Features
The Winnipegger who changed the course of Calgary’s history
By IRENA KARSHENBAUM Calgary is not known for saving its heritage buildings — although some impressive exceptions exist — so when on March 15 a local real estate investment company, Strategic Group, that is not in the business of heritage restoration, announced they will be restoring the city’s most significant Art Moderne building, the news came as a welcome surprise.
Work has begun on the 1951 Barron Building, once the epitome of chic, that for the last dozen years had stood empty and its future uncertain.
In 1947, when oil was discovered in Leduc, which is closer to Edmonton than to Calgary, oil companies could have settled in the provincial capital instead they were lured to Calgary, thanks to the daring of J.B. Barron, a Winnipeg-native, who saw that the city desperately needed office space and built Calgary’s first post-WWII high-rise. Named the Mobil Oil Building initially, in honour of its biggest tenant and located at 610 8 Avenue S.W., John Barron, J.B. Barron’s oldest grandson who, at the age of five, broke ground in 1949 for the construction of the building, remembers that his grandfather was thought of as “crazy” at the time because, “the city was never going to move that far west.”
Calgary had been struggling through a depression over the previous 35 years since the economic collapse in 1913, so it was hard for the naysayers to imagine a different future.
Calgary’s rising fortunes had their beginnings in Winnipeg.
Born in 1863, Joseph Samuel Barron arrived in Winnipeg in 1880 from Kiev. In 1887, he married 18-year-old Kiev-native, Elizabeth Belapolsky, and the couple had two sons, J.B. (Jacob Bell), born in 1888 and, Abraham, who followed in 1889.
Not immune to the gold rush fever that had spread across North America, in 1898 J.S. Barron left behind his family in Winnipeg and headed to Dawson City enduring an arduous journey by climbing through the White Pass on foot, carrying his merchandise on his back.
A lucky few struck it rich during the Klondike Gold Rush, which lasted only from 1896 to 1899, but most did not – J.S. Barron among them. In 1899, when gold was found in Nome, Alaska, people abandoned Dawson City to seek their fortunes in Nome. J.S. Barron remained.
Elizabeth waited for her husband to return and finally, in 1902, set out on a difficult journey with her two young sons. They traveled from Winnipeg to Regina to Calgary to Seattle by train, where they boarded a liner that sailed north to Skagway on the coast of Alaska, then by railroad to Whitehorse, where they boarded the Casca sternwheeler, which sailed on the Yukon River, and finally arrived in Dawson City.
J.B. and Abe were the first graduates of Dawson City High School and, in 1905, while the father remained in the Yukon, headed with their mother to the University of Chicago, where they studied law. Elizabeth supported her sons by sewing dresses for Vaudeville and Yiddish Theatre actresses and cooking for them. Following graduation, in 1911, J.B. Barron came to Calgary at the urging of his uncle, Charlie Bell, who had recently built the King George Hotel (demolished in 1978). Elizabeth and Abe arrived in Calgary the following year.
Even though J.S.’s mercantile business burned down three times, he continued to stay in Dawson City. Elizabeth had to brave another journey to Dawson City to coax her husband to return to his family. The parents eventually joined their sons in Calgary in 1913, but Joseph passed away in 1917. Elizabeth survived him until 1941.
In 1914, J. B. Barron married fellow Winnipeg-native Amelia Helman, daughter of Odessa-born John Louis Helman and Esther Helman (née Finkelstein), from Shumsk, Ukraine. The couple had three sons: William, Robert and Richard. A teacher, Amelia served as president of the Calgary Chapter of Hadassah and was instrumental in bringing Goldie Myerson and Eleanor Roosevelt to the city.
In 1915, J.B. Barron became the first Jewish lawyer in Calgary to be admitted to the bar. Abe passed the bar in 1919 and the two brothers started the law firm, Barron & Barron. By acting as the solicitor for the Allen brothers, a Jewish family that had established a national movie theatre chain, in 1923, J.B. acquired the Allen’s Palace Theatre on 8th Avenue and discovered his calling, as theatre impresario.
In 1924, he brought the violinist, Jascha Heifitz, and pianist, Sergei Rachmaninoff, who played to thrilled audiences. In 1926, he hired newly-arrived Leon Asper to serve as the conductor of the Palace Concert Orchestra, along with his wife, Cecilia, who played the piano. He convinced Crimean-born, Grigori Garbovitsky, who had settled in Winnipeg, to move to Calgary, where the violinist and conductor founded the Calgary Symphony Orchestra. In 1928, however, J.B. Barron lost control of the Palace Theatre.
It took him another nine years before he would own another theatre, the Sherman Grand. Located in the 1912 Lougheed Building — built by Senator Sir James Lougheed, the grandfather of Premier Peter Lougheed — he bought the theatre from the Lougheed family, giving them much-needed cash. The Lougheeds, who once entertained European royalty in their mansion but, since the death of the senator, and being lenient about collecting rent from their tenants to help keep their businesses afloat during the Great Depression, were themselves on the brink of financial ruin.
Owning the Grand gave J.B. Barron not only the opportunity to return to being a theatre impresario — he brought pianist Artur Rubinstein to Calgary in 1942 and 1944 — but the Chicago Style Lougheed Building would serve as a model for his greatest project yet to come.
Located on the corner of 6th Avenue and 1st Street S.W., the 6-floor, mixed-use building contained the Sherman Grand Theatre, retail at street level, offices and a penthouse. When opened in 1912, it was Calgary’s most prestigious corporate address. (By the end of the 20th century the building was in severe decline and only thanks to a devastating fire in 2004 did it galvanize wide-spread civic support for its restoration.) J.B. Barron used this model to build his own mixed-use building with the Uptown Theatre, stores at street level, office space on the second to tenth floors and an eleventh floor containing office space for his business as well a penthouse for him, since he and Amelia were by then separated. The penthouse opened on to a rooftop garden for his dog, Butch.
Completed at a cost of $1.125 million, the Alberta Association of Architects (ASA) listed the Barron Building as Significant Alberta Architecture. The penthouse design was influenced by Frank Lloyd Wright. The rooftop garden won the Vincent Massey Award for excellence in urban planning for a rooftop garden.
The building housed Sun Oil, Shell Oil, Socony Mobil Oil Company and others. New office towers sprung up around it, inspiring the expression, “the oil patch.” (Built so far west, it also inadvertently saved from demolition early 20th century buildings along the eastern section of 8th Avenue that today make up the Stephen Avenue National Historic District.) Calgary’s position as the oil capital of Canada was sealed.
J.B. Barron passed away in 1965. His sons took over the management of the building until 1981, when they sold it to a Swiss family for what is believed to be $6 million. The real estate market soon collapsed and the building was eventually foreclosed. It stood on the market through the mid 1980s until 1992 when Blake O’Brien, a young banker, placed a joke bid of $250,000 at an auction and found himself the accidental owner of the Barron Building and Uptown Theatre.
Under O’Brien, the Uptown Theatre flourished as if a scene out of Cinema Paradiso, while the rest of the building languished empty like a Sicilian village. For years, O’Brien lived with his own dog in the penthouse, filled with 1950s furniture.
In 2005, while attending a Calgary Centre Hadassah meeting, I met Linda Barron (née Rosenthal), a Winnipeg native. When asked if she had a connection to the Barron Building, she explained that it had been built by the grandfather of her husband, John Barron. My relationship with the Barron family grew, along with my research about their extraordinary grandfather and his building.
In 2009, the building was bought by Strategic Group and its future came into question when the company discarded the contents of the penthouse, removed the theatre marquée ,and ripped out the Uptown Theatre.
Between 2007 and 2013, I advocated for the restoration of the Barron Building and Uptown Theatre by writing articles, giving public talks and, in 2012, witing a submission that included placing the building on that year’s National Trust of Canada Top Most Endangered Places List. This advocacy helped raise awareness of the significance of the building. Representatives of Strategic Group attended my talk for Historic Calgary Week in the summer of 2012 and, in the fall of that year, I was invited to meet with Riaz Mamdani, CEO of Strategic Group, who showed me his plans for the building. I asked Mamdani to restore the Barron Building to the highest heritage standards and make it the jewel in his Strategic crown. I left the meeting uncertain that things would end well. Later, a number of groups wrote to provincial and municipal governments and, in 2014, the Government of Alberta ordered a Historic Resources Impact Assessment.
After years of work, on March 15, Strategic Group announced they will be investing $100 million into the restoration and residential conversion of the Barron Building for which they will receive an $8.5 million incentive from the City of Calgary.
Strategic Group’s investment is likely the largest heritage restoration project in Calgary’s recent history and needs to be recognized and celebrated. The Barron Building’s continued life will serve to tell a wild story of fortunes lost and made across space and time.
With files from Daniel Barron and Donald B. Smith.
Irena Karshenbaum is a writer, historian and heritage advocate living in Calgary. www.irenakarshenbaum.com
Features
The Torah on a Lost Dog: Hashavat Aveidah in a Modern Canadian City
A neighbour’s dog wanders into your yard on a Wednesday morning in May, dragging a leash and looking confused. You have a choice. You can close the door and assume someone else will deal with it, call the city, or take a photo, knock on a few doors, and try to find out where he belongs.
For most people in Winnipeg and elsewhere in Canada, that choice plays out in a flash of moral instinct rather than reflection. The hand reaches for the phone and the walk around the block begins. The neighbour, if it goes well, is at the door before lunch. The decision feels minor, but it matters more than it looks.
In Jewish tradition, the act of returning a lost animal sits at the centre of one of the oldest practical commandments in the Torah. Deuteronomy 22, near the end of Parashat Ki Teitzei, contains a passage that has become the foundation for an entire body of Jewish ethical law: “If you see your fellow’s ox or sheep going astray, you shall not hide yourself from them; you shall surely bring them back.” The verse goes on to extend this duty beyond animals to any lost property. “So shall you do with every lost thing of your brother’s which he has lost and you have found.” Then comes the line that has occupied rabbis for two thousand years: “You may not hide yourself.”
The Hebrew name for this mitzvah is hashavat aveidah, the returning of a lost thing. It is one of the more practical commandments in a tradition full of practical commandments, and the rabbinic literature surrounding it is unusually thick.
A small commandment with big implications
The reason hashavat aveidah occupies so much rabbinic attention is that, on closer reading, it sets a high ethical bar. The Talmud, particularly the second chapter of tractate Bava Metzia known as Eilu Metziot, devotes pages to questions a modern reader would immediately recognize. How long must you wait for the owner to claim the item? How hard do you have to look for them? What if the animal needs feeding while you search? What expenses can you recover, and what counts as fair? What if the item is too inconvenient to safely return?
The rabbis answer all of these. The answers are not always intuitive. The finder is obligated to feed and shelter the animal while looking for the owner. The animal must not be put to work for the finder’s profit. The owner, when found, repays reasonable costs but is not on the hook for unreasonable ones. If the search takes too long, there are procedures for what to do next, none of which involve quietly keeping what is not yours.
Underneath the legal detail is a moral assumption that is easy to miss in a hurried reading. The Torah does not say to return the animal if it is convenient. It explicitly forbids the act of hiding yourself, of pretending you did not see, of crossing to the other side of the street. The commandment is as much about the person who finds as it is about the animal that is lost.
What this looks like in 2026
Most people who encounter a stray dog in a Winnipeg neighbourhood today are not thinking about Bava Metzia. They are thinking about whether the dog is friendly, whether they should call the City, whether they have time. The instinct to help is usually present. The question is what to do with it.
The practical infrastructure for hashavat aveidah in this country has changed considerably in the last decade. A finder in Winnipeg in 2026 has access to a regional humane society, a network of local Facebook groups, neighbourhood newsletters, and a handful of national platforms that gather sightings and missing-pet alerts across more than 180 Canadian cities. The mechanism is straightforward. A clear photo and a location pin can reach the right owner within hours when the system works, which it usually does.
The most underused of these resources, in any community, is the simple act of posting a sighting. Many people who find a stray feel they need to first catch the animal, find it food, take it home, or in some way solve the problem in full. The rabbis would actually disagree with that framing, and so does modern pet-recovery practice. The first responsibility is to make the sighting visible. The owner is almost certainly already looking. The finder’s main job is to surface what they have seen.
For people in Winnipeg looking for a place to start, a practical guide for what to do when you find a stray walks through the basic steps. Take a clear photo, note the cross-streets and time, check for a tag, and post the sighting where local owners will see it. The work is small. The effect, on the owner who has been awake for two nights and then sees a photo of their dog with a phone number underneath, is much larger than the work itself.
The ethical centre of the commandment
There is a strain of Jewish thought that reads hashavat aveidah as a kind of training in noticing. The deeper commandment goes beyond returning what is lost. It asks the finder to be the kind of person who sees what is lost in the first place, who does not cross to the other side of the street, who does not pretend not to have noticed.
That reading lines up with another Jewish ethical concept that often gets paired with this one: tza’ar ba’alei chayim, the obligation to prevent unnecessary suffering to animals. The Talmud derives this principle from several places in the Torah, including the rest commanded for animals on Shabbat. The two principles overlap in the case of a lost pet. The animal is suffering. The owner is suffering. The finder is, briefly, the only person in the position to do anything about it.
In a small way, the entire Canadian volunteer ecosystem around lost pets, from neighbourhood Facebook groups to national platforms to the dog walker who recognizes a posted photo, is an example of this ethical structure in action. People do not necessarily think of it in those terms. The framework is there anyway, doing its quiet work.
A community-scale point
Winnipeg’s Jewish community has always understood itself as a network of responsibilities to others, the kind that get described as chesed when they are visible and assumed when they are not. The work of returning a lost animal sits comfortably in that frame. It is not heroic, does not make the bulletin, and is exactly the kind of small obligation that knits a community together when nobody is paying attention.
The dog in the yard on a Wednesday morning in May, leash trailing, is one version of the question Deuteronomy asks. The answer, then and now, is the same. Do not hide yourself.
Features
Basketball: How has Israel become one of the best basketball countries in Europe in the last few years?
When Israeli Deni Avdija became the first Israeli to be drafted as the highest Israeli draftee in NBA history in 2020 – then emerged as a key NBA wing in Portland, it was not so much the breakthrough it appeared to be, but a portent of things to come. Israeli basketball development has been decades in the making, and in recent years its clubs have made Europe take notice.
This is why Maccabi Tel Aviv, Hapoel Tel Aviv, and the national basketball team of Israel are now the subjects of serious discussion in European basketball. It is only natural that fans and bettors reading form, depth of the roster, and momentum would look at our Euroleague predictions and then evaluate how Israeli teams would fit into the continental picture.
A rich history: The Maccabi Tel Aviv mythos
The contemporary narrative dates back to before Avdija. Maccabi Tel Aviv won its maiden European Cup in 1977, beating Mobilgirgi Varese and providing a nation under pressure with a sporting icon. Tal Brody’s declaration: “We are on the map” became not just a quote, it became a declaration of Jewish confidence, Israeli strength and a basketball dream.
Maccabi turned out to be the team of the nation since it bore Israeli identity past the borders. Maccabi has been a cultural ambassador before globalization transformed elite lists into multinational conundrums. Its yellow jerseys were the symbol of excellence, rebellion, and identification for the Israeli people at home and Jewish communities abroad.
The six European championships for the club provided a benchmark that has influenced the Winner League and Israeli basketball. Children were not just spectators of Maccabi, they dreamed of Europe as something accessible. Coaches studied in the continental competition. Sponsors and broadcasters realized that basketball had the potential to be the most exportable Israel team sport.
The modern pillars of Israeli basketball’s success
The recent ascendancy of Israel is no magic. It is the result of history, astute recruiting, youth-building and pressure-tested league culture. The nation has made its size its strength: clubs find talent at a young age and enhance the potential with foreign professionals.
Nurturing homegrown talent: The Deni Avdija effect
The most obvious example is that of Avdija. He was a high-ranking contributor in the system of Maccabi Tel Aviv, was chosen as a teenager, and was picked number 9 by Washington in the 2020 NBA Draft. His career was a reminder that an Israeli prospect could be more than a local star; he could be a lottery pick with two-way NBA potential.
Israeli NBA player Omri Casspi had already opened that door, and Avdija opened it even further for the next generation. Their achievements captivated the expectations of youthful players in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, Holon, Herzliya, etc. An Israeli teenager is now able to envision a path from youth leagues to the Winner League, the EuroLeague, and ultimately – NBA minutes.
It is that dream that has been followed by investment. Israeli clubs put more emphasis on skills training, strength training, and analytics, as well as international youth tournaments. The success of the national program in the face of the best of Europe has also helped.
A global approach: The role of international and naturalized stars
The other pillar of the Israeli basketball program is the openness of Israel to global talent. The Winner League has been an important destination, not a stopover, for American guards and forwards. Most come in with NCAA or G league experience and become leaders due to the fact that the league requires scoring, speed and tactical flexibility.
It is enriched with naturalized players and Jewish players, who are able to use the Law of Return to come to Israel to play. Inspired by legendary players like Tal Brody, current imports who can bond both professionally and personally with Israelis have provided teams with uncharacteristic diversity in their rosters. The outcome has been a mixture of Israeli competitiveness, American shot making, Balkan toughness, and European spacing.
Making waves in Europe: Israel’s modern Euroleague footprint
Even in challenging seasons, Maccabi Tel Aviv has remained the flagship team. Currently, Maccabi is out of a playoff spot in the EuroLeague, but Hapoel Tel Aviv has shot up in playoff discussion. That juxtaposition speaks volumes: Israel is no longer represented by one lone, iconic club. Its profile has expanded.
Nevertheless, it is true that the reputation of Maccabi in the EuroLeague does count. Menora Mivtachim Arena in Tel Aviv is one of the most intimidating arenas for EuroLeague teams to play in: loud and emotional. Recent security and travel realities have affected the usual home-court advantage but the name of the club is still a potent brand.
It is the reason why there is an interesting betting discussion within Israeli teams. The name Maccabi still retains a historical impact, but analysts also need to quantify the present defensive performance, injuries, substitution of venues and guards, and fatigue in the schedule. The emergence of Hapoel has provided another Israeli point of reference and markets have to regard the nation as a multi-club force.
What’s next? The future of Israeli basketball on the world stage
Sustainability is the second test. The Israeli national basketball team desires more serious EuroBasket performances and a future world cup. It requires Avdija types – fit and powerful, more domestic big men, and guards capable of playing elite defense to get there.
The pipeline is an optimistic one. Israeli schools are more professional, teams are bolder with young talents, and the Winner League is a test ground where potential talents have to contend with older, tougher imports each week. Not all players will turn into an Avdija, yet additional players ought to be prepared to participate in EuroCup, EuroLeague, and even NBA games.
To the Jews in the Canadian diaspora, the impact is not only sporting, it is also emotional. Israeli basketball brings pride, drama and a common language to the continents. To the European fan, it provides tempo, creativity and unpredictability. To analysts, it provides a sign that a small nation, with memory, ambition and adaptation, can rise to become a true basketball power. Israel has ceased to be the unexpected guest on the table of Europe. It is a part of it, season after season.
Features
In recent years, we have been looking for something more than a house in Israel – we have been looking for a home
For many Jewish families in the diaspora, Israel has always been more than a destination. It is the land of tefillah, memory, family history and belonging. But in recent years, many families have begun asking a practical question too: should Israel also become a place where we have a home?
Not necessarily immediate aliyah. Sometimes it begins with a future option, something good to have just in case, or simply roots with a stronger connection to Eretz Yisroel.
But what does it mean?
A Jewish home is shaped not only by what is inside the front door, but by what surrounds it: neighbours, synagogues, schools, parks, local services, safe streets and the rhythm of Jewish life. For observant families, these are not small details. They are the things that turn a house into a place of belonging.
This is not a new idea. It is a need that has helped shape Jewish communities in Israel before. The Savyonim idea is rooted in the story of Savyon, the Israeli community established in the 1950s by South African Jews who wanted to create a green, safe and community-minded environment in Israel. It was a diaspora dream translated into life in the Jewish homeland.
That idea feels relevant again today. Many Jewish families abroad are now making plans around where they can feel connected in the years ahead.
Recent figures point in the same direction. Reports based on Israel’s Ministry of Finance data showed that foreign residents bought around 1,900 homes in Israel in 2024, about 50% more than the previous year, with Jerusalem emerging as the most popular place to buy. In January 2026, foreign residents still purchased 146 homes, broadly similar to January 2025, even as the wider housing market remained cautious.
For Lior David, International Sales & Marketing Manager at Africa Israel Residences, part of the continued interest may lie in the fact that today’s residential projects are increasingly built around the wider needs of Jewish families abroad: not only buying a property in Israel, but finding a setting that can support community, continuity and everyday Jewish life. That idea is reflected in Savyonim, the company’s residential concept, which places the surrounding environment at the heart of choosing a home.
This can be seen in Savyoney Givat Shmuel, where the surrounding environment includes synagogues, parks, educational institutions, local commerce, playgrounds and transport links, and in Savyoney Ramat Sharet in Jerusalem, located in one of the city’s established green neighbourhoods.
For families abroad, these things matter. Jerusalem and Givat Shmuel are never just another location. They are home to strong Jewish communities, established religious life and surroundings that allow a family to imagine not only buying property, but building a Jewish home in Israel.
Together, these projects reflect a broader understanding: that for many Jews in the diaspora, the decision to create a home in Israel is not only practical, but rooted in identity, continuity and community. The Savyonim story began with a Zionist community from abroad that succeeded in building a real home in Israel; today, that same vision continues in a contemporary form.