Features
The very talented Matas brothers
By GERRY POSNER With all of the families in Winnipeg that have produced remarkable children in a variety of ways, surely one family that would rank right up at the top would be the Matas family. In this particular case, I refer to the three sons of Harry and Esther Matas. (The other Matas groups have also achieved much, but I am limited in space to cover all of them). The three sons of Dr. & Mrs. Matas – David, Manny and Robert have all reached some rather lofty levels in their respective fields and in fact, still continue to do so even to this day.
I suppose you would have to be asleep not to be aware of David Matas. It seems that singlehandedly he has taken on the cause of defending human rights around the world and has been a force in the pursuit of justice against former Nazis. His work is truly overwhelming in its depth and scope. In fact, there really is not enough paper to cover all of his accomplishments. Let’s start with the fact that in David Matas, you have a Winnipeg-born graduate from the University of Manitoba with a BA, a Master of Arts from Princeton, a Bachelor of Arts (Jurisprudence ) from the University of Oxford, and later a Bachelor of Civil Law. He is also a Barrister of the Middle Temple United Kingdom and, of course, a member of the Manitoba Bar. That was but the beginning for Matas. Matas served as a law clerk to the Chief Justice of Canada (a rather exceptional assignment ), became a special assistant to the Solicitor General of Canada and from there has continued on a path to what might be called achieving justice. He spent some years teaching at McGill as well at the University of Manitoba.
But it has been Matas’ work in human rights, his significant involvement in attacking the organ harvesting in China and his work for B’nai Brith in seeking justice for the victims of the Holocaust that has occupied David Matas over more than 30 years. The organizations that Matas has served in his human rights work are numerous and yet all, vital. His reach is extensive in terms of this work wherever there are abuses he uncovers.
In 2006, Matas along with former Winnipegger David Kilgour released the well known Kilgour-Matas report detailing the over 40,000 transplants of organs that had been harvested from members of the Falun Gong in China. In fact, so impressive was their work that both Kilgour and Matas were nominated in 2010 for a Nobel Peace Prize. I am hard pressed to come up with other Winnipeggers who have reached such an illustrious status. Moreover, he has been legal counsel to B’nai Brith for years, has brought to the attention of the Canadian Government and later prosecuted former Nazis living in Canada. For all of his contributions in so many areas to Canada, he was made a member of the Order of Canada. What I suggest stands out about David Matas is that with all that he has done, it has been done not for fame, not for money, and not for power, but just for the sake of bettering the world.
David went into law, but his brother Manuel went into medicine. Manny received his M.D. from the University of Manitoba and later a diploma in Psychiatry from McGill University. He became a clinical psychiatrist whose career spanned 42 years prior to his retirement. For most of his career, he worked in university teaching hospitals in Toronto and Winnipeg. He also worked for the Scarborough Board of Education. He was Medical Director of Adult Outpatient Psychiatry at the St. Boniface General Hospital for many years, as well as acting head of the Department of Psychiatry at the same hospital for several years. His subspecialty was ADHD. Manny was Associate Professor in the Department of Psychiatry in the Faculty of Medicine at the University of Manitoba. He published many articles in peer-reviewed psychiatric journals and was a frequent presenter at national psychiatric conferences. After working at the St. Boniface Hospital for 20 years, he went into private practice with an office in the Medical Arts Building.
And, not to be forgotten, try this out” His book, “The Borders of Normal: A Clinical Psychiatrist De- Stigmatizes Paranormal Phenomena” was a #1 Amazon Best Seller in two categories: Parapsychology and Unexplained Mysteries. It was also a Whistler Independent Book Awards Finalist. This book, which received rave reviews, delves into many different aspects of the paranormal including dreams that come true, telepathy, ESP, visions, premonitions and near death experiences. Matas drew on his experience as a psychiatrist to examine the paranormal phenomena which, he claims, are in fact normal aspects of being human. Aside from all of that, Manny is a photographer, portrait artist and public speaker, father and grandfather.
Try growing up as the third brother with all of that around you. Robert Matas did just that and chartered his own course. Following receipt of an Honours degree from the University of Manitoba in Philosophy and a year spent at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, Robert spent some eight years with the now defunct Winnipeg Tribune, both as a city hall reporter and later a provincial affairs reporter.
From 1980 through 2012, Matas became very well known for his work with the Globe and Mail in Toronto from 1980-88 and later in Vancouver from 1988-2012. Believe it or not, he had more than 5, 000 bylined articles in that paper over his career. During his time with the Globe, he served as the BC Bureau Chief, Western Canadian Desk Editor, National Correspondent, columnist, investigative reporter, feature writer and political reporter. Matas also provided commentary for radio stations in both Canada and the US. He also contributed to a book about government surveillance. In short, Matas was a serious journalist who covered local, provincial and national issues. Since retiring from the Globe in 2012, Robert has involved himself as a commissioner on the Vancouver City Planning Commission, also as a member of the City of Vancouver Independent Election Task Force. He has even co-edited a 50-page booklet on UBC’s 100 -year relationship with China. That might be something the Trudeau government might want to look at these days.
There they were in the 1950s – three Jewish boys growing up on Waterloo Street, just south of Corydon. Harry and Esther Matas may have had a glimmer of the future that lay ahead for their sons, but I believe they would be more than amazed at the heights the trio has achieved. The nachas is well deserved and, although Harry and Esther are not around to see this success, those of us that have any connection to any of the Matas brothers or even for those that do not, we can surely share the joy.
And, in fact, if you were to read the Matas family history which you can find online by Googling “Matas Family Winnipeg”, you would find a lengthy story about the extended Matas family, including grandparents Simon and Anna Matas and Max and Rose Steiman.
Their grandsons have done them proud. Best of all, the boys are very connected to one another and feel part of a large family network that includes children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews and now great -nieces and great-nephews, along with many close cousins.
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.