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
New book highlights relationship between Kabbalah and science
By MYRON LOVE In his new book, “The Relativity of Death: Part One: Basic Principles of Kabbalah of Information. Complete Theory of Information Space, Miracles and Maxwell’s Demon,” Dr. Eduard Shyfrin demonstrates the complementary relationship between Kabbalah – the ancient practice of Jewish mysticism – and science.
“The Relativity of Death” is a follow up to “From Infinity to Man: the Fundamental Ideas of Kabbalah Within the Framework of Information Theory and Quantum Physics,” Shyfrin’s previous work on the subject, which he published in 2018.
In his introduction to “The Relativity of Death”, the author, himself a scientist by training – observes that while “science is absolutely necessary for humankind, it nevertheless does not constitute the whole truth. Science is morally neutral,” he continues. “Two plus two equals four is neither good nor bad. Science doesn’t provide an answer to the basic questions about our existence: Why are we here? What is our mission? How should we live? Do we have a freedom of choice? Why are we destined to die? And finally, the famous question posted by Gottfried Leibniz as to why is there something rather than nothing?
“I believe that it is impossible and wrong to try to describe Creation while at the same time excluding the Creator.
“When I started reading the works of kabbalists,” he notes, ‘I realised that Kabbalah is deeply ‘scientific,’ that it is a theory of Creation of which our Universe is just a part. Kabbalah is not a textbook – it doesn’t provide equations and laws. Instead, it’s a live body comprised of the teachings and opinions of kabbalists, which often diverged.
“The main notions of Kabbalah,” he writes, “for example the notion of light, are not well defined. As the great kabbalist Rabbi Moshe Hayyim Luzzatto explained in his book, “Philosopher and Kabbalist,” the notion of ‘Light has no definition and is used as some sort of synonym for G-dliness.
“The original works of kabbalists,” he points out, “are very difficult to read and comprehend, since the main ideas are usually expressed through allegories, parables and hints. This makes them largely inaccessible to contemporary readers. With this in mind, I attempted to create the Theory of Kabbalah of Information based on traditional Kabbalah, Theory of Information and the body of scientific knowledge accumulated by humankind, written in simple language accessible to the reader.”
Eduard Shyfrin is a remarkable individual – a man of many parts. In addition to his roles as scientist and author – he has also published a children’s book – the Ukrainian-born Shyfrin is a musician who writes his own words and music, a billionaire, and an important community leader who generously supports his fellow Ukrainian Jews and our Israeli homeland.
Growing up during the last years of the Soviet Union though, it comes as no surprise that he knew nothing about Judaism except that he was Jewish. In the Soviet Union, being Jewish was simply a label that kept you from being accepted into top universities and leadership roles.
“We tried to hide out Jewishness,” he recalls. “I wanted to be a physicist but wasn’t accepted into university.”
Instead, he followed in his father’s footsteps and became a metallurgist. In 1983, he started work at a Ukrainian steel plant. Over the next few years, he was promoted from assistant foreman to manager to head of marketing.
He was able to earn a PhD in physical chemistry in 1993.
In 1993, he changed jobs – becoming a representative in Ukraine of a Hong Kong-based company called Linkfull. He was responsible for buying steel for export. In 1994, he joined forces with Alex Schnaider and co-founded a company called the Midland Group, with partner Alexander Shnaider. The company deals in steel, shipping, real estate, agriculture and sport ventures.
Shyfrin’s interest in Judaism was sparked by the arrival of Chabad rabbis in the lands of the former Soviet Union in the mid 1990s and, in particular, Rabbi David Bleich, the Chief Rabbi of Ukraine. Shyfrin recalls that Rabbi Bleich got him involved in Jewish charities. He helped rebuild the oldest synagogue in Kiev, provided funds for the Jewish schools in the city, and and financed the construction of the Jewish Education Centre in Kiev, which was dedicated to his late father.
Still, Shyfrin remained largely secular.
It was in 2002, he recalls, that he experienced a midlife crisis when he began questioning the meaning of life – and death.
“My rabbi,” he says, “encouraged me to commit to a more Jewish lifestyle. I began keeping kosher, putting on tefillin and studying Torah. I found in my Torah study that there were a lot of contradictions and inconsistencies in what I was reading in the Torah and what I had learned as a scientist.”
Shyfrin began to find his answers in Kabbalah, which he approached through a scientific perspective. As a result , he came to understand kabbalah and reality as “fundamentally information based and that physics and Torah describe different layers of the same structure”.
That epiphany led to his first book, which has sold around 8,000 copies. He followed up the book’s success by writing numerous articles for the Jerusalem Post. Shyfrin also gives a yearly lecture in London, where he now makes his home.
He is also the founder of the Shyfrin Alliance, an initiative dedicated to advancing understanding of Jewish mysticism and spiritual thought.
Alongside his delving into Jewish mysticism, Shyfrin remains very much involved in the real world and the crises affecting Israel, the Jewish people, and his Ukrainian homeland. He currently serves as Vice President of the World Jewish Congress, representing Ukraine. He continues to fund Jewish schools, synagogues and community centres across Ukraine and Russia.
Since the invasion of Ukraine, Shyfrin has helped finance evacuations of Jewish elderly people and children to Hungary and Israel and continues to support communities on a monthly basis.
“For me, a Jew is a Jew,” he has been quoted as saying. “It does not matter where he lives. We are one family.”
As for the rising antisemitism in Europe, he points out that – unlike the 1930s – today, we have Israel.
“Israel is our country and we must be strong enough to protect it,” he is quoted as saying..
“The Relativity of Death” was released in February, and, Shyfrin reports, has already sold over 5,000 copies. The book is available on Amazon and Kindle.
Features
Manitoba Has No iGaming Framework. So Where Are Winnipeg Players Actually Gambling Online?
Ontario’s regulated iGaming market hit a 91.1% channelization rate in May 2026, according to an AGCO/Ipsos study. Meaning nine out of ten Ontario players who gamble online are doing so through a licensed, registered operator. That’s a real number, and it took years of regulatory architecture to get there. Manitoba has none of that architecture. Zero. There’s no provincial iGaming framework, no registered operator list, and no equivalent to the iGaming Ontario regime that launched in April 2022. So when Winnipeg players open a browser and look for somewhere to play, they’re not choosing between regulated sites. They’re choosing between offshore ones.
For players trying to make sense of that offshore market, the most practical move is to compare no verification casinos side by side. Withdrawal speeds, licensing jurisdiction, and bonus terms vary far more than most review sites admit. A Curaçao-licensed site and a Malta Gaming Authority-licensed site can look identical on the homepage and behave completely differently when you try to withdraw CAD on a Sunday night.
Why Manitoba Is Still Waiting
The short answer: political will and provincial lottery revenue protection. Manitoba Liquor & Lotteries (MBLL) runs PlayNow.com, which is the province’s only officially sanctioned online gambling platform. It’s a Crown corporation product. Expanding regulation to private operators means cannibalizing that revenue stream, and no provincial government has been willing to absorb that trade-off yet.
Alberta moved first, announcing in 2024 that it would follow Ontario’s open-market model. The Jewish Post covered the Alberta question in its opinion piece on provincial iGaming regulation. Saskatchewan and British Columbia have their own Crown-run online products. Manitoba? MBLL runs PlayNow, and that’s where the conversation stops.
The practical consequence is straightforward. PlayNow offers a limited game library, deposit methods that exclude several major e-wallets, and. Critically. A full KYC process that requires government-issued ID before a player can withdraw. For anyone who has spent time on offshore platforms, PlayNow’s withdrawal processing feels closer to a 2009 bank wire than a modern iGaming product.
What ‘No Verification’ Actually Means
The term gets used loosely, so let’s be precise. No-verification casinos. Sometimes called no-KYC casinos. Don’t require you to upload a passport or utility bill to open an account and withdraw. Most operate on a tiered model: you can deposit and withdraw up to a threshold (often around C$2,000 to C$5,000 cumulative) without identity documents. Go above that, and they’ll ask for verification at that point.
That’s meaningfully different from a blanket “no ID ever” claim, which doesn’t really exist at licensed operators. Any site claiming zero KYC under all circumstances is either very small, unlicensed, or not being straight with you about their AML obligations.
The ones worth looking at are licensed under jurisdictions that actually enforce standards. Curaçao eGaming being the most common for Canadian-facing sites, Malta Gaming Authority and Isle of Man for the better-resourced operators. Licensing matters because it determines what happens when a dispute arises. A Curaçao license at least gives you a complaints pathway. No license gives you nothing.
The Real Variables Winnipeg Players Should Check
Withdrawal speed is where most offshore sites either earn or lose the trust. I’ve tested CAD withdrawals via Interac e-Transfer on three different offshore platforms in the last six months. Two cleared within 90 minutes on a weekday. The third flagged my withdrawal for a manual review that took four business days and required a second round of document uploads. Same deposit method, very different outcomes.
Bonus terms are the other landmine. A 100% match up to C$500 sounds good until you read the wagering requirement. Anything above 35x on slots. And some no-verification sites are running 45x or 50x. Makes the bonus money functionally worthless unless you’re grinding low-volatility games for hours. The max bet cap during bonus play is equally critical. C$5 per spin on a C$500 bonus means you need 100 spins minimum just to cycle through once, and the dead spins add up fast.
Payment method availability for Canadian players specifically is worth a dedicated check. Not every offshore site offers Interac. Some push crypto as the primary withdrawal rail, which works fine if you’re comfortable converting CAD to USDT and back. But adds friction and exchange rate risk most players don’t account for. A few have added MuchBetter and eZeeWallet as alternatives, which process faster than bank transfers and don’t trigger the same scrutiny from Canadian banks that some gambling-coded transactions do.
The Legal Position for Manitoba Players
This comes up constantly, and the honest answer is that Canadian gambling law places regulatory authority under provincial jurisdiction, meaning the federal Criminal Code doesn’t prohibit individuals from playing at offshore sites. It prohibits operating an unlicensed gambling business in Canada. Players are not operators. No Canadian has been prosecuted for accessing an offshore gambling site.
That said, “not illegal” and “fully protected” are different things. If an offshore operator disappears with your funds, you have limited recourse. If a withdrawal is declined and the operator ghosts your support ticket, no provincial regulator is going to intervene on your behalf the way the AGCO can intervene for an Ontario player. You’re relying on the operator’s licensing body, which may or may not respond in a useful timeframe.
Gowling WLG’s 2025 analysis of Manitoba’s enforcement posture notes that the province has moved against offshore operators directly. Including action against Bodog. But has taken no steps toward building a regulatory framework that would bring players back onto licensed domestic ground. The enforcement is pointed at operators, not players, and it hasn’t changed what’s available to Winnipeg residents looking for alternatives to PlayNow.
Where This Lands
Manitoba’s regulatory gap isn’t closing soon. Alberta’s framework is still being built. The realistic picture for Winnipeg players in 2026 is that offshore, no-verification operators remain the de facto alternative to PlayNow. And the quality gap between a well-run licensed offshore site and a badly run one is significant enough that doing due diligence before depositing is not optional.
Check the license, read the withdrawal terms before the bonus terms, and know your method’s processing time. The market isn’t going away; it’s just not regulated to protect you yet.
Gambling involves risk. Please play responsibly and only wager what you can afford to lose. If you feel gambling is becoming a problem, visit BeGambleAware.org or call 1-800-GAMBLER.
—
Frequently Asked Questions
Is it legal for Manitoba players to gamble on offshore casino sites? Canadian federal law targets operators running unlicensed gambling businesses, not individual players. Manitoba residents accessing offshore sites are not violating federal law. However, there’s no provincial regulatory protection if a dispute arises. You’re relying on the operator’s licensing body, which may be slow or unresponsive.
What is the difference between PlayNow and offshore no-verification casinos? PlayNow is Manitoba’s Crown-run online gambling platform, requiring full KYC and offering a limited game library. Offshore no-verification casinos skip the document upload process up to a withdrawal threshold, typically run larger game libraries, and often process CAD withdrawals faster. But without provincial regulatory protection backing you up.
Are no-verification casinos licensed? The reputable ones are. Curaçao eGaming and the Malta Gaming Authority are the most common licensing jurisdictions for Canadian-facing no-KYC operators. Unlicensed sites exist and should be avoided entirely. No license means no complaints pathway and no enforceable player protection if a dispute arises.
Why doesn’t Manitoba have a regulated iGaming market like Ontario? Political and financial reasons. Manitoba Liquor & Lotteries earns revenue from PlayNow, its Crown-run platform. Bringing private operators into a licensed open market would cannibalize that revenue stream. No provincial government has been willing to accept that trade-off, though pressure from Alberta’s move toward an Ontario-style framework may eventually shift the calculus.
What should I check before depositing at a no-verification casino as a Canadian player? Four things: licensing jurisdiction, withdrawal speed for CAD specifically, wagering requirements on any bonus (anything above 35x is a red flag), and whether Interac e-Transfer is available as a withdrawal method. Crypto rails are faster but add exchange rate risk most players underestimate.
Features
A Left-wing Yiddishist in Western Canada
By HENRY SREBRNIK I recently presented a paper on Khaim Zhitlovsky, a major proponent of secular Jewish diaspora nationalism and Jewish nationhood, at the Association for Canadian Jewish Studies annual conference at York University in Toronto.
Zhitlovsky was born in Ushachi near Vitebsk in what is now Belarus in 1865. A leading architect of secular Jewish culture and thought, he was a central figure in the progressive Jewish intelligentsia of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century in Canada and the United States.
At a Jewish International Cultural Conference organized in Paris in September 1937, the Alveltlekher Yiddisher Kultur Farband (YKUF) was founded, and he was one of the supporters. As the honorary president of the YKUF in the United States, Zhitlovsky became an icon of the Yiddishist Communist movement, particularly in western Canada, where he had inspired the founding of a strong secular Yiddish school system. At the fifth Canadian Labour Zionist conference, held in Montreal in 1910, Zhitlovsky had made a plea for Yiddish schools, saying, “If you reject Yiddish, the Jewish proletariat will reject you.”
During the Second World War, the Communist-dominated YKUF became the most important ideological vehicle for the pro-Soviet Jewish movement in Canada. It included Winnipeg activists such as Dr. Benjamin A. Victor, who had come to Canada in 1912 as a child, from the small town of Zhlobin in Belarus, and grew up in Winnipeg’s North End. He and others devoted their political energies to YKUF work and by early 1941 there were three YKUF reading circles in Winnipeg.
Much of this activity was also due to the arrival in Winnipeg of the new principal of the Communist-organized Sholem Aleichem School (formerly the Liberty Temple School), Labl Basman. Victor addressed meetings, speaking about the works of Zhitlovsky and Zishe Weinper, both prominent New York-based Yiddishists and YKUF leaders.
“Dr. B.A.Victor must be counted as being one of the most important workers in the progressive Jewish cultural movement in Winnipeg, and in particular the YKUF,” wrote Basman in the Kanader Yidishe Vochenblat, the weekly newspaper of the Canadian Jewish Communists, in the spring of 1942. “Dr. Victor has always stood in the forefront of every cultural-social movement that has been progressive and in the interests of the masses.”
Winnipeg, which Zhitlovsky visited frequently over the years, was, in the words of Jack Switzer, “a Zhitlovsky fortress.” Zhitlovsky’s 75th birthday in the autumn of 1941 had been celebrated by the organization in all of its branches across the country. When he again visited Canada in April 1942, a new YKUF men’s club was named in his honour in Winnipeg. Montreal poet Sholem Shtern, in one laudatory profile, depicted Zhitlovsky’s struggle on behalf of Yiddish language and culture, against assimilationists on both left and right, and against Zionist Hebraists. “In Yiddish Zhitlovsky sees that great progressive strength which will enable it to bring into being a new era in Jewish life.”
So Zhitlovsky’s sudden death on May 6, 1943, in Calgary, while he was on a cross-Canada lecture tour, “hit us like a thunderbolt” and “brought about sadness throughout the country,” declared the Vochenblat.
Labl Basman reported on Zhitlovsky’s last trip to Winnipeg. His two lectures had been attended by some 1,300 people, and, Basman observed, “provided the progressive Jewish community with a clear and outstanding analysis of these catastrophic times.” Zhitlovsky had stressed that support for the Soviet Union was imperative; the USSR needed to emerge from the war strengthened and with a prominent role in any post-war settlement. The Soviet Union was the centre of world progress and Jews would benefit greatly from a strong USSR, since this would mean the end of anti-Semitism and the solution of the Jewish question.
Louis Pearlman of Calgary, who was cultural chair of that city’s Peretz Shule, described Zhitlovsky’s visit to the city where he would pass away, in the Vochenblat. Zhitlovsky arrived in Calgary from Winnipeg on April 28, in good spirits, and was scheduled to give six lectures over a two-week period. About 100 people turned out for his first lecture on April 30, in the Peretz Shule, on “Socialism and Religion.”
He spoke again May 2, to 150 people, on “The Spiritual Battle of the Jewish People for its Survival.” His third lecture, on May 4, dealt with Judaism and Christianity and was also well received. But a day later he had a heart attack and was taken to a hospital; he died on May 6. Pearlman accompanied Zhitlovsky’s body back to New York and attended his funeral there.
The Vochenblat reprinted Zhitlovsky’s greetings to Birobidzhan, the Jewish Autonomous Region in the Soviet far east, on its 15th anniversary, which he had released on April 25. “Our Jewish people now has two countries in which a new Jewish life is being built, a normal life” one where Jews will live in Jewish towns and Jewish cities, “just like all the other peoples on earth,” he wrote. “The two countries are Birobidzhan and Erets Yisroel.” They ought not to be seen as antagonistic alternatives, he declared. In both, Jewish life would become “normalized” and Jews would flourish.
“Every Jewish accomplishment in both countries gives us courage in the struggle for our survival, elevates the prestige of our people in the eyes of the non-Jewish world, and strengthens our desire for the complete national liberation of our people, with the complete rights and strengths of membership in the fraternal family of nations. May the Jewish nation of Birobidzhan have long life and mature in freedom!”
Of course we now know the Birobidzhan project was a dismal failure, nor was the Soviet Union the “promised land” dreamt of by the Jewish left. Perhaps an entry in the third volume of the Leksikon Fun Der Nayer Yidisher Literatur, published in 1960 by the Congress of Jewish Culture, sums Zhitlovsky up best:
“A man who adopted, abandoned, or lost interest in so many different political programs and causes; who joined, left, or drifted away from so many parties was probably destined, at least in the short run, to oblivion. At varying times, he was a sharp opponent of Zionism and a Zionist, an anti-territorialist and a territorialist, a supporter of the Jewish Labour Bund and one of its harshest critics, a Socialist Revolutionary and an apologist for Bolshevism. He was a kind of ideological nomad, forever on the move” — and so now virtually forgotten.
Henry Srebrnik is a professor emeritus of political science at the University of Prince Edward Island.
