happened after the family had been invited to visit Hamilton Hebrew Academy:
“What happened is that they invited the girls to visit the school, they were welcomed by students and the principal – who happens to be a rabbi as well.
“We explain (to)…- the rabbi of the synagogue (who is also) dean of the school that we are happy at the reform synagogue. But he made it mandatory to join the orthodox synagogue with openess to a future orthodox conversion.”
Fabio Chusyd recorded two conversations Rabbi Green had with Fabio and Soraya Chusyd. Fabio sent me transcripts of both conversations – one recorded on June 26 and one on July 2. In both conversations Rabbi Green hinted quite strongly – without ever spelling it out as a direct stipulation, that in order for the Chusyds’ daughters to be allowed to enrol in HHA, Soraya Chusyd would have to undergo an Orthodox conversion and the Chusyds would have to join Adas Israel Congregation.
On July 6 the father received a Whatsapp message from Rabbi Green:
“Hi Fabio,
“I just wanted to give you a headsup. Kym (Gazda, the director of admissions for HHA) will be sending an official email from the school. Based on our conversations, I don’t think the school is the right fit at this time. If you have a change of heart, pls let me know. Wishing you much success.”
That ‘change of heart” apparently referred to Soraya’s reluctance to undergo an Orthodox conversion. In a subsequent email Fabio Chusyd explained that his wife did not want to go through another conversion process after having been converted by a Conservative rabbi in South America. Further, the couple was reluctant to leave their Reform congregation and join the Orthodox Adas Israel congregation, which also seemed to be a prerequisite to their daughters’ being able to enrol in Hamilton Hebrew Academy
Just as Rabbi Green’s email was opaque, the email from the director of admissions was equally opaque in not offering a specific reason for the school’s refusal to admit the Chusyds’ two girls this coming school year. Here is what Kym Gazda wrote in an email on July 7:
“Dear Mr. and Mrs. Chusyd,
“Thank you for your interest in Hamilton Hebrew Academy and for taking the time to meet with us.
“Upon careful consideration, and based on the information provided, we are unfortunately unable to accept …. to the HHA for the 2026–2027 academic year.
“Should anything change, please feel free to let us know, and we would be happy to reconsider your application at that time.
“We wish you and your family all the best.”
I received a further email from Fabio Chusyd, in which he reprinted the Hamilton Jewish News’ editor, Wendy Schneider’s response, also dated July 7, to his request that the paper consider doing a story about what happened to him and his family:
“Dear Mr Chusyd Thank you for this note. I appreciate how deeply upsetting and frustrating this is for you. As I explained yesterday, at this time, I feel I cannot act without advice from the Federation CEO because of the nature of your complaint i.e. a local issue. I sincerely hope this issue is resolved to your satisfaction. Unfortunately, for now, there’s nothing I can do at this point to help ease your distress. “
In response, Fabio Chusyd wrote to Wendy Schneider:
“Thank you for your time on the phone yesterday and for your supportive words.
“However, several years ago, you published a letter titled “Censorship Has No Place in Our Community.” Yet by not allowing me to use the online letters section, you are effectively censoring my voice.
“The slogan of the Hamilton Jewish News is “The Voice of Jewish Hamilton.” By refusing to publish or even accept my letter, you are silencing a member of the very community the publication exists to serve.
“How does this decision align with the principles of free expression and with the mission of your newspaper?”
This was all so puzzling. Here we have a case of a couple with two young children whom they would like to attend a Hamilton Jewish school – and the school simply turns them down flat – without any explanation beyond saying the “school is not the right fit at this time.” It seems clear though that the mother’s refusal to undergo an Orthodox conversion and the parents’ unwillingness to join the Adas Israel Congregation were key to the school’s decision not to accept the couple’s children as students this coming school year.
Now, ordinarily, one might expect that after receiving a slap in the face like that, the parents of the girls would simply say they’ve had enough of that – and resign themselves to sending their daughters back to public school.
But, when I asked Fabio Chusyd why he and his wife were so eager to send their daughters to HHA – or whether they had perhaps considered sending their daughters to Kehila Heschel School , here is what Fabio wrote back:
“We did consider Kehila Heschel School. We visited a few years ago, but with only about 35 students in the entire school, we didn’t feel it was the right fit for our girls. For us, school also means exposure to a larger group of children and a broader social environment. HHA has over 200 students. Also HHA appears to be opening a Grade 9, so I am thinking long-term.
“… is going into Grade 4 and … into Grade 2. As a family of immigrants without an extended support network here, we felt it was important for both girls to attend the same school.
“And then we had moved them out of HHA daycare because our local public school is only five minutes from our home.
“Oct. 7 happened, antisemitism reappeared, and the girls were victims. Hence, HHA that call themselves open to all Jewish affiliations seemed to be the safe spot. Rabbi Green and Kim Gayza were told that the girls had been victims of antisemitism. Mainly …, who gave Hanukkah goodie bags last year and her classmates ripped it, spitted on it and throw them in the garbage, while saying offences.”
There is another factor that one might consider in this entire matter. According to its own annual report, the Hamilton Jewish Federation provided $289,000 in funding for the Hamilton Hebrew Academy for the fiscal year ending June 30, 2025, so the HHA is hardly operating independently of the Hamilton Jewish Federation.
It may not be the place of the publisher of a Winnipeg website that focuses to a large extent on the Winnipeg Jewish community to poke into the affairs of another Jewish community such as Hamilton’s, but where that community’s Jewish newspaper refuses to delve into what appears to be a clear case of wrongdoing by a Jewish institution and, as of writing this, the Hamilton Jewish Federation has also refused to intervene in this matter, then we thought it an important enough issue to broach on this website.
We contacted both Hamilton Hebrew Academy and the Hamilton Jewish Federation, offering them an opportunity to respond to this article prior to its being published.
On July 21, we received a response from Rabbi Green:
“Hamilton Hebrew Academy’s inclusive character and the diversity of its parent and student body are well known throughout the community. Our families include individuals from a wide range of Jewish backgrounds, including converts of all denominations, and many who are not Jewish whatsoever. The school is family-oriented, where we strive to be on a journey of growth togther. (emphasis mine)
“Through Project Lifeline, HHA has also taken a leading role in supporting children who experience antisemitism in public schools, particularly those who may be the only Jewish student in their school or community. For this purpose, we operate transportation routes serving students from Niagara, Kitchener-Waterloo, and other communities outside Hamilton, and provide free bus service and often tuition. This project, I believe, is unprecedented in North America and speaks to the proactive nature of our school in supporting Jewish students at risk. “
I responded to the rabbi:
“With all due respect Rabbi, your email here would seem to directly contradict how you behaved with respect to the Chusyd family. If there is some reason that you have turned down the two Chusyd girls for enrolment in your school – but you are not at liberty to discuss that reason, then I could include that in what I publish.
“But – as it stands, the only reason that I have seen in your correspondence with the Chusyds. is that you don’t think it would be “a good fit” for the Chusyd children to attend HHA.
“I am going to give you every opportunity to explain what you meant by writing that, but I would suggest your latest response is somewhat disingenuous.”
The rabbi responded:
“As I mentioned, I am not at liberty to discuss the admission decision of any specific child or family. “
Also in an email sent to Fabio Chusyd on July 21, Rabbi Green wrote:
“Our position remains unchanged. As previously indicated, Hamilton Hebrew Academy will not engage in public discussion regarding the admission of any individual applicant or family. We have nothing further to add on this matter.”
Features
The horrifying story of how thousands of Polish Jewish women were forced into prostitution in Argentina by a Jewish organization known as “Zwi Migdal”
By BERNIE BELLAN Often the most interesting story ideas come in the oddest of circumstances.
Such was the case recently when I was attending the unveiling of an old friend. The rabbi who was officiating at the unveiling was Rabbi Anibal Mass.
Following the unveiling I walked over to Rabbi Mass to say hi. We were engaging in an amiable conversation when out of the blue he asked me: “Have you ever heard of Zwi Migdal?”
“Zwi Migdal?” I answered. “What is a Zwi Migdal?”
Rabbi Mass proceeded to tell me a story that I found so utterly amazing I told him that I would definitely follow it up – and write about it.
Zwi Migdal, Rabbi Mass explained to me, was the name of a leader of Argentinean Jewish gangsters who had originally come from Poland – thus the name of the group came from his name.
But it was the principal activity in which those gangsters were engaged that I found so horrifying, and almost unbelievable: They lured young Jewish women from Poland into coming to Argentina with promises that they would find work there – perhaps as au pairs or as seamstresses, but once they arrived to Argentina they were forced into prostitution.
They were forcibly kept in brothels and warned that if they ever tried to escape they would be hunted down and forced back. The enforced confinement of thousands of Jewish women in brothels in Argentina occurred over a very long period – from the 1860s to 1939.
According to Wikipedia, “During the 1920s the organization grew to its largest-ever size. At its height, 430 individuals, acting as pimps and in other criminal roles, oversaw a network of 2,000 brothels and approximately 4,000 women in Argentina alone.”
There were also branches of Zwi Migdal in other countries, including Brazil, the United States , Poland, South Africa, India and China.
Actually, if you want to read a detailed description of how Zwi Migdal operated, the entire Wikipedia article lays it out in graphic detail, including the modus operandi that Jewish pimps in Poland used to lure young women – who almost always came from poor families where the opportunity to have a better life in Argentina was so alluring that thousands of women fell prey to those false promises
Now, there was a reason Rabbi Mass brought up the story of Zwi Migdal in a cemetery. As he told me more about what happened in Argentina – and I was quite stupefied by the story he was telling me, he explained that eventually – and it was as a result of one very brave woman by the name of Raquel Liberman, that the members of Zwi Migdal were finally brought to justice.
Over 100 of them were put on trial – but even though many of them were convicted and sentenced to prison, the judicial system in Argentina was so corrupt that all but three were released from prison in short order. However, the public outcry over the release of all those pimps was so huge that justice officials were forced to rescind their releases. Many of them ended up moving to Uruguay.
It was what happened to them when they ended up being buried in one particular cemetery in Buenos Aires, Rabbi Mass told me, that was so unusual – and was the reason he was telling me this particular story in a cemetery: They were all buried in one section of that cemetery and a huge wall was built around the area of their graves – so as to forever cordon them off from the rest of the cemetery.
Something else that Rabbi Mass mentioned to me during our conversation was that Orthodox conversions are not allowed in South America. I asked him why that was? He said it was because many Jewish men had been marrying non-Jewish women who had gone through a “conversion of convenience.”
Here’s what I found when I asked AI why Orthodox conversions are not allowed in South America:
“Mainstream Orthodox communities in Latin America are traditionally highly tight-knit and conservative. Local leadership often uses the restriction to filter out ‘conversions of convenience’ (converting solely to marry a Jewish partner). By requiring candidates to travel to Israel or North America for final conversion, authorities ensure the applicant has the financial means, intense dedication, and long-term commitment required to live an Orthodox life.”
Later that same day Rabbi Mass sent me even more information about Zwi Migdal, including a link to a movie about Raquel Liberman on Vimeo. The movie is called “Raquel: a marked woman.”
The movie is somewhat of a docudrama in that it intersperses actual footage from the early 20th century with dramatizations of Raquel Liberman’s life in Argentina. Her courage in defying the gangsters who were forcing her to work as a prostitute is something to behold.
Another fascinating aspect of Zwi Migdal is that, while its members were held in total contempt by mainstream Argentinean Jewish society, they were able to fashion their own separate society, including building their own Orthodox synagogue – for which they had rabbis who were willing to serve as rabbis despite knowing what complete degenerates the members of Zwi Migdal were.
The notion that there was a Mafia type organization made up entirely of Jews is not in itself so difficult to comprehend. After all, there is a long tradition of Jewish gangsters; Murder Incorporated, for instance, which was made up of murderers for hire, was a Jewish organization.
But to think that hundreds of Jewish men – for a period lasting almost 70 years, were engaged in forcing young Polish Jewish women into prostitution? I was so amazed by the story Rabbi Mass told me that when I told him I would just have to write about that story, he responded that “This is worth, at least, a Limmud session.”
I responded in kind, saying that while it was something I would certainly consider proposing to the organizers of Limmud, rather than me conducting a session about Zwi MIgdal, given his own South American background, he would be far more suited to telling the story of Zwi Migdal at Limmud. Wouldn’t that be fascinating?
