Cantor Eric Moses led a delegation from his synagogue to Havana, Cuba, this month. (photo from Beth Sholom)
Earlier this month, I traveled to Havana with a delegation from Beth Sholom, the Toronto synagogue where I serve as cantor. Together, we represented the first Canadian Jewish group to visit the island since 2019. Travel to Cuba has been complex and unpredictable for some, but our mission was simple – to support the Jewish community in Cuba and remind them that they are neither forgotten nor alone.
The island nation continues to face an unprecedented and protracted crisis. There is a shortage of nearly everything, most notably fuel. Gas stations, if open at all, have hours-long lineups. Illicit WhatsApp groups gouge desperate consumers for the little gasoline that remains. Electricity is out for 12 to 14 hours each day. Medical supplies are scarce to nonexistent. Surgeries have been canceled, public transportation suspended and schools closed. Along the highways, people stand with wads of Cuban pesos, hoping someone will stop and offer a ride. And yet, despite these hardships, the small but remarkably resilient Jewish community has not lost hope.
On Friday evening, we arrived at Beth Shalom Synagogue, locally known as the Patronato, before Shabbat for a briefing with the community’s vice-president. Moments into her remarks, the lights went out. There was no panic, no drama. She calmly pulled out a few flashlights and continued speaking, as though nothing unusual had happened. She then guided us through the synagogue’s modest pharmacy, where scarce medical supplies are distributed not only to Jewish families but to the broader community as well. We were proud to have brought generously donated supplies from pharmaceutical distributor Kohl & Frisch and members of our congregation – though we knew it would not be enough.
As I entered the sanctuary for services, my contact, William Miller, pulled me aside. “Eric, we have enough generator power for about 20 more minutes.” That meant the Shabbat dinner we had sponsored would likely be served in the dark and with cold food. Again, there was no panic, just another fact of life in today’s Havana. (Our group had helped purchase that very generator during a visit in 2008.)
Our time on the island was filled with meaningful encounters. We visited all three synagogues – Orthodox, Conservative and Sephardi – participated in hands-on volunteer activities and spent time connecting with community members. We toured the Jewish cemetery, the Holocaust memorial and museum, and visited shut-in seniors during a power outage. We visited the Canadian embassy and heard from the ambassador and her team about Cuba’s precarious future. We found brief moments to experience Havana’s incredible charm, including a ride in a classic car, the taste of a mojito and the sounds of Cuban music.
By the end of the trip, our group of 16 left Havana feeling enriched, united and deeply humbled. On Friday night, the entire service was led by the youth at the Patronato – a powerful testament to the community’s commitment. I was honoured to address the congregation and shared a simple reflection: in Canada, we have almost everything, while they have almost nothing; yet they possess something we can learn from, a profound sense of pride, spirit and the determination not merely to survive, but to thrive again. One taxi driver summed up the mood of the country when he told me, “We are in a dark tunnel without a way out.” But we were welcomed with open arms and open hearts.
We departed on Sunday evening on what felt like the last fumes of jet fuel, just hours before Air Canada and WestJet announced the suspension of flights. Those who remain behind do not have the option to leave. They continue to live with constant uncertainty, navigating daily hardships while carrying the weight of more than six decades of a revolution that has failed to deliver on its promises. And yet, the Jews of Havana remain determined, resilient and passionate about their heritage and their future.
Eric Moses is the cantor at Beth Sholom Synagogue in Toronto.
Adam Louis-Klein was deep in the Amazon on Oct. 7, 2023 – three months into fieldwork with an Indigenous community, living without any internet or phone contact. Two days later, in a local town, he reconnected with the outside world and saw the news. Then he saw something else: how people in his professional orbit were responding to the atrocities perpetrated against Israelis.
“I spoke up and said I stood in solidarity with Israelis, and spoke up against the bigotry I was already seeing, and I was quickly, basically purged,” he told the Independent.
Adam Louis-Klein (photo by Adam Louis-Klein)
Louis-Klein, a McGill University PhD candidate who now lives in New York state, describes a swift loss of “all my social and professional contacts.” But that didn’t stop him from expressing his views. He felt an obligation, he said, to offer a Jewish voice that speaks the same language as the academy and the left, especially in response to antizionism.
“As I wrote more about it, I think my understanding of antizionism got sharper and sharper,” he said. “I got more focused on antizionism itself as an ideology, not just antisemitism.”
That shift – treating antizionism as something that should be named and confronted directly, rather than in the context of its relationship with antisemitism – has become central to his work. In his view, focusing on antisemitism as the lens can become a rhetorical trap, positioning antizionism as a respectable political position.
His ideas went viral.
“I was posting on Facebook and people kind of liked the little mini-essays I wrote,” he said. He launched a blog at the Times of Israel, then began writing for other outlets. “One thing led to another.”
The visibility has accelerated in recent months, he said. Movement Against Antizionism (MAAZ), the organization he founded and leads, has also caught on rapidly.
People found his Times of Israel blog and were on the lookout for voices explicitly naming and confronting antizionism, he said. The people he works with have helped refine his language. Looking back at his writing over a short span, he said, “I already see a kind of progression whereby I get sharper at naming antizionism and making that the focus.”
The backlash was instantaneous.
“People tried to shut me down,” he said. “There were fake complaints against me … they would call my advisor, they would call the anthropology department to try and get me expelled.” He said he was removed from WhatsApp groups, a book club he organized collapsed, a presentation he organized on the Soviet roots of antizionist rhetoric was canceled without explanation.
He described a hardened ideological environment.
“I was told that no one would discuss with me whether it’s a genocide,” he said. “The genocide libel was not something that could be discussed.”
While the university environment may be a hotbed of antizionism generally, anthropology is particularly hostile, he said.
Early anthropology was connected to colonial infrastructures and later efforts to reckon with that legacy have put “settler-colonialism” at the centre of the discipline, Louis-Klein said. In his telling, the field has “swallowed wholesale” a narrative in which “Israelis are these evil white settlers.” He no longer sees a future in the discipline. “It’s not a field that Jews who do not profess loyalty to the antizionist movement … can exist in at this point,” he said.
Louis-Klein, who grew up mostly in Seattle and who spent time in Whistler growing up, holds a bachelor’s degree in philosophy from Yale University, a master’s in philosophy from the New School, a master’s in anthropology from the University of Chicago, and is nearing completion of his PhD at McGill.
With academic doors closing in front of him, he sees a new possibility: the creation of a serious intellectual space for the study of antizionism itself.
“There is now a movement to try and create an academic space for critical studies of antizionism,” he said, adding that he wants to “provide an intellectual framework for treating antizionism as an objective study, as something that we can critically understand, break down, trace its genealogy, understand how it functions in the present as its own phenomenon.”
In his view, the public conversation must change for practical reasons, not just academic ones.
“We cannot fight anti-Jewish violence today without naming and opposing antizionism,” he said. “The vast majority of anti-Jewish violence is directly motivated by antizionism.”
Even attacks rooted in “more classical” right-wing antisemitism now unfold within “the overall hysteria that has been created by antizionism since Oct. 7 and the genocide libel,” he said. Besides, he argued, as a strategy, equating antizionism and antisemitism is failing.
“Calling antizionism antisemitism is also not working,” he said. “We’re assuming that if we just say it’s antisemitic, a number of institutional levers will set into place Holocaust memory, and it’ll shut it down.”
But that’s not happening, he said, “because antizionism doesn’t look like classical antisemitism.”
Instead, he thinks people need to be taught what antizionism is.
“You can’t just say it’s antisemitic,” he said. “You have to explain to people what antizionism is as an ideology, and you have to stop treating it as political critique.”
He draws a distinction between debating Zionism and describing antizionism as a social phenomenon.
“Talking about antizionism also doesn’t mean … explaining how Zionism is actually good. It goes far beyond that. It means explaining how antizionism is a hate movement,” he said.
“It’s a mob movement,” he added. “There are lynch mobs … people who hunt down Zionists and try and shame and humiliate them.… They vandalize buildings, they smash windows.”
MAAZ delivers training in different sectors, including education, business, arts and journalism, designed to help people understand antizionism and “to fight back and to give people a language.”
“We really think naming and labeling is the way to defeat it,” he said.
Louis-Klein described teaching people to “maintain boundaries,” and to label recurring accusations – “colonizer libel, apartheid libel, genocide libel” – as antizionist so that Jews and allies stop feeling obligated to defend their legitimacy and instead “hold antizionism to account.”
The organization also includes legal thinking, with scholar Rona Kaufman developing a legal concept of antizionist discrimination.
Beyond training, MAAZ emphasizes public education. Louis-Klein encourages people to explore the organization’s website (movementagainstantizionism.org), which he describes as “kind of like a museum … a curation where you enter inside of the whole history of antizionism and its different forms and the different libels.”
He emphasized a point he sees as essential for long-term success: expanding beyond the Jewish community.
“Having non-Jewish people who can get behind that … will just be the key,” he said. “That will be the thing that catapults it to the next stage.”
Michael Sachs moves to Tulsa, helps others make a similar shift.
When Michael Sachs and his family moved from Vancouver to Tulsa, Okla., he did not expect the response that followed.
“After I came down, I just got lots of people reaching out to me,” said Sachs, who relocated to become senior director of the Jewish Federation of Tulsa. The messages came from all over Canada – Toronto, Windsor, Montreal, Halifax, Winnipeg, Vancouver.
A significant number of Canadian Jews seem to have decided on – or are pondering – relocation, he told the Independent.
Tulsa’s Jewish community has been running an organized outreach effort called Tulsa Tomorrow, designed to give Jewish families a chance to visit, experience the city and its Jewish life, and consider relocating there. After hearing from so many Canadians, Sachs suggested Tulsa Tomorrow create a specifically Canadian-focused initiative. Together, they created Lech L’Tulsa (“Go to Tulsa”), an enhanced Tulsa Tomorrow program that addresses obstacles that face Canadians.
To date, the new initiative has drawn more than 350 applications from Canadian families, representing more than 1,000 people. Groups of prospective movers are invited to come for multi-day exploratory trips that include meeting community leaders, attending Shabbat services, touring neighbourhoods, and connecting with local resources to help them assess whether moving to Tulsa would make sense for their families.
Michael Sachs (photo from Michael Sachs)
Sachs’ enthusiasm for his new city is palpable, but he is careful to position the campaign in ways that do not threaten other Jewish communities.
“We’re not trying to steal people,” he said. “We’re not trying to recruit.”
Instead, he describes the effort as practical support for people already considering a move. “We’re just trying to find ways for those who have made this decision … to help lower the bar, to make it be a possibility.”
The exploratory visit planned for late February has already outgrown expectations. “The average cohort in the past would be 15 to 20 people,” Sachs said. This time, they have already reached that capacity and have expanded it to 55.
Cost of living is one of the most significant differences families notice.
“If you are sitting in a decent position on your house in Vancouver and you sell it, you can get a house here, possibly mortgage-free,” said Sachs.
Oklahoma, he added, is “a very friendly state.” Taxes are lower and “you bring home more of your paycheque,” though health care works differently than in Canada.
Health care is a cost, he acknowledged, but it is also more speedily accessible.
Tulsa’s Jewish community, he said, numbers about 7,500, with roughly 2,500 actively involved. There is a 16-acre Jewish community campus, a community centre, a retirement facility, a Jewish day school through Grade 5, a Holocaust centre and synagogues.
“It is a very warm community,” he said. “Southern hospitality is a big thing here.”
Sachs is intentional about how he frames the program.
“With every conversation we have, we start off with two things,” he said. “One, we are not lawyers, so we don’t give you legal advice.” Immigration is complex, and families are directed to law firms offering consultations. “We’re highly encouraging everyone … to use them because we don’t want people to try to do stuff themselves.”
Second, he said, “we’re not finding people jobs.” Each family must evaluate its own employment prospects. Immigration is not simple.
Sachs emphasized that Lech L’Tulsa is a nonpolitical program and he hedged on whether the United States is a better place than Canada for Jews to live.
“A decision of this magnitude cannot be made on a single issue,” he said. For his family, the calculation included “cost of living, future for our children, the fentanyl crisis … antisemitism was one of those factors.”
He cautioned against moving solely because of antisemitism.
“Nowhere is immune,” he said.
At the same time, he said, based on data from Statistics Canada, “a Jew in Canada is nine times more likely to suffer a hate crime than a Jew in the United States.”
That said, most families are driven primarily by practical concerns. “People decide because of economic reasons, cost of living, opportunities,” said Sachs.
He described Tulsa as having a similar hip vibe to Austin, Tex., a decade ago.
Sachs admitted he remains emotionally tied to Vancouver.
“The community of Vancouver is in my heart always,” he said. “My mom is there. My friends are there.”
Ultimately, he views his family’s move and the Lech L’Tulsa project as part of a broader obligation. “This is part of the commitment that I made ultimately … many years ago,” he said, “to speak up, to advocate … and to help.”
A note that was delivered to the Okanagan Chabad Centre recently. (photo from Okanagan Chabad Centre)
A handwritten note showed up in our mailbox a few weeks ago. It was from neighbours of a different faith, with just a few lines: “Best wishes for 2026! Thank you for bringing laughter & yummy bread to our neighbourhood.”
That was all. No mention of beliefs or interfaith-type language. No apparent agendas. Just the neighbourhood.
Here’s what happened.
On Friday afternoons, just before sunset, when our family welcomes Shabbat, a few fresh loaves of Fraidy’s homemade challah usually leave our house. Not for any special reason. It’s simply Friday. That’s what the end of the week looks like in our home.
We usually run out with some of the kids. We go next door, across the street, behind the alley, and beyond. We’re making connections, formed among people with very different beliefs and backgrounds.
One week, kosher wine appeared at our door. Another week, neighbours opened their home when our guests needed a place to sleep. Another week, children’s clothing arrived. Another week, unexpected help showed up when it was needed most. The small stories are endless.
All of this just because fresh yummy bread goes out consistently – with no strings attached. That’s all that really happened.
Kindness now moves back and forth the way it does when it’s real: without announcements, without keeping score, without any agendas.
People don’t live next to ideas. They live next to people.
Long before anyone asks what you believe, they already know whether life feels easier around you. Kinder. More decent. More human.
They know whether generosity shows up naturally, or only when it’s requested. Almost anyone can be kind once, or when there’s a need.
What changes the environment is when kindness happens often enough that it stops feeling like an act that someone did and starts feeling like the way things are.
They didn’t thank us for what we believed. They didn’t thank us for our faith. They didn’t even really thank us for the bread either. They thanked us for what the neighbourhood feels like.
That’s why this handwritten note is so special. Not because it notices an act we had done, but because it describes the laughter and yumminess that the neighbourhood is starting to feel. And what one neighbourhood feels like is what a city – and a world – will become.
Kindness will change the world when it grows from being a random act and starts becoming a matter of fact.
Rabbi Shmuly Hecht is co-director of the Okanagan Chabad Centre with his wife, Fraidy Hecht.
Shane Foxman’s idea for In Your Own Words, “a podcast for you and your family about you and your family,” came from a very personal place.
“My father passed away when my daughter was still very young. While I keep his memory alive by telling stories about him, I’ve often wished she could hear him tell his story himself – his voice, his memories, his reflections – rather than only hearing them from me,” said Foxman, who had an almost-30-year career in journalism before starting his own production company.
“As a storyteller by profession, that realization stayed with me,” he continued. “I began thinking about how many families wish they had asked more questions, recorded more conversations, or simply preserved a parent or grandparent’s voice while they still could.
“That wish is what led me to create In Your Own Words. It’s almost like a personal podcast – a guided, professionally produced conversation about someone’s life and journey. It’s about memory, voice and capturing the stories that might otherwise be lost. Because, when someone is gone, you don’t care how long the recording is. You just wish you had one.”
Shane and Andrea Foxman (photo from Shane Foxman)
Foxman was born and raised in Toronto. His career took him to many places in Canada, including British Columbia in 1998.
“I was working at a television station in Edmonton when I was hired by Global Television to cover the legislature in Victoria,” he said. “After two years as bureau chief there, I was transferred to Vancouver, where I continued covering news and eventually began hosting and producing a variety of programs.
“In 2009, I hosted and co-produced Seeking Stanley, which became one of the most successful television programs in BC history. The live show aired after every Vancouver Canucks playoff game and during the team’s 2011 run to the Stanley Cup Final. Viewership topped one million people an episode in the Lower Mainland.”
Vancouver ultimately became home for Foxman. He met his wife Andrea here, and the couple has a 16-year-old daughter, Arlo.
He is deeply connected to the Jewish community. Most Independent readers will have been at an event emceed by Foxman. He has been on various boards and worked for five years at Vancouver Talmud Torah as associate director of development, retiring from that position last year so he could focus on his company.
Foxman’s decision to switch from journalism to production came just over a decade ago, influenced in part by the changing media landscape.
“Newsrooms were shrinking and budgets were tightening,” he explained. “There was less time and space for deeper, long-form storytelling, the kind of work that really excites me.
“I found myself wanting more creative control and more depth in the kinds of stories I was telling. I wanted to slow things down, spend time with people, and really explore their journeys in a meaningful way.
“Opening my production company allowed me to focus on long-form storytelling. I picked my projects and they weren’t constrained by airtime. It also gave me the flexibility to build something sustainable while still doing what I love most: helping people tell their stories.”
He said, “Every person has a story – about where they came from, what shaped them, the obstacles and challenges they faced and the moments that defined them…. There’s something powerful about giving people space to speak in their own voice. At its best, journalism isn’t just about reporting facts – it’s about capturing humanity.”
One of the first things visitors to Foxman’s website will notice is the photo of him and Andrea (which accompanies this article). It was taken at a charity event they attended a few years ago. The photographer asked what kind of shot they wanted and the couple joked, “We want Andrea to photobomb me.”
“He took one click, dead serious, and said, ‘Got it,’” shared Foxman. “We didn’t believe him at first, but when we saw the picture, I just loved it. I immediately thought, if I ever needed an album cover, this would be it. It perfectly captures both seriousness and fun – two things I hope come through in my work and in life.”
Foxman Productions is “a small, hands-on company,” said Foxman, who is involved in every project, from concept development and interviewing, to editing and final delivery.
“That said, one of the advantages of my years in television is the professional network I’ve built,” he said. “Depending on the project, I bring in experienced camera operators, editors, sound technicians and graphic designers – people I’ve worked with and trust. The team is top-notch.
“Every project is different, so I assemble the right people for the job. Clients get the personal attention of working directly with me, combined with the production quality of seasoned broadcast professionals.
“But, at its core, my role is listener,” he said. “That’s the most important part of the work.”
Foxman’s preparation for an interview involves research and conversation.
“I spend time speaking with the person beforehand to understand the shape of their life – major chapters, turning points and family background. That way, when we sit down to record, the conversation can flow naturally rather than feeling like a checklist,” he explained.
“For the interviewee, it’s all about feeling comfortable and unpressured. It’s not an interrogation or a performance – it’s a guided conversation, often reflective, sometimes emotional, sometimes humorous. There’s no right or wrong way to tell your story – it’s your story.”
The final product can be audio only or video, which may include photos, documents or other visual elements.
“The goal is always to create something that families can return to again and again. It’s not just to remember facts, but to hear tone, laughter and personality,” said Foxman.
“I believe every person and/or family has stories that matter, and every voice deserves to be remembered. Preserving these conversations is more than just creating a record – it’s about connecting generations, sharing lessons, laughter and memories, and leaving something truly meaningful for the future.
The author, Nicole Grubner, and Rabbi Levi Varnai reconnecting at the Yael Awards in Vienna. (photo by Nicole Grubner)
I grew up in West Vancouver, in a home where Jewish life mattered. We celebrated the chagim (holidays), gathered for family Shabbat dinners and went to synagogue. Jewish identity was present, familiar and important. But, when it came to school, the question my parents faced was not about ideology, but practicality.
At the time, I was attending our local public school, which I loved. The Jewish school was at least a 40-minute drive each way, which would reshape daily family life. This was not a small decision.
My parents had both attended Jewish schools – my father in Chile, my mother, in England – so the value was there. And, in the end, belief won.
It was my uncle, Claudio, who ultimately tipped the balance. He didn’t provide a checklist or a plan. As my mother put it, “He just appealed to us, from his heart to ours.”
In Grade 3, my parents moved me from public school to Vancouver Hebrew Academy. That decision marked the true beginning of my Jewish journey.
Once I arrived at VHA, any lingering doubts faded quickly. My parents felt, almost immediately, that they had made the right choice.
Rebbetzin Shayndel Feuerstein z”l didn’t need to convince them that Jewish education was about more than academics; they already knew that. What stood out was how she conducted herself and the seriousness with which she approached educational excellence. She personally traveled to Israel to interview and hand-pick teachers.
The underlying challenge facing the school was not vision or quality; it was financial. Fundraising was a constant reality and, from one school year to the next, there was never complete certainty that there would be enough resources to continue operating.
When I entered VHA, I joined a class filled with children whose lives were just beginning to take shape. One of them was a boy named Levi Varnai. We were classmates for two years, from 1996 to 1998, before I transferred to Vancouver Talmud Torah for Grade 5. A couple of years later, Levi and his family moved to Israel.
Levi went on to study in yeshivot in Israel and New York, receiving smicha (rabbinical ordination) in 2011, before returning to Vancouver in 2013 to work with the Community Kollel as an assistant rabbi and youth director. Since 2016, he has served as the congregational rabbi of the Bayit in Richmond. Alongside his wife, Rivky, an educator who grew up in Safed, Israel, they have built something truly special.
One of the most powerful expressions of that work is the Bayit’s Kids Zone, an after-school and Shabbat program. Through cooking, crafts, music, games, Torah stories, mitzvot and holiday celebrations, children experience Judaism as warm, relevant and exciting. Pre-teens are guided toward leadership and responsibility, learning values like tzedakah, friendship and connection to Israel.
Many of the children who attend Kids Zone are enrolled in public school. For them, the program becomes a vital Jewish anchor. Parents speak of children singing Hebrew songs at home, lighting Shabbat candles for the first time, and engaging more deeply with Jewish life.
Today, I live in Israel with my family and work in communications. One of my key clients is the Yael Foundation, whose mission is to ensure that every Jewish child has access to quality Jewish education and the opportunity to develop a strong Jewish identity, no matter where they live.
Earlier this month, in Vienna, the Yael Foundation hosted the Yael Awards, celebrating innovation and excellence in Jewish education worldwide. The Bayit’s Kids Zone was among the finalists for the Jewish Experience of the Year Award, recognized alongside outstanding programs from across Europe.
“At the Bayit, we believe that a strong Jewish identity is built through joy, connection and hands-on experiences that make Judaism come alive for every child,” said Rabbi Varnai. “Kids Zone is the heart of that mission – a warm, welcoming space where children explore their heritage, celebrate Jewish life and grow proud of who they are as Jews.”
This year’s Jewish Experience of the Year Award was presented to Beth Habad Canton Vert in France, a community-based program that exemplifies how Jewish life can be made accessible, meaningful and vibrant for families.
Reflecting on the breadth and quality of the finalists, Chaya Yosovich, chief executive officer of the Yael Foundation, noted, “Every one of these educators is deserving of an award. We see, year after year, how educators are raising the bar to ensure the next generation feels connected and proud of their Jewish identity.”
Across the world, Jewish schools and educational programs, particularly in smaller or less visible communities, operate with limited funding and stretched staff. These communities may not sit at the centre of global Jewish attention but, for the families who live there, they are often the entry point into Jewish communal life. By investing in Jewish education globally, the Yael Foundation tries to ensure that excellence is not reserved only for large, well-resourced centres.
A Jewish journey that began in a Grade 3 classroom in Vancouver has come full circle. A former classmate now leads a community where Jewish identity is being nurtured in the next generations. And, today, I help tell the stories of educators and communities quietly investing in the Jewish future.
Nicole Grubner, a former Vancouverite who now lives and works in Israel, is a partner at FINN Partners marketing and communications agency.
As part of its celebration of BC Heritage Week, the Vancouver Heritage Foundation held the online event Recipes of Resistance: Rebecca Teitelbaum and the Ravensbrück Recipe Book, presented by Lise Kirchner and Ellie Lawson of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre. Kirchner is the VHEC’s director of education, Lawson its education manager.
The theme of this year’s Heritage Week is “Stir the Pot,” explained VHF director of education Sarah Carlson. She encouraged viewers to “think about the ways that food brings us together, how it holds memory, and how it has contributed to the rich cultural tapestry of your community and beyond.”
Teitelbaum’s recipe book was donated to the VHEC by Teitelbaum’s nephew, Alex Buckman, also a Holocaust survivor, who died in 2023.
“He was Rebecca’s nephew, but he actually was raised as Rebecca’s son…. Rebecca was the only mother that Alex ever knew,” said Kirchner. “His parents perished in Auschwitz, and Rebecca made a promise to God that she would raise Alex as her own son, which she did.
“In the 1990s, Alex discovered this recipe book in the drawer of Rebecca’s home, and he asked her about it. He had never heard the story before. Apparently, she had never told anybody, but she explained to Alex the incredible story of this recipe book, how it was created and how it survived.”
Kirchner showed many archival photographs, including of Teitelbaum and one of Teitelbaum with her younger brother, Isaac Buckman, in the 1930s.
“Isaac is Alex’s father,” explained Kirchner. “These two siblings, Rebecca and Isaac, were very close. They also had a younger brother, Jacques.”
Herman and Rebecca Teitelbaum, 1938. (screenshot from VHEC presentation)
Rebecca and her husband Herman were married in 1938. “They had a daughter, Anny, in 1939, and they lived … near Brussels, before the Second World War. Rebecca worked in the accounting department of a department store in the city of Brussels.”
Kirchner also shared a photo of Isaac and Dworja Buckman, who married around the same time as the Teitelbaums.
“The same year that Rebecca’s daughter, Anny, was born, Isaac and Dworja had a son, Alex, in October 1939.”
In May 1940, Germany invaded Belgium and the Nazis set up a military occupation government. “Unlike many other countries where the civil administrations cooperated with Nazi deportations, the situation in Belgium was much different and, as a result, the survival rate of Belgian Jews was higher than many of the Western European countries,” said Kirchner.
Nonetheless, restrictions were placed on Jews and Kirchner went through the progression of anti-Jewish laws in Belgium. There were pogroms, as well, and, in May 1942, all Jews over the age of 6 hadto wear the yellow star to identify them as Jewish.
From 1941 to mid-1942, Anny and Alex were placed into hiding, which worked until their families ran out of money, said Kirchner. When the woman hiding the kids denounced them to the Nazi authorities, the families were in grave danger.
“Between 1942 and 1944, the German occupying forces deported around 25,000 Jews from Belgium to concentration and death camps in the east, primarily to Auschwitz, and only 2,000 of these survived – 43% of the Jewish population in Belgium was murdered,” said Kirchner.
Once the Belgian resistance became more organized, there were resistance networks focused on hiding Jewish children. The largest was the Committee for the Defence of Jews, she said, and it successfully hid some 2,400 Jewish children from the Nazis, including Anny and Alex.
Isaac and Dworja Buckman were deported to Auschwitz-Birkenau in 1943 and murdered. Rebecca and Herman Teitelbaum were deported to forced labour camps in Germany: Hermanto Buchenwald, and Rebecca to Ravensbrück.
“Rebecca spent 17 months in Ravensbrück concentration camp as a slave labourer,” said Kirchner. “She was first assigned to work hard labour, hauling wood and stone and heavy carts in very harsh outdoor conditions, but, because she had worked in that department store in Belgium and she had experience with accounting work, she was able to secure a much better work assignment in the office of the Siemens factory.”
Siemens was one of the private companies that used Jewish slave labour, explained Kirchner, before turning the floor over to Lawson to talk about Ravensbrück.
“It was originally built for a little over a thousand prisoners, but, at its peak in 1945, there were over 50,000 prisoners,” said Lawson, who went into some detail about the factory and Siemens’ cooperation with the Nazis.
Despite the unimaginable circumstances, resistance was evident. Lawson shared a quote from Lidia Beccia Rolfi, an Italian prisoner: “Even the theft of a piece of wire, a sheet of paper, of a cloth rag was seen as sabotage, but everyone committed that. Any form of friendship between inmates was seen as sabotage.”
Lawson played a clip from Alex Buckman’s video-recorded survivor testimony. He explained how Rebecca noticed there weren’t that many supervisors at night.
“And then she stole a piece of brown paper, and she put it in her dress,” he said. “And then she stole a little pencil and a pair of scissors. And, at night, she ran towards her barrack, very nervous because she knew that, if somebody would stop her with all these stolen goods, she would be in trouble and they probably would make an example of her, maybe either shoot her or hang her. But she did it.”
A page from Rebecca Teitelbaum’s cookbook, which she compiled at great risk during her incarceration at Ravensbrück concentration camp. (screenshot from VHEC presentation)
In the barrack, she cut the paper into smaller pieces and started to write recipes “of meals that she did for her husband and her daughter before the war…. With the help of other women, who gave her some of their own recipes, and many of hers, she wrote 110 recipes,” he said. “Even though food was very important to stay alive in the concentration camp, she actually traded some of her food for needles and thread, and she made a book so she could keep it.”
The recipes weren’t necessarily accurate, said Kirchner. “You’ll notice most of the recipes are very heavy on butter and sugar and luxury items like raisins and rum or cream. On the other hand, some of the recipes reflect wartime scarcity…. But the dominant theme of these recipes is one of abundance.”
The recipes reflect the cultural diversity of the women imprisoned in the camp, said Kirchner. “These were women from all over Europe … about half of them were Jewish, but many of them were not, and so the recipes reflect a cultural diversity that’s Jewish, Belgian, French, Spanish, Mediterranean.”
Teitelbaum completed three recipe books, giving two to other women in the camp.
“Rebecca also created another thin volume that contains poems and resistance songs,” said Kirchner, adding, “She also made two sets of playing cards, which the Roma women in the camp would use to tell the fortune of other prisoners. So, again, building community between not just the Jewish women in the camp, but across cultures. And this was an essential form of hope and community-building and resistance by the camp inmates.”
Teitelbaum was one of 2,000 women saved in a Red Cross mission that saw 36 buses take the women from Ravensbrück to safety in Denmark and Sweden. However, the area was still a war zone and one fleet was hit by friendly fire.
“This convoy carrying 706 women, including Rebecca, was attacked multiple times by fighter planes and, as a result, there were about 25 fatalities and numerous injuries among the rescued prisoners,” said Kirchner. “Rebecca herself survived the attack, but was hit by shrapnel and badly injured her left arm. And, in the scuffle and the mayhem that followed … she lost her bundle of belongings: a sack that contained her recipe book.”
Herman, Anny, Jacques and Alex also survived.
Anny Teitelbaum and Alex Buckman, 1945. (screenshot from VHEC presentation)
“Anny and Alex were raised as siblings,” said Kirchner, and Rebecca and Herman had another child after the war. “Rebecca named this baby Christian, in honour of King Christian … who had visited her in the hospital, and who had become a bit of a folk hero in the Jewish community in Denmark.
“In 1951, the family left Europe and they arrived at Pier 21 in Halifax in September of 1951 before making their way to Montreal, where they settled permanently,” continued Kirchner. “They had one last child, named Shirley, who was born in Montreal in 1953, and Rebecca Teitelbaum became a Canadian citizen in 1957. She lived the rest of her life in Montreal, and she died there in 1999.”
The sack Teitelbaum had lost was found near the site of the bombing and, because it contained letters that identified her, the person that found the bag tracked her down.
“Rebecca’s recipe book is one of six Holocaust recipe books that we’re aware of in museums around the world,” said Kirchner. “These artifacts have given historians greater understanding about the unique responses of women to their persecution…. Unlike traditional cookbooks, they’re not about cooking, in practice, they’re about maintaining identity, resisting dehumanization, transmitting a culture that the Nazis were attempting to destroy, and they also functioned as a psychological coping mechanism that forged group cohesion and a spirit of communal care.
“The creation of these recipe books all came at great risk and sacrifice, and they’re important not only because they demonstrate the agency of female prisoners who were trying to assert control over their hunger by eating with words, but they also provide an archive of women’s communal responses to their persecution, which elevates women’s domestic expertise to the level of historical record.”
In his talks as an outreach speaker, Buckman would give students the Gâteau à l’orange recipe from Teitelbaum’s book.
“This was a cake,” said Kirchner, “that Rebecca would make for Alex every birthday, and he would encourage the children to make it at home with their own parents, to give their parents a hug, to make this orange cake in honour of his Aunt Rebecca, and also in memory of all of those who were murdered in the Holocaust, including his own parents, Isaac and Dworja.”
Rabbi Schneur and Bina Druk and family (photo from Chabad of Whistler)
Rabbi Schneur and Bina Druk and their two children have recently made Whistler their home.
Rabbi Druk was ordained at the central Chabad-Lubavitch rabbinical seminary in Brooklyn and has served Jewish communities across North America and around the world, leading Shabbat services, holiday programs and outreach initiatives in a wide range of settings. His approach is guided by listening to the unique needs of each community and creating a welcoming, inclusive environment.
Bina Druk, a Toronto native, has extensive experience in Jewish education and community engagement, having taught in Jewish schools and held leadership roles at Chabad centres in Toronto and New York.
The Druks are excited to serve Whistler and the Sea-to-Sky corridor and to help ensure that every Jew, resident or visitor, has a place to connect with Jewish tradition, learning and community.
* * *
The Jewish Museum and Archives of British Columbia has appointed Eli Klasner as its new executive director.
Eli Klasner (photo from JMABC)
Klasner brings decades of leadership experience in arts, culture and community development, most recently in Prince George and north central British Columbia, where he played a key role in strengthening cultural infrastructure and fostering inclusive creative communities. His work there included the development of new arts facilities, as well as the revitalization of civic venues.
In addition to his work in the arts, Klasner was instrumental in organizing and supporting the Jewish community in north central British Columbia,
As executive director, Klasner will lead JMABC’s strategic direction, oversee development, public programming and archival initiatives, and work closely with partners across the Jewish and cultural sectors in the province.
“I am incredibly honoured to be joining the Jewish Museum and Archives of BC,” said Klasner. “JMABC plays a vital role in preserving and sharing Jewish history and lived experience in this province. I am excited to … help expand the organization’s work and capacity over the coming years, and to be collaborating with the many Jewish organizations in BC that make this province so rich and dynamic.”
* * *
The Gotta Sing! Gotta Dance! production of Law Law Land has won a BroadwayWorld Regional Award for best theatre for young audiences production. The musical theatre summer program based at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver was runner up for the award for best ensemble.
The awards honoured regional productions, touring and other shows that had their first performance between Oct. 1, 2024, through Sept. 30, 2025. Law Law Land, written by Perry Ehrlich and David Hudgins, was the show that last summer’s Gotta Sing! Gotta Dance! participants worked towards and performed at the end of their respective sessions.
The 2026 Gotta Sing! Gotta Dance! program runs July 7-30 and Aug. 4-27. For an audition, apply online at jccgv.com or gottasinggottadance.ca by April 1.
ראש ממשלת ישראל בנימין נתניהו, לא בוחל בשום דרך להאשים אחרים במה שקרה ברצועת עזה. הוא לעולם לא יקח אחריות על מחדליו הרבים. הפעם נתניהו שובר שיאים חדשים כאשר הוא מאשים ישירות את נשיא ארה”ב הקודם ג’ו ביידן, באחריות להרג של חיילים בעזה. זאת, כיוון שביידן סירב להעביר לישראל את כל התחמושת שהיא הייתה זקוקה לו. מדובר בעוד שקר מבית נתניהו וחבל שהוא לא משלם מחיר על כך
נתניהו אמר במסיבת עיתונאים כי “בשלב מסוים לא הייתה לנו מספיק תחמושת וגיבורים נפלו. חלק מאובדן התחמושת היה כתוצאה מאמברגו. ואני גמרתי אומר שלא נגיע למצב הזה יותר”. נתניהו הדגיש כי “המצב הזה השתנה מבלי היכר עם כניסת הנשיא הנוכחי דונלד טראמפ”. נתניהו הטיל אפוא את האחריות למותם של חיילים על אמברגו הנשק על ביידן. הדברים הכעיסו ובצדק את בכירי הממשל הקודם, שלא האמינו למשמע אוזניהם והאשימו את נתניהו בכך ששיקר והתגלה ככפוי טובה. תומכיו הרבים של נתניהו בישראל ובארה”ב מאמינים לשקריו ולא לאמת. זאת, בדיוק כמו תומכי טראמפ בארה”ב וישראל. גם הם מאמינים לשקריו ולא לאמת. לא פלא הוא שטראמפ ונתניהו מסתדרים מצויין כי הרי מצא מין את מינו. מדובר שני נוכלים שבמדינות מתוקנות כבר מזמן היו יושבים בכלא
לגבי ממשל ביידן לאור השבעה באוקטובר: התמיכתה שלו ביידן בישראל הייתה איתנה כסלע, וזה נעשה במחיר פוליטי עצום בארה”ב. עמוס הוכשטיין הישראלי, לשעבר שליחו של ביידן, אמר: “הרשו לי להבהיר, לאחר תמיכה צבאית של יותר מ-20 מיליארד דולר, הגדולה ביותר בהיסטוריה של ישראל, שתי נושאות מטוסים מיהרו לאזור, מנעו מלחמה אזורית נרחבת, הביסו את מתקפת הטילים והרחפנים האיראנית פעמיים, הגנו על ישראל ברגעים הפגיעים ביותר, לאחר שהצילו אינספור חיים של ישראלים – התגובה המקובלת היחידה לנשיא ביידן ולעם האמריקני – היא תודה”
עובדתית, ממשל ביידן עצר רק משלוח אחד של פצצות במשקל טון אחד. וכן האמריקנים עיכבו גם טרקטורים כבדים שהיו נחוצים להריסת מבנים ממולכדים. נתניהו טוען כי בגלל מחסור בהם נשלחו חיילים לטהר מבנים וחלקם נהרגו. מצד שני יש לא מעט מומחים צבאיים שטוענים כי צה”ל לא התארגן נכונה למלחמת הגרילה מול החמאס ושילם מחיר כבד שכלל חללים רבים
נתניהו שלא כמפתיע שכח גם את הסיוע החיוני שהגיע מצד ביידן, שהזהיר את איראן וחיזבאללה מניצול המצב וקרא להם בתחילת המלחמה אל תעשו
אם כן מדוע נתניהו בחר להתקיף את ביידן בעת הזו? יש לכך שתי תשובות. הראשונה לרצות את טראמפ שכרגיל מעריך מעריצים שתומכים בו כל הזמן. וכן ניסיון להסיט את תשומת הלב הציבורית מדברים בעייתיים במיוחד שנתניהו אמר בראיון לעיתון זר לפני מספר שבועות. נתניהו הסביר בריאיון כי ישראל בחרה של לבצע הפצצות שטיח נרחבות בעזה וכי ההחלטה הזו, שהייתה שלו באופן אישי, הובילה לאובדן חיי חיילים רבים יותר בקרבות קרקעיים. “איבדנו חיילים רבים בגלל זה”, אמר נתניהו במפורש. ואת זה חוגי הימין הקיצוני בישראל לא רצו לשמוע, שכביכול ישראל פעלה באיפוק יחסי מול ביקורת בינלאומית גוברת. משפט הזה נשמע כמו הודאה בכישלון: החלטותיו האישיות של נתניהו סיכנו חיי חיילים ישראלים
ביידן, שמיד אחרי השבעה באוקטובר שלח נושאות מטוסים, להרתיע את איראן והעניק תמיכה דחופה לישראל ברגעיה הקשים ביותר, הפך פתאום למטרה קלה. ההתקפה עבדה: בתוך יממה הכותרות בישראל עברו להתמקד בבגידתו במקום בראיון שהביך את נתניהו
Yasam (Israel Police Special Patrol Unit) Master-Sgt. Ran Gvili z”l was buried on Jan. 28 in his hometown of Meitar. The last remaining hostage from the Hamas attacks of Oct. 7, 2023, his body was brought back to Israel on Jan. 26. After 843 days, the clock in Tel Aviv’s Hostages Square stopped ticking, and the displays of the kidnapped at Ben-Gurion Airport and the National Library of Israel were removed. For the first time since 2014, not a single Israel Defence Forces soldier or civilian is being held hostage in the Gaza Strip.
Two years, three months and 20 days after Gvili, 24, fell in a battle at Kibbutz Alumim near the Gaza Strip, the hero was given a fitting military funeral. Thousands of police officers, IDF soldiers and residents stood in silence along the streets of the Beer Sheva suburb as the funeral procession passed.
The service was attended by President Isaac Herzog, Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu, Police Commissioner Daniel Levy and Sephardi Chief Rabbi David Yosef, alongside senior political and security figures. The sombre ceremony was the first funeral of a hostage from Oct. 7 attended by the prime minister.
Netanyahu eulogized Gvili: “He considered his injured shoulder meaningless because he believed with all his heart and strength that the security of the state rested on him and the shoulders of his comrades.
“He saved lives – many, many lives,” said Netanyahu.
The prime minister also announced that a new town, Renanim, would be established near Meitar in Gvili’s memory.
Addressing the family, Herzog apologized on behalf of the people of Israel, saying: “I’m sorry we were not there for him. I am sorry that, along with so many other families, you had to wait so many long, agonizing days for the return of your loved one.”
He added: “Without hesitation and without asking, again and again, [Gvili] said, ‘Here I am,’ and went into the line of fire to protect us.”
When the attacks began at 6:29 a.m. on Oct. 7, Gvili was at home, where he had been recovering from a broken shoulder sustained in a motorcycle accident. As news began trickling in of kibbutzim and cities near the Gaza frontier being overrun and their residents massacred, he decided to join the battle. Though on medical leave, he reached for his gun and his uniform, and went to help.
His father, Itzik Gvili, told Ynet News that his son “just put on a uniform and said to me, ‘Abba, I’m going.’ I said to him, ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ and he answered, ‘What do you think? Do you think that my friends will fight alone? I’m going to help them.’ He didn’t ask me. Rani can’t be stopped.”
Driving west toward the carnage at the Nova music festival, Gvili rescued an estimated 100 people fleeing the rave. He then engaged in a battle with dozens of Hamas gunmen near Kibbutz Alumim, killing 14 terrorists before being fatally shot when he ran out of ammunition. At 10:50 that morning, he texted friends that he had been shot in the leg.
For months, Gvili’s family held out hope that he was alive and being held hostage somewhere in the Gaza Strip.
His mother, Tali, told Haaretz in November 2024 that the family had received photos from Oct. 7 showing him arriving unconscious at Shifa Hospital in Gaza City, and later in Zeitoun on the back of a motorcycle, “but they aren’t conclusive … in this situation, hoping for a miracle feels reasonable.”
Gvili’s body was recovered by IDF search teams following a months-long intelligence operation. Under combat conditions in the northern Gaza Strip, some 700 bodies were disinterred at al-Bats Muslim cemetery in Shuja’iya and Gvili’s was identified by IDF dentists after carrying out the forensic examination of 249 corpses. Many noted that the word ran (singing) has a numerical value in gematria of 250. Gvili was still wearing his uniform, and he was buried in it rather than in shrouds as is customary for civilians.
According to the Hostages and Missing Families Forum, “Ran had a passion for motorcycles, enjoyed gatherings with friends, cherished moments with his sister and brother, and relished playing the guitar while sipping lemon arak.”
Gil Zoharis a journalist and tour guide based in Jerusalem.
