Features
The Davidson Institute at the Weizmann Institute is playing a huge role in advancing an appreciation for the study of science

By BERNIE BELLAN Dr. Liat Ben-David is a scientist who has devoted a good part of her life to educating people about science.
Having graduated with a degree in Molecular Biology from the Weizmann Institute of Science in Rehovot, Israel, in 1991, for the past seven years Dr. Ben-David has been CEO of the Davidson Institute, which is the educational arm of the Weizmann Institute.
A fourth-generation sabra, Dr. Ben-David speaks flawless English without a trace of a Hebrew accent, although I made the mistake of asking her whether she was originally from the US since, if she hadn’t corrected me, I would have sworn she was either American or Canadian-born.
Dr. Ben-David was in Canada recently to speak at an event in Toronto sponsored by the Weizmann Institute focusing on the power of science education to help foster resiliency in children and youth. She took time out from her busy schedule to participate in a Zoom call during which she explained what the Davidson Institute is all about – and how science education has come to play an even more important role in the lives of many Israelis over the past 11 months than it had previously.
To begin with, here is some information about the Davidson Institute taken from the Weizmann Institute website: “The Davidson Institute of Science Education is a non-profit organization that serves as the educational arm of the Weizmann Institute of Science. We believe in connecting people to science, and therefore we initiate, organize and operate a wide range of educational programs. We strive to be a professional epicenter for students, parents and the general public, as well as for teachers and academics, in both government and education.”
“We create activities for all sectors of Israeli society,” Dr. Ben-David explained. Not only is “science education part of our mission,” she continued, “we believe it is part of our responsibility to create a more logical society for everyone.”
There are “three components of scientific literacy” that the Davidson Institute promotes, Dr. Ben-David said: “knowledge, skills, and values.”
“You have to know which values you want to strengthen,” she noted, “so we can help make better lives.”
To that end, the Davidson Institute has made inroads into all facets of Israeli society. “We try to engage everyone in Israel,” Dr. Ben-David says. “We work in both Hebrew and Arabic.”
The Weizmann Institute -and through its education arm, the Davidson Institute, is involved in practically all areas of scientific endeavour. If you look at the Davidson Institute website (https://davidson.weizmann.ac.il/en) you will find articles on a dizzying range of subjects – from spacewalks to head surgeries in Ancient Egypt, to childhood mental disorders and so on, all written in an easy-to-understand English. You won’t be intimidated into thinking this is way too academic to understand.
The goal of the Davidson Institute is to inspire people to view science as a relevant part of their lives, Dr. Ben-David said. Educators from the institute go out to even the most remote communities in Israel, as well as make deliberate efforts to target “at-risk youths.”
Our goal is to “build esteem and self-confidence” within those young people, she explained, many of whom have dropped out of school.
While not all of them will succeed, the Davidson Institute has had a “40% success rate” in getting those drop-outs to return to school, Dr. Ben-David added.
“Science is a healing tool,” she observed.
Now, more than ever, since life in Israel has been so disrupted as a result of everything that has happened since October 7, educators from the Davidson Institute have been dealing with new challenges.
“During the past year, unfortunately, we have found ourselves working with displaced families” who have had to leave their homes” as a result of the Hamas attacks of Oct. 7th on the south as well as the attacks posed by Hezbollah in the north, Dr. Ben-David observed. “We are giving them some sense of normality and stability.”
For instance, she noted that “we’ve created seminars at Davidson” where students who have been displaced from their home schools “are given a week where we give them a full blast of science.”
“They work on science projects that are included in matriculation,” Dr. Ben-David explained.
And, educators going out from Davidson aren’t only working with high school students. “We work with kids in elementary schools age 10 and up,” she said, “also with their teachers.”
Those teachers may not have a particular background in science, Dr. Ben-David explained.
Davidson educators also don’t restrict their attention to trained teachers.
“We work with instructors who are not professional teachers on giving them instruction in science,” she noted.
I asked Dr. Ben-David to give me an example in which someone from Davidson has reached out to a child who has been traumatized by what has been happening in Israel since October 7.
She told me of one particular young girl who had been so afraid that she was going to be killed by a missile that she spent the better part of her day hiding under her bed.
Educators from Davidson came to visit the child and found out that she loved Harry Potter books. They “discussed with her the science of Harry Potter magic,” and whether there was something that might actually be plausible about some of the magic.
“At first she just peeked out at us,” Dr. Ben-David continued, “then she started asking questions” – and soon she was fully engaged in talking with the instructors.
The Davidson Institute runs several programs that aim to attract students, both from within Israel and beyond.
For instance, Dr. Ben-David pointed to a “gap year program,” now in its sixth year of existence – for high school graduates where Davidson sends them to remote communities as “science ambassadors.”
And, including during this past year, Davidson also has “several international programs” for students “from all over the world,” she explained. Not only do those students get to do science, “they get to know Israel and each other,” Dr. Ben-David said.
There are still many online programs for students, she noted, including one called “Windows to the Future,” in which “once a month students from all over the world meet a Davidson scientist” online.
“Some countries have approached us to develop different pedagogies,” Dr. Ben-David said. “Covid didn’t stop us; neither did the war.”
I wondered though, whether the trend toward academic boycotts of Israeli institutions of higher learning and, concomitantly, Israeli academics, has had a very adverse effect on Davidson Institute programs that reach out beyond Israel.
“We don’t ignore the elephant in the room,” Dr. Ben-David admitted but, in addition to the “100,000 participants” Davidson Institute programs have in Israel itself – in partnership with most municipalities, we reach another “3 million” from Israel and outside digitally, she said.
While Israel’s image in much of the world has suffered greatly as a result of its war in Gaza, Israel’s reputation as a scientific powerhouse has not diminished – and institutions like the Davidson Institute are serving to maintain that image throughout the world.
Features
I Speak “Jew”

By MARK E. PAULL I grew up in Montreal. Born in 1956. Anglo by birth, sure. But that never quite fit. I don’t speak “Anglo” the way they mean it. My real language is Jew.
And I don’t mean Hebrew or Yiddish. I mean the language of reading the room before you enter it. The code-switching, shame-dodging, laugh-first-so-they-don’t-pounce dialect we pick up early. It’s a language built on side-eyes and timing and ten generations of tension.
I speak French—enough to make myself understood. Enough to charm a dinner table, crack a joke, get someone’s uncle to nod. I’m not fluent, but I’m fast. Doesn’t matter. In Quebec, language isn’t grammar—it’s inheritance. It’s who your grandfather cursed out in a hardware store.
To the Francophones, I’ll never be one of them. My accent betrays me before I say a word. I’m just an Anglo. And not even that, really. Because when the lens tightens, when they look closely, I’m just un Juif. Just a Jew.
And to the Anglos? Same thing. I can wear the suit, speak the Queen’s English, order the wine properly—still a Jew. Even in rooms where I “pass,” I don’t belong. I’m not invited in to be myself. I’m invited in to behave. To be safe. To not say the thing that makes the air stiff.
We’re the only people still called by our religion. No one says “Orthodox” for a Greek. No one says “Vatican” for an Italian. No one calls a Black man “Baptist” before they see his face. But “Jew”? That sticks. That’s the label. Before passport. Before language. Before hello.
I’ve mostly made peace with that. But there’s still this ache—knowing you can live your whole life in a place and never really be from there.
Let me tell you a story.
We had this block party once—the folding-table, paper-plate kind. Kids zipping by on scooters. Music low. Everyone asked to bring something from “your culture.”
The Greek guy brought lemon potatoes and lamb—felt like it came with a side of Byzantine history. The Italians brought two lasagnas—meat and veggie—with basil placed like confetti. The Vietnamese couple brought shrimp rolls that vanished before they hit the table. Even the German guy—built like a fridge—brought bratwurst and a six-pack with gothic lettering.
And then us.
My partner made Moroccan fish. Her grandmother’s recipe. Red with tomatoes, garlic, cumin. Studded with olives and preserved lemon. I brought a bottle of white wine. Dry. Crisp. From the Golan Heights. Not Manischewitz. Not even close.
We laid it out. Someone leaned over: “Moroccan? But I thought you were Jewish.”
We smiled. “We are.”
Then: “So… where’s the brisket? Isn’t Jewish wine supposed to be sweet?”
That’s when it hits you. No matter how long you’ve lived here, how many snowstorms you’ve shoveled through, you’re still explaining yourself. Still translating your presence.
Because they don’t know. They don’t know Jews came from everywhere. That “Jewish” isn’t one dish—it’s a whole map. That we had Jews in Morocco before there was even a France. That some of us grew up on kreplach, some on kefta. That some of our mothers sang in Yiddish, others in Arabic, and some in both—depending on who was knocking.
They don’t know. And worse—they don’t ask.
And that’s the part that gets you. Not the slurs. Not the graffiti. Not even the occasional muttered cliché. It’s the blankness. The shrug. The image they already have of you that’s built out of dreidels and sitcoms.
“Jewish” as nostalgic. As novelty. Something they saw once on a bagel.
Sometimes, when those questions come, I float. One version of me walks out. Another turns into a mouse. One turns into a Frisbee. Just gone. Not mad. Just tired.
Because being a Jew isn’t cute. It’s not nostalgic.
It’s ancient.
Before Montreal.
Before France.
Before Poland. Before Spain.
Before pogroms.
Before ghettos.
Before Hitler.
Before even the word Europe.
We were there.
Go back to the 5th century. 2nd century.
Go back to Jesus—our kid, by the way.
Go further—Babylon. Persia.
Keep going—Temple. Exile. Wandering.
And still, after all that, I’m at a table in Quebec explaining why our fish has cumin in it.
It’s almost funny. If it didn’t wear you down a little.
I’m not looking for pity. This isn’t a complaint.
I’m proud. I know what I carry. I walk into any room with five thousand years behind me. I come from people who kept the lights on through every kind of darkness—and laughed through it, too.
But sometimes, I just wish I didn’t have to explain so much.
All I want is to put down my dish…
…and hear someone say:
“That smells amazing. Tell me the story.”
That’s all.
Mark E. Paull, C.A.C. is a Certified ADHD Coach – IPHM, CMA, IIC&M, CPD Certified
Writer | Lived-Experience Advocate | Type 1 Diabetic since 1967
He has been published in:
The New York Times, The Globe and Mail, Folklife Magazine, Times of Israel, CHADD’s Attention Magazine, The Good Men Project
Features
At 104, Besse Gurevich last original resident of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence

By MYRON LOVE At 104, Besse Gurevich is the last of the original residents of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence. She may also be the oldest member of our Jewish community.
Although her vision and her hearing have diminished considerably, her mind and memory are still intact. A few weeks back, this writer sat down with her in her suite as she recalled a life filled with highs and lows and her many contributions to her community, both in Winnipeg and Fort William before that.
The daughter of Jack and Rebecca Avit, her life’s journey began in 1921 in a home on Carlton Street near Ellice Avenue, near her father’s furniture store. He later operated a cap factory.
When she was ten, the family – she had two brothers and a sister – moved to Manitoba Avenue in the old North End. “My father had put a deposit down on a house on Scotia,” she recalls. “But my parents didn’t feel that the neighbourhood was Jewish enough.”
Her schooling included Peretz School and, like so many of her generation, St. John’s Tech (as it was known back then.) “I was actually supposed to be going to Isaac Newton for high school,” she says. We were living on the wrong side of the tracks for St. John’s. After one day at Isaac Newton, I found a way to transfer to St. John’s.”
In 1940, 19-year-old Bessie Avit married Jack Gurevich, a young man from Fort William. The wedding was marred though, by the sudden, untimely passing of her father.
Following the wedding, Besse moved with her new husband to Fort William where Jack Gurevich worked in retail clothing sales. “We lived in Fort William for 20 years,” she says. “Our three children (Judy, Richard and Howard) were born there.”
She recalls that there were about 200 Jewish families – including her sister and one of her brothers for some years – in town, during the time she lived there. “We were very well known in the community,” she recalls. “I was involved in everything.”
Her community activism continued after the family’s return to her home town. While Jack went to work as a salesman for Western Glove Works, Besse became an indefatigable community volunteer. At one time or another, she served as vice-president of ORT, Hadassah and National Council of Jewish Women in Winnipeg. She was also a long time B’nai Brith member.
In the business world, the highlight of her career was the building of Linden Woods. “I became involved in real estate development for a time,” she recalls. “I was hired by Genstar to develop Linden Woods. The company estimated that it would take about 20 years to complete. I got it done in two.”
She also taught hair dressing for a while. “I worked with many young Jewish brides,” she says.
Recent years have not been kind to Besse Gurevich. Her beloved husband, Jack, died in 2016 – after almost 65 years of marriage. Older son, Richard, passed away in Vancouver in 2018 and, most recently –six months ago – younger son, Howard, followed. She notes that there were 200 mourners at Howard’s funeral.
(Howard Gurevich was in marketing for many years before turning his talents to the art world. In recent years, he was best known for Gurevich Fine Art in the Exchange District and his support of local artists.)
Besse Gurevich celebrated her 100th birthday – which took place at the height of the Covid shutdown – quietly.
While she used to enjoy reading. she is unable to do so any more. She can still listen to television.
And while she has few family members to visit her any more, she does have a group of friends interesting enough from the local theatre scene. For many years, she was a close friend of the late Doreen Brownstone, one of the leading figures in theatre in Winnipeg for more than half a century. Besse became part of the group that would visit Doreen every week and, since Doreen passed on three years ago, the members of the group have continued to visit Besse on a weekly basis.
Features
Winnipeg author’s first novel gripping tale of romance, action and intrigue, set in 15th century Spain and Morocco

By MYRON LOVE “The Chronos of Andalucia”, a novel just released by first-time author Merom Toledano, is a historical romance set in late 15th century Spain and Morocco, filled with passion, action, intrigue, unexpected twists and turns – and, of course, with the requirement of any medieval story – a quest.
The easy-to-read, 190 page book follows the adventures of Catalina, a young woman living by her wits on the streets of Granada in the year 1487, (just after the Christian armies of Ferdinand and Isabella had recaptured all of Spain from the Moors) – while trying to evade the agents of the Inquisition, who had murdered her Jewish mother and Christian father 10 years earlier. She was left with an insatiable desire to learn about astronomy, along with a mysterious map and an astrolabe (an instrument formerly used to make astronomical measurements) – the importance of which will only be unveiled if she can get to the city of Tangier in Morocco.
Early on, there is a reference to Abraham Zacuto, a prominent Spanish rabbi famed for his knowledge of astronomy and astrology.
The action begins when she has a casual interaction with a former Spanish soldier, Diego. When the forces of the Inquisition approach, she flees with the soldier – who is also her love interest – and who helps her to escape. They turn for help to a childhood friend of Catalina’s – Roberta, a nun, who helps them on their perilous journey to Tangier – a journey that includes being captured by pirates, surviving a shipwreck, being separated for a long period of time and, of course, finding each other again and realizing the success of their joint quest.
In his writing, the author paints vivid word pictures of the different characters and beautifully invokes the colour, sights, sounds and scents of the time and the places.
What I found truly remarkable about the writing of “The Chronos of Andalucia” is that English is not Merom Toledano’s first language. The Israeli-born author – he grew up near Haifa – came to Winnipeg with his young family just eight years ago.
“I have had this book in mind for several years now,” says the satellite engineer whose working career takes him to many different parts of the world.
He notes that he has always felt a connection to Spain, Spanish music and literature – a reflection of his family’s modern origins in that country. His great-grandparents, he relates, lived in Toledo – hence the family name, Toledano. His parents lived in Meknes in Morocco while his father attended university in Tangier before making aliyah.
Toledano just published “The Chronos of Andalucia” in April on Amazon. He reports that the book – which is available here at McNally Robinson – has been selling well –close to 100 copies – with orders coming from a bookstore chain in England, a bookstore in Denmark, and one in Italy.
“I have had between 30 and 40 positive reviews so far,” he reports.
Toledano adds that he envisages “The Chronos of Andalucia” to be the first in a series – a la the writer Danielle Steele. He is already working on a sequel – which is hinted at the end of “The Chronos” and, he reports, he is establishing his own independent publishing operation.