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Sandra Caplan’s Jewish Journey

Recently we received an email from Sandra Caplan from her Florida wintertime home. Sandra told us that she had given a talk to her synagogue sisterhood about her life and wondered whether we might be interested in reprinting it.
Sandra’s life followed a path that would be familiar to many Winnipeg Jews (both present and former). So we thought it would be interesting to reprint the story of Sandra’s life here:

The following document, titled My Jewish Journey, was presented to the Sisterhood of Congregation B’nai Israel on March 10th, 2024. I hosted a brunch at my condo in St. Petersburg and spoke of “My Jewish Journey,” the current Rosh Chodesh topic. I am sending a copy of this to my family so that they will have a better understanding of my life. I wrote this in two sessions without an outline. The words flowed from my heart to my brain, my fingers and then to the written page. Please don’t fact find!! 

Sandra with her late husband Barry

I had two photos that I always bring with me. One is of Barry and me, the other of my family on my eightieth birthday.  I also had an atlas so I could show the Floridians where Winnipeg is located. Now on to my story. 
   The following document, titled My Jewish Journey, was presented to the Sisterhood of Congregation B’nai Israel on May 10th, 2024. I hosted a brunch at my condo in St. Petersburg and spoke of My Jewish Journey, the current Rosh Chodesh topic. I am sending a copy of this to my family so that they will have a better understanding of my life. I wrote this in two sessions without an outline. The words flowed from my heart to my brain, my fingers and then to the written page. Please don’t fact find!!  I had two photos that I always bring with me. One is of Barry and me, the other of my family on my eightieth birthday.  I also had an atlas so I could show the Floridians where Winnipeg is located. Now on to my story. 
   
                                        MY JEWISH JOURNEY 
I am a Snowbird and live in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. Before I speak of My Jewish Journey, I would like to give you a few facts about Winnipeg. It is in the center of Canada and is 2200 miles northwest of St. Petersburg  and 500 northwest of Minneapolis. It is a prairie province, and the terrain is flat. The winters are so cold that we often plug our cars into an electric outlet, so that the engine doesn’t freeze. A mild day in the winter would be considered 0 F and a cold day 20 degrees below that.  The population in Winnipeg is approximately 750,000 people. 
Winnipeg has a Jewish population of about 8,000 people. However, in the 1930’s it was about 20,000. Many young people now leave for what they consider cities with more advantages, such as Toronto, Vancouver and many US cities. Also, families are now smaller. My Mother came from a family of seven and my father from a family of five. Winnipeg has been actively involved in promoting Winnipeg to the Argentinian Jewish community and now has a large group in our community. We also have a large French Canadian, Aboriginal and Filipina presence. 
Growing up I always considered that Winnipeg had two areas that the Jewish people lived in-the north end and the south end. I was born in 1939 and lived in the north end. My first recollection is living in a duplex owned by my paternal grandparents who were born in Europe. I was told that the railway line at one point in time ended in Winnipeg and that is why so many Jewish immigrants settled there. Another reason was that there was a homestead plan offered in Manitoba through which new immigrants would be given a plot of land for free if they developed the land. As it turned out the winters were harsh, and the land was inhospitable. The Jewish immigrants were not necessarily experienced in farming and once settled gave up the concept. They turned to commerce and a large percentage of Manitoba’s small towns had Jewish owned general and other stores. 
My father was born in Pinsk, Poland. In Winnipeg he became a furrier after high school. My mother was born in Winnipeg and opened a dress shop, Sandra’s, after I was born. 
As a young child living on Flora Ave. In the early 1940’s, every house on our street was occupied by Jewish residents. At that time there were about eleven small Orthodox synagogues in the north end. I remember sitting in the balcony at the synagogue with my mother. It was a block from our home. My mother’s parents lived about 10 minutes from our home on Selkirk Ave. My grandmother was a milliner, and her shop was at the front of her home.  When my paternal grandparents passed away, the house was sold, and we moved to the south end of the city. I was 5 and after that point can recall much of my Jewish Journey. 
In 1945 the south end was considered an upscale area. By this time my father had a men and ladies clothing shop in the Time Bldg. on Portage Ave. My mother still had her shop, Sandra’s. Our family grew with the addition of my brother Frederick (Fred). 

clockwise from top left: Sandra’ sister Marcia, Sandra, Sandra’s brother Fred, and her mother


Our home on Oxford Street had several Jewish families. The school that I attended for grade one had very few Jewish kids. It was at the time that my parents decided it was time for my Jewish education to begin. There was not a synagogue in the area, but there was talk of the Shaarey Zedek, which we belonged to moving to the south end. So, as I entered grade two, my Jewish education began, and I attended after school Hebrew classes on Mondays and Wednesdays.  The other 2 days were for the students in grades four to six. The classes were held in the basement of a home in the area.  
My recollections of those days are quite clear. The kosher butcher delivered twice a week. Since my parents both worked, we had a housekeeper who was an excellent cook. On Friday nights we often had company for dinner. I was Jewish, went to Hebrew school had a strong sense of my religion, but attended the synagogue only on the High Holidays and celebrated other important holidays such as Pesach and of course, Chanukah.  

Sandra (left) with her sister-in-law Susan Caplan


In 1949 my sister Marcia was born. In 1950 my father won the Irish Sweepstake. It was a grand sum of $39,500.00. I tried to translate it to today’s dollar. My thinking was that our home at that time cost $12,500.00. We could have bought 3 homes. That large home today of 4 bedrooms, a den and a finished basement could be worth $800,000. So, I estimate it was like winning  $2, 400.000.00 today. With this fortune my father bought property on Portage Ave and built Fredric’s, a large store that sold ladies and men’s wear, sportswear, lingerie, had tuxedo rentals and had a bridal shop on the mezzanine floor. 
It was about this time that the synagogue in the south end of town opened. It was a beautiful building on the river. I was able to attend Hebrew school here. It was a gathering place for Jewish children. I was a brownie and a girl scout, and both these activities were at the synagogue. 
At that time the synagogue was the center of my Jewish and social life. In 1952 I had a Bat Mitzvah. This was a new ceremony at the conservative Shaarey  Zedek  synagogue. It was held on a Friday night. The Bat Mitzvah celebrant wore a loose, blue satin mid length long sleeved gown. It had a round collar and a white bow at the collar. I recall standing in front of the ark and reciting a prayer that started—O God and God of my Fathers. With grateful heart I stand before thee—. I also recited a haftorah which began-Vah yishlach Shlomo el Hiram laimor. Atah yadatah—. Obviously, I rehearsed this many times so that sixty-one years later I can still remember a small portion. After the service there was a reception in the social hall. We had party sandwiches, a Winnipeg specialty and favorite to this day, dainties as referred to by non Winnipeggers as squares and cookies and luscious cakes and cookies. Winnipeg Bar and Bat Mitzvah tables are well known in Canadian Jewish circles as are our baking is renowned. I can even remember several gifts that I received. A glass duck with a filling of bubble bath and a small wooden chest filled with note paper and envelopes. I still have that chest today. It was a glorious and happy celebration and did not end my Hebrew studies. 
I continued going to Hebrew school until I was confirmed at the age of fifteen. For that ceremony I received a white leatherbound prayer book for the High Holidays which I still have today. When I was a teenager, I sang in the synagogue choir on Shabbat and the High Holidays. Our synagogue had a choir loft which was curtained and on the second floor behind the ark. We had about 20 members led by a choir master. 
In Winnipeg in 1956 you could enter University after grade eleven, which I chose to do. So, I was sixteen when I enrolled at the University of Manitoba. Everyone with a few exceptions stayed at home to go to university. In those days we had one Jewish sorority, Iota Alpha Pi which I joined and became the president of in my second year of university. We also had 3 Jewish fraternities known as the Sammies, Zebes and Apes. I took Commerce but did not get my BCom because at the end of my third year I got my MRS. 
So, this takes me to dating years in Winnipeg.  My friends and I would never think of going out with anyone but a Jewish boy. We all married Jewish boys and married very young. I was nineteen when I married Barry who was a doctor and twenty-six years old. We had a large wedding at the Shaarey Zedek the synagogue that my family attended. Looking back, I feel that I was very young, unworldly leaving my parents to go to Los Angels where Barry would be a resident. I was a young girl in a new and different world! It was a challenge. Our Jewish life as we knew it was at a standstill. I had one Aunt and a few cousins that we could visit and we knew one couple from Winnipeg. There was no time to celebrate holidays and no one to really celebrate with.  
California, however, was a nice place to live. We had no Winnipeg winters to deal with but also had no family to be with. Four years passed quickly, especially since we had two children. A daughter Susan who was born in 1962 and a son Bruce born in 1963. I also was fortunate to work at AT&T for 3 years.  
Although as I previously said we felt like we had lost some of our Jewishness, a Bris was a ceremony that was very important to us. It was up to Barry to make the arrangements. He spoke to some of the Jewish attending doctors at the hospital. He got the name of a mohel and told my mother, who had come to help me, that the mohel had a request. The baby was to wear a cap and gown. I had no knowledge of Brises and my mother thought this was a little odd. However, we were in the United States. Traditions could be different. When Bruce was 4 days old a cousin came to babysit while my mother and I went shopping for a cap and gown. We found Christening gowns and other outfits for babies. Nothing was suitable for a Bris. I heard of a store in Long Beach that perhaps could help us in our search. I had never been to Long Beach but with directions managed to find the store. We found what we thought was a perfect outfit. It was a white cotton Carters gown that was tied at the bottom with a matching bonnet that was tied under the baby’s neck. The day of the Bris arrived and we met the Mohel. His first question to Barry was “did you bring my cap and gown from the hospital”. As an excited father Barry was so happy to find a Mohel he heard only the cap and gown and assumed it was for the baby. Fortunately, we lived a few minutes from the hospital and Barry was able to ge the cap and gown for the Mohel. Later the Mohel remarked that he thought the baby’s outfit was a little strange. Our first, but certainly not our last adventure with our son. 
In 1963 we returned to Winipeg and a whole new Jewish Journey for me was established. Barry had a very large, observant family on his maternal and paternal side. So, I became immersed in all the Jewish culture of his family. My side of the family was small, and we were not as close as the Caplan/Stall family. I was twenty-three. A mother of two, naive, inexperienced and the product of a sheltered life. How did I survive? I guess that necessity was a factor. We adapted to life in the city, made friends, and carried on. The Caplan family belonged to the synagogue in the north end of town. My family belonged to the synagogue in the south end. Until our daughter Susan was twelve, we went to Rosh Pina with the Caplans. One incident that I clearly remember took place on the High Holidays in about 1969. We never joined the synagogue as Barry’s parents looked after our High Holiday tickets and with Barry’s work schedule as a Urologist who was on call every third weekend and every third of fourth night, he was not able to commit to going to shule. To get back to the holiday service the Rabbi spoke about membership in the synagogue and its importance in Jewish life. I felt he was looking directly at me as he made this appeal. On the way home I said to Barry that we must join the synagogue. It is a priority in our lives. As Susan’s Bat Mitzvah approached, I had a problem. Our children attended Ramah day school but lessons for your Bar /Bat Mitzvah and the ceremony, took place at the synagogue that you belonged to. In my mind I had no choice. To drive twice a week to the north end when it could be very cold, icy streets and a huge distance of a half hour was beyond my scope of reality. So, we joined the south end Shaarey Zedek Synagogue. Our son Bruce had his Bar Mitzvah in 1976 at the Shaarey Zedek and our son David  who was born in 1971 completed this cycle. 
While raising my family I was involved in Hadassah and National Council of Jewish Women. I became president of the chapters that I belonged to and was actively involved in both. I also volunteered at the Shaarey Zedek in a lunch program for seniors. Being in shule, whether as a volunteer or at a service or program was always an important part of my life. When my husband Barry retired in December 1999 we started coming to St. Petersburg for the winter. One of our first projects was to find a conservative synagogue. How fortunate we were to discover CBI.When we got home that spring, we started going to service every Saturday and this continued until Barry’s passing. I continued to attend until Covid and the two-year remodeling of our synagogue began. Our renovations are almost complete, and my family and I will be able to return to our beloved Shaarey Zedek for the holidays this year and I will return to my weekly Saturdays at shule. 
Jewish holidays are a special time in our family. Last Rosh Hashanah my daughter Susan and I continued the family tradition of a luncheon on the first day of the holiday. This was held at her home. How wonderful that first to fourth cousins, machatunim and those close to the family gather to enjoy this holiday. I have been in touch with a cousin in Winnipeg to check on the first Seder for this year. My children are coming to Winnipeg from Vancouver, and we look forward to enjoying the Seder with the extended family again. This year we will probably have thirty attending but often there are many more.  
When I speak of the synagogue and the importance of it in our family life, I cannot help but think of the day of Barry’s passing. I came into his hospital room and his first word was shule. I immediately called the synagogue, spoke to Rabbi Green and within a half hour he was at Barry’s bedside, singing and reciting prayers. How fortunate we are to have a religion and a life that makes us feel involved, loved and able to pass away in what we would consider a dignified and peaceful manner. As I write these words tears stream down my face and I realize how fortunate I am to have been born Jewish. 
I truly feel that I could end my Jewish Journey here, but life goes on after the loss of loved ones. For six and a half years I have been a widow. My friends hate that word, but I can’t say that I am alone. That is not true. I have a wonderful family, friends and a full life. I come to Florida for the winter, I can travel with my daughter, I visit my children and grandchildren in Vancouver, I enjoy the cultural life in my two favorite cities and much more.  
I feel that life has been good to me. I have three children, six grandchildren, many friends, good health and the ability to enjoy life. I have truly been blessed. 

family photo taken October 11, 2019
BACK ROW L – R: Sheri Winters, Bruce Caplan, Sandra Caplan, Susan Billinkoff, David Caplan, Cindy Switzer
Front Row  L – R:   Asher Billinkoff, Maia Caplan, Annie Caplan, Layla Switzer-Caplan, Max Switzer Caplan, Jordan Billinkoff
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Features

The Leica Camera Family and the Shoah

By DAVID TOPPER I was born in 1943 in Pittsburgh, steel-town USA. While I was still in diapers, across the Atlantic Ocean, the Shoah was well under way. The mass murder continued, only coming to an end due to Germany’s defeat in the Second World War. My father was in that war, spending over two years in the Army Signal Corps on the other side of the world – on a small island in the South Pacific. He didn’t kill any Japanese soldiers; the US Marines had already “liberated” the island before he arrived. Being in the Signal Corps, he must have heard the radio contact with the airplanes on the nearby island of Tinian, on those two days in August of 1945 when they took off carrying the nuclear bombs that ended the war with Japan. By the time he came home in March 1946, I was a toddler. He resumed his job at one of the steel companies, where he held a clerical position.

My father was what was called in those days a camera buff. He liked to take pictures and develop the film himself. He built a darkroom in the basement, and it was there that I learned the craft. Initially he just had a simple box camera: point and click. But he always talked about getting a real camera someday: where he could set the aperture, speed, and focus himself. His salary at the steel company was not enough to get an expensive camera, such as a Leica. Although he did talk about these German cameras; they were top of the line 35mm roll film cameras, with the 1/1.5 aspect ratio negatives. I remember looking at them in the photography magazines he bought. Owning a Leica was a fantasy. This was when I was still very young.

I vividly recall the day he bought a real camera. I was around the age of nine, or maybe older. He saw an ad in the for-sale section of the newspaper: someone was selling a Rolleiflex camera, the twin-lens reflex camera using 120 roll film with 2¼ x 2¼ inch square negatives. The Rolleiflex had hit the market in 1929 and quickly set the standard for medium-format photography, in competition with the popular 4 x 5 inch press camera.

I went with my father somewhere on the other side of Pittsburgh. The man had been on a business trip to Germany, where he bought the camera. But he was selling it because he was frustrated with the need to focus, set the speed and such. He just wanted a box camera: point and click. So, my father bought it.

Since the specific camera my father bought was not only made in Germany but had been sold there, all the writing on it was in German. My father loved the camera. He said it produced exceptional images. He believed the lens was so good because it was made only for Germans themselves. At the time I believed this; as I believed everything he said at that age in my life. Now I think otherwise.

It was around this time that my father joined the camera club at the steel company where he worked. There were monthly meetings, as I recall. He was an active member; even the president at one time. Occasionally he took me to a meeting. And that’s where I met Carl, whose last name I can’t recall. So, why mention him? Because Carl owned a Leica. He was the only member of the club to have a Leica. Carl probably had a much higher paying job than my father and the other guys at the steel company. (And, by the way, they were all guys; except for the models. But that’s another story for another day, not relevant here.) Anyway, Carl had a Leica; and he even let me hold it, as long as I kept the strap around my neck. Whether I actually snapped a picture with it – I don’t recall. Probably not. But it was a highlight of my time at the club. Now, before you jump ahead: no, I didn’t buy a Leica, ever.

But I did get a Rolleiflex – or Rollei, for short. Here’s how. My father’s love affair with the camera didn’t last. The catalyst for the change was when cameras started coming out with built-in light-meters. No longer did you have to fiddle around with the light-meter hanging around your neck, pointing it to the subject, and then setting the camera’s shutter and aperture. It was all built-in; you adjusted the setting directly on the camera. And so, my father bought another newer Rolleiflex; this one with a built-in light-meter.

He then sold me his German Rollei. Yes, you read correctly: he sold it to me. My father grew up during the Depression in the 1930s, and this was the source of such behaviour. I was older at this time – somewhere in my teenage years – and I had a paper route, so I could afford it. I don’t recall the price; and I’m sure I got a good deal – he was my father, after all – but still.

I, in turn, loved the camera – even though I had to use a hand-held light-meter. It was my only camera for many, many decades of my life.

One more thing, before I get to the role of the Leica in the Shoah. As I write this, I’m living in Canada. I moved here in August 1970 to begin what turned out to be a 42-year tenure as a university professor. Moving from the USA to Canada was an adjustment in many ways. For example, the role of the monarchy here was a novelty for me. I mention this because I was pleased to learn that the Queen, who was head of state at the time, owned a Leica.

The name comes from the owner of the factory in the city of Wetzlar, in south-west Germany, near Frankfurt. Here is where the first prototype camera was invented in 1914; a camera that used 35mm film. Before that, photographers had to use bulky wooden boxes with large glass plates. The factory was the Ernst Leitz Optische Werke; in other words, the optical plant of Ernst Leitz. The First World War delayed production of the invention, but by 1925 the first Leica camera debuted at the Leipzig Spring Fair. For the name they combined the words Leitz and Camera and got Lei-ca – or Leica. (Note that they used the Latinized, camera, not the German, kamera.) Thus, was introduced the portable 35mm camera that led to everyday street photography and photojournalism, such the famous images of Henri Cartier-Bresson, and others. Subsequent models over the next decades introduced the rangefinder, better lenses, extended shutter speeds, and so forth. The Leica M3 of 1954 is called by AI: “one of the greatest mechanical cameras ever built.” Fortunately, for the average photographer, there subsequently were other 35mm cameras introduced at considerably lower prices by Kodak and Argus in the USA, with more coming later from Japan.

All of this paralleled the development of the Twin-Lens Rolleiflex, which my father and I owned. The Rollei is another example of German precision engineering. Franke & Heidecke in Braunschweig, Germany is where the first Rolleiflex hit the market in 1929. The model went through many changes over the decades, so that up to the 1960s, also according to AI: “the Rolleiflex was the undisputed king of photojournalism, street photography, and portraiture.” I’ll leave that topic where it is.

Now I want to get to the point of all this background discussion of photography. Namely: the account of the family-owned Leica business in Germany under the Nazis. It started in 1933 when Adolf Hitler became chancellor, and the government passed the Nuremberg laws, which institutionalized racial discrimination and stripped German Jews of their citizenship.Subsequently, Jewish professionals—doctors, lawyers, professors, and business owners—were gradually barred from their livelihoods and public life.

At the time, Ernst Leitz II (1871-1956) was head of the firm. The Leitz family were Protestant Christians. Their attitude toward their workers was progressive for the time: with pensions, sick leave, and health insurance. The firm also employed many Jews in various positions, from workers to the professional staff. Seeing the writing on the wall in 1933, many Jewish employees and their families wanted to leave Germany. The company also had offices elsewhere: London, Paris, New York, and Hong Kong. In a short while, the ocean liner Bremen was docking in New York harbour, and Leitz employees and their families were being escorted to the Leitz Manhattan Office. Every few weeks, under the guise of being assigned overseas, another group of Leitz “employees” arrived in the harbour. Each German employee had a Leica camera hanging around his neck. Until a position was found for him, he was paid a stipend. Eventually they all found jobs, mainly in the photography industry.

The same thing happened in the other offices outside of Germany, especially after Kristallnacht in November 1938, as synagogues and Jewish shops were torched across Germany. Thus, many Jewish employees and their families (and even Jewish friends of families) were assigned jobs in sales offices in London, Paris, and Hong Kong, where they too escaped the Shoah.

This continued until September 1939, when Germany closed its borders, after the invasion of Poland and the start of the Second World War. By then hundreds of Jews had left on what was later called “the Leica Freedom Train.” It was all a ruse to save Jews from the Shoah. We don’t know the exact number; but it ranges from 100-300 lives saved.

Ernst Leitz II was able to pull this off because he was not only a respected member of the business community, but his factory was also producing military optics, rangefinders, and telescopic sights essential to the German military. As long as the military was getting what they needed from Leitz’s factory, there was no reason to question the way he was moving his employees around the world.

In general, this was true. But not always. One executive was jailed for helping Jews leave the country. He was eventually freed, after Ernst paid a large bribe.

But worse was to come. Since many of the workers at the Leitz factory were drafted as soldiers in the war, the place lacked workers to keep it running. Between 1940 and 1945, the Nazi government sent approximately 700 to 800 women from the Ukraine and Western Russia as slave labourers. This is where Ernst’s daughter, Elsie Kühn-Leitz (1903-1985), comes in. Elsie had a Doctorate in Law from Frankfort University, as well as degrees in business administration. She was married to Knut Kühn, with whom she had three children. Working for the Leitz company, she treated the women well, providing them with sufficient food, clothing, and living quarters – for which she was reprimanded by the Nazi authorities. Nonetheless, she refused to treat them as slaves.

Then in May 1943 she was asked to help a Jewish woman, Hedwig Palm, escape to Switzerland. Hedwig Palm (née Dessauer, born 1888) was the wife of Hermann Palm, an optician and photo equipment dealer who owned an optical shop in Wetzlar, and who had business connections with the Leitz family. Hedwig apparently was the only Jew in the family. Elsie had an aunt in Munich, not far from the border with Switzerland. So, in the dead of night Elsie safely took Hedwig to her aunt’s home. With a map and some money that Elsie gave her, Hedwig next set off toward the Swiss border. Unfortunately, she got lost and hailed a milk truck. Assuming she was a Jew, the driver drove her to the border police. From documentation that I found in the Yad Vashem, Hedwig was arrested and sent to the Ravensbrück women’s concentration camp, where she died in 1944. Incidentally, the Palm store is still there in Wetzlar. You may find its website under Juwelier Palm, specializing in jewelry, watches, and goldsmithing.

When the Gestapo found out that Elsie had helped Hedwig try to cross the border, she was called in for questioning for several hours. Her humane treatment of the Ukrainian women also came up: what the Gestapo called: “excessive humanitarianism.” Ultimately, she was sent to the Frankfort police prison on September 10, 1943. As she hugged her children good-by, she thought that she would never see them again. The conditions in the jail were sub-human. Minimal food, filthy quarters, bug infested – plus she was sporadically manhandled roughly by the staff. What food her father was able to get to her – she shared with her fellow prisoners. At one point the Gestapo were threatening her with deportation to the Ravensbrück concentration camp. It lasted three months until November 28, 1943, when her father paid a very large ransom to the Gestapo to have Elsie released. Even so, the Gestapo kept an eye on her, often calling her in for interrogation. This continued until the end of March 1945, when American tanks rolled into Wetzlar.

After the War, Elsie and Knut divorced and she got actively involved in humanitarian and diplomatic work, mainly in Africa. She particularly supported the work of Albert Schweitzer’s hospital in Lambaréné, Gabon, even paying a visit in June 1959.

In general, the Leitz family wanted no publicity for all this work in saving Jews. It was only after that generation died out, that the full story came out. And this happened mainly because of the following event.

Like many stories from the Shoah, there are often several layers to them. That’s true for this one too; for I note the following fact. In 1988, surviving labourers and Shoah survivor-groups initiated class-action lawsuits in U.S. and European courts against dozens of major German industrial firms. The Leica Company was one of them, having used women from the Ukraine and Western Russia during the war. In 1999, a Compensation Fund was set up by the government; Leica, along with other German companies, paid into a collective multi-billion-mark fund, as compensation for slave labourers (or their surviving heirs) across Eastern Europe, Israel, the USA, and elsewhere. This may explain Leitz family’s reticence for publicity about their efforts during the war.

Note that Elsie, who died 1985, didn’t have to deal with this. But her children surely did.

Finally, I mentioned before the famous street photographer and artist, Henri Cartier-Bresson, who wrote the well-known book The Decisive Moment (1952), and who incidentally, used Leica cameras. He knew Elsie, and wrote this tribute about her. “I knew Elsie Leitz well and she always welcomed me warmly…when I visited Wetzlar. I was very impressed by her passionate concern for international humanitarian causes, and by the great risks she took during the war to save many people who were in danger. I remember her with deep admiration.” This affirmation forms the Introduction to the book: Elsie’s War: A Story of Courage in Nazi Germany, by (Rabbi) Frank Dabba Smith (Frances Lincoln Ltd, 2003).

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Features

Myths and Reality: Are There Winning Strategies at Online Casinos?

Ask around, and everyone seems to have a theory. Plenty of Turkish players hunting for a fast, stable way into their favorite games lean on Pinco giriş to sign in, poke around the lobby, and see which offers are live that week. Then comes the real question, the one nobody quite lets go of.

Can a person actually beat the house long term? Short answer, said plainly: not reliably. To back that up, Pinco Сasino breaks down how these games are wired and why clever-sounding systems keep falling apart the moment real money is involved.

Where the Myths Come From

Here is the thing about casino myths. They almost never start with data. Someone wins big on a random Tuesday, tells the story twice, and a lucky fluke quietly turns into a “method.” Ads nudge it along. Forums repeat it. Newcomers testing Pinco giris often show up already half-convinced of a few of these.

The usual suspects:

  • A machine is “due” after a long cold streak.
  • Doubling bets after a loss will win it all back.
  • Some hours of the night pay out better than others.
  • The last spin somehow hints at the next one.

Not one of them survives a close look. Every round stands alone. A clock does not care, and a losing streak has no memory. Players who accept that early tend to keep both their patience and their cash.

What the Math Actually Says

There is a number behind every game: the house edge. It is just the slice the operator expects to keep over time. One session? It predicts nothing. Ten thousand rounds? It shows up like clockwork. Folks who reach Pinco Сasino giriş usually relax and enjoy things more once that figure stops feeling like a trick.

House Edge in Plain Terms

The table gives a rough picture of how game types stack up. Exact numbers move around depending on the rules and the studio behind them.

Game TypeTypical House EdgeSkill Involved
Slots3% – 10%Very low
Roulette2.7% – 5.3%Low
Blackjack0.5% – 2%Moderate
Video Poker0.5% – 3%Moderate

So skill-based games attract strategic players, while slots remain a pure coin flip. Still, that edge never hits zero. The house keeps its sliver over the long haul, no exceptions. Reading the numbers first helps players expect the truth rather than a fairy tale.

Smart Habits That Reduce Risk

Real strategy has nothing to do with cracking the odds. It comes down to control, a budget, and picking games with a clear head. Some regulars keep the Pinco APK close so they can monitor spending and session time right from their phones.

A handful of habits actually move the needle:

  • Decide on a budget before the first bet, then quit when it is gone.
  • Lean toward lower-edge games when the plan is a long session.
  • Think of bonuses as extra minutes, never as promised profit.
  • Step away often, because tired choices get expensive.

A Pinco promosyon kodu might stretch a bankroll a bit, sure. It still does not touch the underlying math. What these habits really protect is the fun, so the whole thing stays a hobby and not a chase.

The Honest Bottom Line

No secret formula exists. Anyone peddling one is selling a story, nothing more. What Pinco pushes instead is calm, responsible play built on firm limits and goals a person can live with. That habit outlasts any hot streak.

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The Blackjack Bet Behind the Everyday Phrase Double Down

Imagine sending a terrible pun to someone you fancy. They laugh, so you send another. Soon, the two of you have a running joke, and a friend says you have doubled down on the cheesy approach.

The words sound at home in that exchange. They also fit a chief executive’s plans or a politician’s speech. In each case, someone puts more weight behind a choice they have already made. Whether that sounds charming, sensible or stubborn depends on the choice, and on who is describing it.

How the Phrase Left the Card Table

Double down comes from blackjack, where it names a betting option recorded in print by the late 1940s.

Today, it appears in business talk, political speeches and dating conversations, far beyond any online casino. The gambling connection deserves a reminder: gambling involves financial risk, and anyone who participates should set spending and time limits and seek support if it causes harm.

By 1991, Joseph Epstein was using the expression figuratively in his essay collection A Line Out for a Walk. It offered a way to describe taking a further risk outside gambling.

The meaning continued to broaden. Merriam-Webster includes becoming more determined in a position or undertaking. Dictionary.com describes increasing effort or holding to an opinion, especially under pressure.

Those definitions cover actions as well as arguments. Someone might spend more time developing a promising project, or defend a disputed view more firmly. The words leave room for both.

A Business Reason to Keep Going

Jeff Bezos supplied an example in his 2016 shareholder letter, released in April 2017. Writing about patient experimentation and attention to customers, the Amazon founder advised readers to “double down when you see customer delight”.

In the published letter, that advice sits alongside accepting failures, planting seeds and protecting young ideas. The sequence gives the expression a purpose: allow ideas to develop, notice what customers appreciate, then give those ideas more support.

Here, doubling down sounds considered. A positive response supplies the reason for doing more.

The phrase also does useful work without attaching a figure to the decision. It conveys increased effort while leaving the details to the situation. Picture a team finding that customers value a particular service and deciding to develop it further. The expression gives that decision a sense of confidence.

Put the same decision in a political argument, though, and someone may question the direction.

When Determination Becomes a Criticism

In his January 24, 2012 State of the Union address, Barack Obama described other countries as doubling down on education. The official transcript places the phrase in a discussion of teachers, skills and preparation for future employment.

Education was something to back more strongly. Obama’s wording gave added effort an approving tone.

Later that year, Bill Clinton used the expression against an opposing economic approach. His prepared remarks for the Democratic National Convention included “double down on trickle-down”, a line whose repeated sounds helped carry the criticism.

The contrast is revealing. Obama presented greater commitment as desirable; Clinton made it part of his objection. Both used the expression to describe pressing further along an existing path.

That difference helps explain why the phrase works in news and commentary. It can describe what someone is doing while also suggesting how the speaker feels about it. The judgement comes through the surrounding words, something readers can recognise in personal conversations too.

What It Sounds Like in Dating

Bumble brings the expression into familiar dating territory in its guidance for people recovering after ghosting. It encourages readers to double down on self-care, directing their energy towards their own wellbeing.

Psychologist Cheryl Harasymchuk uses it differently in an article published by Carleton University. Discussing positive relationship experiences, she gives the example of a couple following an enjoyable date night with more opportunities to spend time together.

These are gentler uses than Clinton’s political jab. One concerns looking after yourself; the other concerns making room for something you enjoy as a couple. Both give stronger effort an everyday, recognisable purpose.

They also show why the words following double down matter. Self-care, education and a disputed policy lead the reader towards different judgements about persistence.

Back in that imaginary message exchange, another awful pun might be welcome because both people are enjoying the joke. The shared response makes continuing it feel playful and personal.

That brings the expression back to ordinary conversation. Double down tells us that someone is committing more strongly. The rest of the story tells us what to make of it.

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