history

Living life to its fullest

My Aunt Hazel is 98 years old. They call her “the Queen” at Louis Brier Home and Hospital because, when she enters a room, she commands attention. I visited her in February, and she told me about her life in India, Iraq, Canada and elsewhere.

photo - Hazel Stevens, 98, has had quite the life — Hazel Stevens, 98, has had quite the life. She still commands attention. *(photo from Lisa Stevens)*

Hazel Stevens (née Moses) was born in Bangalore, India, in 1928. By the time she was 18, she had five brothers and five sisters. Her parents, my grandparents, were from Baghdad, Iraq.

Despite being one of maybe five Jewish families in the whole city, they kept kosher and made their own matzah. When Passover was over, their Hindu and Muslim friends would bring them bread.

Hazel’s mother and father ran a clothing store, so, to some degree, the six girls in the family, who were born first, were brought up by the servants. The five boys who came next were brought up by the girls.

What I noticed as a child growing up was that Hazel was clearly the funniest person in the family. When we all got together, she would chant slogans from Gandhi’s National Congress Party with incredible enthusiasm. Everyone would laugh. I think that part of my love for comedy came from her.

photo - Hazel Stevens (née Moses) was born in Bangalore, India, in 1928 — Hazel Stevens (née Moses) was born in Bangalore, India, in 1928. *(photo from Lisa Stevens)*

Hazel was also unequaled in her bravery. One day, a monkey grabbed her sister’s little girl, who was just a baby, and took her up onto the roof of the family’s home. Hazel climbed up to the roof to save her.

“I was frightened because the monkey could bite the baby or throw it off the roof,” Hazel told me. “I had to be very calm. I calmly patted myself and said, ‘Give me the baby.’ Finally, the monkey threw the baby at me.”

Luckily, no harm was done.

A few years later, in 1946, when Hazel turned 18, she visited Baghdad with her parents. It was a time of unrest, just after the Second World War. It isn’t well documented, but my aunt says that there was one week of “hysterical mobs” trying to kill their Jewish neighbours. The Jewish community had faced increasing insecurity for years, including the Farhud (pogrom) in June 1941, during which between 150 and 180 Jews were murdered, 600-plus injured and about 1,500 stores and homes looted, according to the US Holocaust Memorial Museum. In the 1940s, about 90,000 Jews lived in Baghdad, notes the museum, making up a significant portion of the population.

During this time, Hazel and others in the Jewish community were given hand grenades by the Baghdadi government. She fearlessly carried an urn full of them on her shoulder, as she went around the city, delivering grenades to Jewish households.

photo - Hazel Stevens in Baghdad in 1946, with an urnful of hand grenades provided by the government, which she delivered to Jewish community members to use in defence against hostile neighbours — Hazel Stevens in Baghdad in 1946, with an urnful of hand grenades provided by the government, which she delivered to Jewish community members to use in defence against hostile neighbours. (photo from Lisa Stevens)

“When you are young you are not afraid … because you could run,” she told me.

One night, Hazel joined her family on the roof, throwing stones down at a malicious crowd, which eventually left. Miraculously, no one in Hazel’s immediate family was hurt during this period.

Before her stay in Baghdad, Hazel had begun dating a young British soldier named Desmond (Steve) Stevens. He lived by the YMCA where she played tennis and he would come over and tell her not to hit or throw the balls so far away because the young Indian men would have to run far to retrieve them.

Steve would visit Hazel when she worked in her parents’ store. This was dangerous because girls weren’t allowed to speak to boys in those days, she told me. Dangerous in the sense that she should have been chaperoned.

Hazel would say to Steve, “Quickly, buy something, my parents are coming.”

The pair fell in love, but Hazel’s parents did not approve, as Steve wasn’t Jewish.

When Hazel was in Baghdad, her grandmother set her up with a man she hoped Hazel would marry. But my aunt was as smart as she was daring. She says that, when she met the man, she made all kinds of faces and threw her arms about. It was a very long 30 minutes, said Hazel, but she succeeded in turning him off.

Her daughter Lisa said: “It was her act of insanity that proved to her parents that she loved my dad. She wired him after her parents acquiesced, and he came over to Baghdad to spend some time with her. She told me they took walks and held hands.”

photo - Hazel and Desmond (Steve) Stevens were married in Bombay (Mumbai) in 1947. — Hazel and Desmond (Steve) Stevens were married in Bombay (Mumbai) in 1947. *(photo from Lisa Stevens)*

Steve promised to convert to Judaism and he did. The two were married in one of the beautiful synagogues in Bombay (Mumbai) in 1947. I remember that Steve was very knowledgeable when it came to almost anything Jewish.

Most of our family left India when it looked like there was going to be a civil war in 1948. Hazel and Steve went to England. I’m not sure of the order of their travels, but Steve remained part of the British army and so he and my aunt lived in various places in Canada and Europe. During this time, their first two children – Anita and David – were born.

Hazel told me that she was a dancer and remembers winning a $50 prize in her 30s – she can still pull one leg over her head. At the parties she threw, she would dress up in a belly dancing costume that she made, turn on Middle Eastern music and perform for everyone throughout the house. All the kids at the parties would crawl behind her, picking the shiny gold beads that would fall off her dress.

Nineteen years after her first child, Hazel gave birth to Lisa in Vancouver and soon enrolled her in dance classes. Today, Lisa is a director and choreographer, based between New York and Toronto.

Steve was a communications engineer at BC Tel (now known as Telus). He worked with new technology and, unknown to the family until after he retired, he provided spy satellites for NORAD. He was responsible for much of the communication capabilities when NORAD was first built, says Lisa.

Hazel was the homemaker for Marpole Neighbourhood House, where she provided in-home care for seniors and for people with disabilities. She won Homemaker of the Year several times. She also spent a lot of time organizing charity events for Vancouver’s Jewish Community Centre and the Hadassah Bazaar.

Steve and Hazel spent much of their spare time in the spring and summer caring for the front and back gardens of their house on Oak Street. Lisa says they often saw people stop their cars in front of the house and take pictures of the abundance of colour and the foliage.

Hazel ran a bed and breakfast out of her home on Oak Street and continued that after Steve passed away about 26 years ago. She also provided a room for out-of-town families who came here to visit their loved ones at Vancouver General Hospital, as the house was on that bus route.

In her late 80s, Hazel moved into Legacy Senior Living, where she says she led the exercise class at least once when the fitness instructor was away.

In a wheelchair now, Hazel lives at the Louis Brier, where she told me all about her incredible life.

I have a tendency to create funny, bold and daring characters when I improvise onstage and I think that maybe, just maybe, I get that from my aunt.

Cassandra Freeman is a Vancouver storyteller and improviser. She wrote this article with files from the Moses family and from Hazel Stevens’ daughter, Lisa Stevens.

Panama City welcoming

The ceiling of the Sephardic synagogue Shevet Ahim, which is located in the Bella Vista neighbourhood of Panama City. (photo by Janice Masur)

My solo trip to Panama City this past February had seemed so far away when I organized it, knowing I would require some respite from caregiving. I had a yen to experience the Miraflores and San Pedro shipping locks, but not on a cruise. I had listened to a talk from Qesher, a website about Jewish communities worldwide, highlighting Jewish life in Panama, so I gathered my courage to travel alone and booked my hotel and flights. And then my beloved husband died.

This changed my reason for going and started me thinking, What would I do there by myself? How would I manage to converse in Spanish and make myself understood? Could I give a talk about my Ugandan vanished Jewish community? (See jewishindependent.ca/honouring-community.) Despite my concerns, I made the journey.

photo - Panama City was a great place to travel solo – and as a Jew — Panama City was a great place to travel solo – and as a Jew. *(photo by Janice Masur)*

I had a half-day tour with an excellent Jewish guide, Patricia, to see all four of the Orthodox synagogues, each one more beautiful, all situated within a small area of Panama City.

There were all types of Jews staying in my hotel: a Dutch woman who only recently discovered her Jewish heritage, a fur-hatted Jewish man, and two Jewish Tunisian-born sisters, whose family history included having been ousted from their home in Tunis during the Second World War, their home commandeered to be a Nazi headquarters.

At Kol Shearith Reform synagogue, I struggled with the Spanish and Hebrew prayer book, spellbound by my surroundings. The Sephardic tunes of the prayers made only a handful of them familiar to my ear. The Oneg Shabbat was delicious: fish ceviche and crème caramel, a childhood favourite, as well as several dishes new to me. We stood around the loaded tables and talked.

Jews started arriving in Panama in the 15th century and there are about 17,000 Jews in Panama, with most living in Panama City. Apparently, Panama is a “Jewish bubble,” with basically no antisemitism. I was told that there are many families from Vancouver soon moving there. “Why?” you may ask. Imagine 40 kosher restaurants, two very large kosher stores, apartment buildings housing only Jewish families, a Jewish support system from birth to death, Sephardic Shevet Ahim in the Bella Vista neighbourhood with offshoots in Punta Paitilla, Ashkenazi Beth El Synagogue, two Chabad synagogues, and the oldest synagogue, Kol Shearith.

photo - “The Eternal Flame,” an Oct. 7 memorial at Beth El Synagogue in Panama City. The artists were Ilanit Schwartz and Michael Ostroviack — “The Eternal Flame,” an Oct. 7 memorial at Beth El Synagogue in Panama City. The artists were Ilanit Schwartz and Michael Ostroviack. The sculpture is composed of seven levels, each bearing a word: faith, resilience, hope, unity, perseverance, identity and strength. The flame is a reminder that there will always be light, even in the most difficult times. And, within the flame is the Shema Yisrael prayer. There is also the symbol of the “necklace of liberation,” associated not only with the promise to bring home the hostages, but the struggle for life and freedom for all human beings. *(photo by Janice Masur)*

Geographically, Panama City is situated on a narrow isthmus, making it an elongated city running east-west, mainly facing the Pacific Ocean. It is full of incredibly high and distinctive skyscrapers lining the long promenade.

The Old Town is being gentrified. Hotel La Compañía Casco Antiguo has a Spanish, French and American wing, each built in a different century. A large cathedral faces onto Plaza Herrera, and I saw my first modern-day monk. He was wearing a brown habit and many nuns were spilling out into the sunlit plaza. Brightly painted buildings and small shops catered to the tourists. The imposing Opera House faces the ocean.

I felt quite safe on my own and was touched by how a local family pointed out animals and kept an eye on me as we wandered around Metropolitan Natural Park, where I saw turtles, agoutis and my first ever armadillo.

I took myself to the botanical garden situated about 40 minutes outside the city. Along the route were American army barracks now being repurposed. At the garden, I enjoyed seeing flowers I had never seen before. A large red flower that only grows from a tree trunk; an orange flower whose seed pod is hard and round and slightly bigger than a tennis ball. The garden also showcased two- and three-toed sloths, plus several monkey species. In its far reaches, I saw a lone jaguar, who let out such sad, lonely notes with his rib cage working like an accordion that I could not bear to stay near his cage. I wondered about the information exhorting visitors to take care of the planet and not to shoot wild animals. Jaguars are on the at-risk list because of habitation loss and human interference.

On the spur of the moment, I took a Black African walking tour of the old city. The young guide was very good. Highlights included some colourful historic wall paintings and an old church, which is now a Black African museum. We finished the tour at the San Felipe public market, where I had a large, freshly squeezed and most-welcome passion fruit drink in 32˚ C heat and then crashed on my bed for a nap.

photo - A painted wall in Old Town, depicting Panamanian Black African history — A painted wall in Old Town, depicting Panamanian Black African history. *(photo by Janice Masur)*

The Biomuseo (biodiversity museum), designed by Frank Gehry, is well worth a visit, with a lovely seawall walk and an eco-friendly garden, where I rested and listened to the birds. I also took a private birding tour, which yielded some wonderful sightings. The couple of hours on my own watching close to 100 pelicans circling and diving for fish was spectacular.

And, of course, I took a tour on a small boat that passed through the Miraflores and San Pedro locks. It was fascinating to observe the speed with which large shipping vessels are lowered and raised through the original canal lock gates, which opened in 1914. Tugs and railway engines synchronize the adjustment of a ship in the lock with steel ropes to prevent it from damaging the canal walls – it’s a specialized job, and I was happy to learn there are some women pilots.

I was warmly welcomed in Panama City, and the Jewish hospitality was inclusive and friendly. It was a fun and easy holiday – it has given me the appetite for more solo adventures.

Janice Masur is a Vancouver author and speaker. Her book, Shalom Uganda: A Jewish Community on the Equator, tells her story of growing up in the bygone Ashkenazi Jewish community of Kampala from 1949 to 1961.

A word, please …

Beverley Kort is a registered psychologist by day and a cartoonist in her off hours. She has a private practice in Vancouver.

Ritual is what makes life holy

Years ago, I regularly walked with my two bird dogs on streets near my home, in Winnipeg. I had a setter-mix and a pointer, rescued from a Kentucky animal shelter as young dogs, before moving to Canada. I walked them once or twice a day. Our routines were solid. The dogs sat on street corners. They heeled while crossing streets. Strangers admired their obedience skills and called out praise. Others stopped to say hello. I said thank you, but the next question almost always was, “How did you do that? My dog doesn’t….”

The answer, every time, was the same. I walked these dogs for years. Every day, we waited at street corners for cars to pass, and I had my dogs sit. Every time we crossed in traffic, I aimed for two lively dogs who heeled at my side to make the street crossing safer. Now, I own a different dog (another setter mix from the pound) and have twins as well. My family gets complimented about those lovely teens with their good manners, and we all say thank you. How did we do it? The same way – with consistency and positive reinforcement.

Our Jewish lives are also full of ritual and routine. No matter your level of observance, some of those repetitions stick. Perhaps you say a blessing when you wash your hands or do blessings before eating. Others may light Shabbat candles, attend a family seder or use Yiddish phrases of endearment. Some hum Jewish music or embrace Jewish values. These visible and invisible parts of our identity are so ordinary that we may not think about them much.

I’ve heard rabbis express their congregants’ disinterest in the specifics of how to build the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, in the wilderness in Exodus when reading the Torah portion each year. Yet these details mattered enormously to the many people who used the information as “how-to” guides. These were people with great skills, those who spun the finest linen yarn or wove the curtains, dyed the textiles the right shades using natural materials, or who worked gold and silver to create ornamentation. Later in our history, the priests who made the sacrifices in the Temple in Jerusalem needed to know how to do those sacrifices properly. The rabbis debated and recorded these routine details, even though the Temple no longer existed. The information was precious. It was a guide for the Jewish people.

The details illustrate how meaningful it was to create this beautiful “home” for the Divine. Today, we may not understand the details of how spinners, goldsmiths or hand-dyers worked. However, our texts record their efforts, these gorgeous descriptions, for a reason.

Just as our body is the “container” for our soul, our homes and synagogues are now our mishkan, our sanctuary. How we create beauty and routine matters. A house that’s functional and attractive is one where we find rest and peace to escape the outside world.

Like the daily dog walk, other routines or “sacrifices” make our houses and gardens functional and humming. It’s a pain to clean up thoroughly, whether dusting, scrubbing or sweeping. Still, these small moments add up to a clean, healthy and safe place to live. Clinging to these rituals also orders our lives when we’re mourning or stressed.

Many have seen social media images of Israelis, family or friends, rushing to their shelters to stay safe during the war. Recently, I saw a clip of a mom who taught her small children that, when they heard a big boom in the shelter, they should say, “Olé!” She created a quirky, positive celebration of life to respond to missiles and the Iron Dome response. That routine helps create resilience during anxious moments. We can panic when we don’t know what to do. Solid routines (rituals) create order during difficult times.

About eight years ago, I crossed a busy street in front of my home with my (new to me) adolescent, large dog. We tripped over each other. I literally fell and rolled at an intersection full of fast-moving cars. Kind people asked if I was OK as I got up from the pavement, but some stopped their cars to yell at us instead. This further panicked an already bruised and disoriented young dog and owner. My long routines of dog walks helped me get up, calm the new dog and get across the street safely. The drivers, jostled by this upsetting event, lost their calm commute. While I was bruised, I had the tools to get up again. I could proceed without yelling rude things back.

Every dog walk is an opportunity for training and reassurance. Every meal is a chance to rejoice in good, tasty food with people we love. We make the ordinary something special. When we’re faced with upheavals, a bad tumble or even a war, we can find resilience in the rituals and beauty of each day as it comes. Jewish life offers repeat performances, if we choose to embrace them.

While I sometimes dread chores like weeding, our small choices each day, what we plant or weed, can become glorious garden landscapes later. Similarly, big Shabbat meal prep for family and friends can feel overwhelming. However, when I break it down into first steps and familiar routines, baking challah or turning out salads, I regain calm. And, with each gathering, the bonds with family and friends are deepened.

We can choose resilience and ritual, meaning and beauty as daily practice even during hard moments. We can find the joy in the everyday, if we look around and see what we’ve created through those routines. The minutiae in our lives, the how-to manuals of our days, can feel like too much. Even so, a calm child or dog, a well-planned meal or a garden filled with colour are all signs of someone’s daily efforts. These household routines aren’t ordinary, but magnificent, like the ways we built the Mishkan, our wilderness sanctuary. Perhaps what’s limiting is the unimaginative person who yells negatively, for that’s the person who cannot see the countless steps that go into making the mundane into something holy.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for the Winnipeg Free Press and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Pop-up exhibit popular

Jewish Museum and Archives of British Columbia director of programming Elana Wenner and JMABC executive director Eli Klasner at the Feb. 11 launch of the museum’s pop-up exhibit You Can’t Spell Delicious Without Deli. (photo from JMABC)

Omnitsky Kosher Delicatessen has been in business for more than 115 years. A community institution, it is the perfect location for the Jewish Museum and Archives of British Columbia’s pop-up exhibit You Can’t Spell Delicious Without Deli: A Look Behind the Counters of Vancouver’s Historic Jewish Delis.

Patrons can grab something to eat – at the restaurant or to take home – and peruse the photographs and blurbs about five different delis that have made their mark on Vancouver history. There’s a printed guide available, which has more information about the exhibit and the delis featured. There is also merch: T-shirts. One has a bowl of matzah ball soup, one a deli meat sandwich, another an assortment of containers, a cereal bowl and a block of cheese with the words, “I can tolerate a lot of things. Dairy is not one of them.”

The exhibit launched Feb. 11, filling the restaurant, the night hosted by the current owner of Omnitsky, Richard Wood. The deli has seen only three owners in its long history: it was started in Winnipeg by Louis Omnitsky in 1910; bought some seven decades later by Eppy Rappaport, who brought it to Vancouver in the 1990s, running it here until 2023; and Wood.

Omnitsky has been in a few locations in Vancouver, including on Oak Street near 41st, where it took over the space of Kaplan’s Deli, when that community institution closed in 2014.

Kaplan’s was started by Ida and Abrasha Kaplan in the 1960s; Serge Haber ran it from 1981-2000, Marshall Kramer for a dozen-plus years and Howie English for its last year or so.

Kaplan’s is one of the five delis featured in the exhibit, along with Omnitsky, which is now on Fraser Street between 18th and 19th avenues. The others are Oscar’s (1943-1956), Rubin’s (1955-1981) and Max’s, which has been in operation since 1949 on Oak Street at 15th Avenue, with various owners over the years.

More than dates and names, the exhibit shares tidbits about each establishment, like where Ida Kaplan learned how to make her famous cinnamon buns, some of the many celebrities that visited Oscar’s and how Rubin’s was a late-night hotspot, open to as late as 3 a.m. in its heyday.

“Sometimes I find myself browsing through the stories of our past, and certain items or documents just speak to me in a way that screams, ‘Tell my story!’” Elana Wenner, director of programming at the Jewish Museum and Archives, told the Independent about the how the deli exhibit came about.

“In this case, I was visiting Omnitsky’s at their new location on Fraser Street, and I had just recently come across some photos in our archives of the old Kaplan’s Deli on Oak Street…. As I browsed the shelves in the new Omnitsky’s storefront, it occurred to me just how poignant it was to be living through this unique moment in Vancouver’s Jewish history.

“As a Vancouver native and historian of local Jewish culture, the transitions of any local Jewish establishment always trigger a certain chord of interest for me,” she explained. “The major move of Omnitsky’s from Oak Street to Fraser Street was a transitional moment that would surely become a marker in the future telling of Vancouver’s many chapters of Jewish culture and growth.”

Wenner leads the museum’s walking tours of the Strathcona neighbourhood.

“I always conclude [them] with an ‘epilogue’ of where the community moved next, as there was a pretty abrupt collective move from Strathcona over to Fairview in the 1940s, and then a slow progression along Oak Street through to the new millennium,” she said.

The story is, of course, still being written.

“As young families continue to populate the areas east of Fraser, the residential centre of Jewish life in Vancouver is transitioning starkly eastward,” said Wenner. “So, while Omnitsky’s move from Oak to Fraser may have seemed like a shock to many of the old-timers … it makes a lot of sense in the grander scheme, in the way that the community seems to be moving now.”

The 2018 edition of the museum’s journal, The Scribe, had the theme of Jewish restaurants. Most of the original content for the pop-up exhibit came from this publication, said Wenner, “all based on oral history interviews with the restaurateurs themselves.”

The initial concept was to feature all the local Jewish-owned restaurants throughout Vancouver’s 140-year history, but there were simply too many, she said. “So, the project shifted to become focused on just Jewish-owned delis.

“As I put the word out that we were looking for more information, I quickly discovered that there had been many more delis owned by Jewish families in Vancouver than I had ever expected,” she said. “We chose the five featured in the current exhibit based on the extent of information available to us, both from existing archival materials, as well as new information collected from interviews with family members, descendants, and gleaned from secondary sources outside the museum.”

The museum’s archives include oral histories, copies of menus, newspaper articles and even some handwritten notes of sale and purchase lists, said Wenner.

Response to the exhibit has been positive.

“On the one hand, we wish we had complete stories for each and every single deli,” said Wenner, “but it’s actually really satisfying when people pop out of the woodwork and say, ‘But wait! My grandparents owned this place!’ and then they have all this new information for us to delve into about a deli that had previously not even been on our list.”

As part of the exhibit, the museum asks visitors to share any information they may have on Pheasant Deli, Barer’s Deli, Lindy Fine Foods, Triangle Café, Moishe’s Deli and Leon’s Kosher.

“We wanted to highlight the fact that we do know they existed, but the archives are only as good as the material we receive, and these are stories we haven’t yet collected,” said Wenner, who expects more pop-ups in the museum’s future.

“What makes this exhibit so interesting,” noted Eli Klasner, executive director of the JMABC, “is the collaboration with a business that is such an important part of our local Jewish history. The museum is committed to preserving Jewish history and retelling our stories in unique and interesting ways, including with entertaining pop-up exhibits in a range of locations and venues.”

photo - Two of the T-shirts for sale at the exhibit, which runs to April 1 — Two of the T-shirts for sale at the exhibit, which runs to April 1. (photo by Cynthia Ramsay)

The T-shirts are proving to be a popular aspect of the current exhibit, which runs to April 1.

“In terms of the T-shirts – honestly, people are obsessed,” Wenner said. “There’s been a lot of hype surrounding the deli exhibit in general, but the limited-edition T-shirts being sold alongside the display have garnered a lot of unexpected public attention. We keep receiving requests for more, and plan to release a new line of designs in the coming months to meet the demand.”

Wenner urged readers to check out the new JMABC website, jewishmuseum.ca, where there is information about upcoming programs, including for Jewish Heritage Month in May, as well as many online exhibits.

“Our summer 2026 season of walking tours is coming up soon,” she said, noting that the tours sell out quickly.

The museum offers four different tours throughout Vancouver and Victoria, she said, “each telling the fascinating stories of early Jewish life and community in BC, from 1858 to present day.” They also offer private tours, which can be booked by emailing [email protected].

Garden City of Tel Aviv

Liebling Haus’s exhibit Life, Plant, City: 100 Years of Geddes’ Plan for Tel Aviv’s Garden City, which documents how Sir Patrick Geddes’ vision continues to shape the city’s urban fabric, includes multidisciplinary works by dozens of artists (photo by Yael Schmidt / Liebling Haus)

On April 11, 1909, 60 families gathered on the beach north of Jaffa to draw lots for the parcelization of the sand dunes they had purchased north of the ancient port. This moment in Israel’s history has been much mythologized, but one thing is clear – those garden suburb pioneers were clueless about urban planning. They turned their backs on the site’s most notable feature – its iconic Mediterranean beach.

The village that the founders initially named Ahuzat Bayit (Homestead), now called Tel Aviv, grew haphazardly, house by house, with an interruption during the First World War, when the Ottoman Turks expelled the newly established town’s Jews. In 1921, following the arrival of the British during the war and the replacement of their military rule with a civil administration, the growing suburb was granted township status separate from the neighbouring Arab-majority city of Jaffa.

It became clear that the township’s slapdash growth needed to be regulated. Into this planning chaos stepped Sir Patrick Geddes (1854-1932), a Scottish-born polymath who was at once a biologist, sociologist, landscape theorist and pioneering urban planner. The 62-page plan for Tel Aviv that he drew up a century ago remains among the most important documents in the history of the city. Liebling Haus – an architectural and cultural centre located in downtown Tel Aviv – recently opened the exhibit Life, Plant, City: 100 Years of Geddes’ Plan for Tel Aviv’s Garden City. It documents how Geddes’ vision continues to shape the city’s urban fabric, featuring not only archival materials but multidisciplinary works by dozens of artists and other contemporary interpretations of Geddes’ ideas and reflections on the city’s future.

photo - Sir Patrick Geddes (1854-1932) was a Scottish-born polymath who was a biologist, sociologist, landscape theorist and pioneering urban planner — Sir Patrick Geddes (1854-1932) was a Scottish-born polymath who was a biologist, sociologist, landscape theorist and pioneering urban planner. (photo from shbt.org.uk/knowledge)

In 1925, Geddes – who earned a reputation for his urban planning in 18 cities in British India – was invited by Tel Aviv’s mukhtar, Meir Dizengoff, to prepare the first master plan to guide the town’s growth. (Tel Aviv achieved city status in 1934.)

Geddes believed that cities were living organisms, shaped by the interplay of nature, society and culture. This holistic approach – unusual for its time – made him particularly attractive to Zionist leaders, who envisioned Tel Aviv as both a future-facing modern metropolis and a cultural project rooted in Jewish history.

His plan was deeply influenced by the Garden City movement, but Geddes adapted it to the climate and social context of the Levant. It emphasized shaded streets to mitigate the Mediterranean heat, wide boulevards that encouraged airflow and social life, and parks and squares as communal anchors. Human-scale residential blocks were arranged around shared green spaces and courtyards.

Geddes’ plan expanded Tel Aviv north from its early neighbourhoods to the Yarkon River. It was delineated by the Mediterranean Sea to the west and what is now Ibn Gabirol Street to the east. Into this flat and featureless space, Geddes laid out a skein of streets with a clear hierarchy. Main north-south and east-west arteries allowed for speedy movement across the city. Secondary streets were narrower and designed for local circulation. Small residential lanes fostered neighbourhood intimacy. The goal was to create a walkable city that balanced efficiency with livability.

photo - On display at Liebling Haus: One of the artworks inspired by Sir Patrick Geddes’ century-old plan for Tel Aviv — On display at Liebling Haus: One of the artworks inspired by Sir Patrick Geddes’ century-old plan for Tel Aviv. (photo by Yael Schmidt / Liebling Haus)

The plan also contained what later scholars have identified as anarchist or cooperative elements. It emphasized worker-led housing blocs and resisted speculative land practices. These ideas resonated with the social and economic conditions of Tel Aviv in the 1920s and 1930s, when workers wanted architecture that reflected their egalitarian values.

Although Geddes’ plan was not executed in its entirety, its core principles shaped the development of the White City, which was recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2003. By the 1930s, Tel Aviv had some 4,000 white Bauhaus-style buildings constructed within the distinctive blocks, boulevards and public gardens Geddes laid out.

Bauhaus was a school of arts, crafts and architecture that operated in Germany from 1919 to 1933. The rise of the Nazi party led to the shuttering of the academy. Some 60,000 Jews left Nazi Germany and Austria for Mandatory Palestine, including architects who didn’t study at the Bauhaus school but were greatly influenced by its style. There, they created a revolutionary, streamlined architectural style that suited the modernist ethos of Zionism.

Tel Aviv’s amalgam of Bauhaus (also called International Style) buildings arose from an accident of historical coincidence: first came Geddes’ town plan; then the wave of mass aliyah triggered by the Nazis’ ascent to power in 1933, which triggered an urgent demand for housing; and, thirdly, the International Style’s lack of expensive decorative features made the cost of construction relatively low. No decorative tiles or ornamental plasterwork meant cheaper construction that could be executed by less-specialized craftsmen.

For the Yekke newcomers, many of whom had to leave significant assets behind, cheaper housing that didn’t sacrifice style was a major draw. The streamlined design with porthole windows, curved walls and balconies was a snub to the values of Central Europe, which the newcomers had barely escaped.

Liebling Haus, built in 1936, is an example of this architectural era. While not designed by Geddes, it manifests the urban environment his plan envisioned. The house’s clean lines, functional design and integration with the surrounding streetscape reflect the synergy between Geddes’ urbanism and the architectural modernism that followed. The Life, Plant, City exhibit runs to May 31.

Gil Zohar is a journalist and tour guide based in Jerusalem.

Musical legacy re-found

Zusman Kiselgof, member of S. An-sky’s ethnographic expedition, recording folklore in Kremenets, Russian Empire (now in Ukraine), 1912. Four events relating to the An-sky expedition take place in Vancouver Feb. 20-22. (photo from YIVO)

On Feb. 21, Or Shalom hosts Christina and the Zamlers in a special concert, as part of the congregation’s Light in Winter music series, co-sponsored by the Peretz Centre for Secular Jewish Culture and KlezWest.

photo - Christina Crowder — Christina Crowder *(photo from Peretz Centre)*

Presenting pieces ranging from lively freylekhs to elegant mazurkas, Jewish wedding melodies to nigunim, Christina Crowder (accordion and tsimbl) and Pacific Northwest klezmer performers Jimmy Austin (trombone) and Mae Kessler (violin) will take the audience on a musical journey. Joined by Ashkenazi dance leader Maia Brown, they will draw from a repertoire of music gathered from shtetls across the Russian Pale of Settlement more than 100 years ago.

Along with the band’s musical performance and dance session, Crowder will recount the remarkable story of this trove of Ashkenazi music manuscripts, how they came to be collected, largely forgotten and then “rediscovered” in 2017.

The story begins in 1912, when Yiddish writer and ethnographer S. An-sky, with funding from the Russian government, led a collecting “expedition” to approximately 70 shtetls in the Pale of Settlement. Aware that traditional ways of Ashkenazi life were fading and that people were emigrating, An-sky was determined to gather and preserve both tangible and intangible aspects of the Ashkenazi cultural legacy.

photo - Jimmy Austin — Jimmy Austin *(photo from Peretz Centre)*

While not against “modernity,” he believed in the importance of Jews knowing their own history and traditions in order to maintain their identity in a changing world. Members of the project took photographs, collected ceremonial and everyday objects, compiled folk tales and noted local lore.

Collecting music manuscripts was an important part of the project. Music played a prominent role in community life, not only for entertainment or religious purposes, but to accompany and set the tone for many lifecycle experiences, especially weddings. Professional musicians in the shtetls offered more than 1,000 handwritten manuscripts with original and traditional compositions.

When the Russian government withdrew funding in 1914, with the onset of the First World War, the An-sky expedition ceased to exist. The collection appears to have been stored in different locations at various times and, although relatively intact, its location was either uncertain or access was consistently denied.

However, in 2017, the music collection, stored at the Vernadsky National Library in Kyiv, became accessible. This was the result of a series of serendipitous events, beginning when two attendees at a Tokyo klezmer workshop met, one of them fluent in Ukrainian. She was allowed to view some of the collection at the library and copy 600 manuscripts to a memory stick.

photo - Mae Kessler — Mae Kessler (photo from Peretz Centre)

While klezmer music has developed a following over the past many years, the number of known traditional Ashkenazi melodies was quite small, approximately 300 pieces. The recovery of the An-sky expedition’s repertoire has had a significant impact on the revival of klezmer around the world. The Klezmer Institute, of which Crowder is a co-founder and the executive director, has played an important role in helping musicians, the public and academics view and use the collection.

Through their Kiselgof-Makonovetsky Digital Manuscript Project, volunteers have translated and transcribed more than 1,300 of the handwritten musical manuscripts, which have been digitized and are universally available on the Klezmer Institute’s website (klezmerinstitute.org).

photo - Maia Brown — Maia Brown (photo from Peretz Centre)

In connection with the Feb. 21 concert event, which will take place at Or Shalom’s temporary home (Cityview Church), there will be two workshops offered at the Peretz Centre on the afternoon of Feb. 22 – one for musicians, led by Crowder, the other for dancers, led by Brown. In addition, at the Peretz Centre’s Fraytik tsu Nakht Cultural Shabbes and Potluck on Feb. 20, Jess Goldman will lead a discussion on An-sky’s ethnography expeditions and more.

Tickets for the concert and for the workshops are available at orshalom.ca and peretz-centre.org. Admission for the concert is a minimum donation of $18 (suggested amount is $36); both workshops are by donation; and the potluck and talk is $18 or a contribution of a food dish to the dinner (see peretz-centre.org for more information).

Ann Daskal is a member of Or Shalom, with an interest in facilitating community art and performance.

Life’s full range of emotions

Bonny Reichert will be in Vancouver on March 4 to talk about her new memoir, How to Share an Egg, as an epilogue to the JCC Jewish Book Festival, which runs Feb. 21-26. (photo by Kayla Rocca)

When Bonny Reichert was a kid, living in Edmonton, her baba, who had come to Canada as a teen on her own in the early 1900s to escape pogroms in Ukraine, would come to stay with her family for the weekend and “the house brightened,” writes Reichert in How to Share an Egg: A True Story of Hunger, Love and Plenty. “She arrived as though she were fleeing all over again, with parcels and packages and a giant soup pot wrapped in a tea towel, knotted to make a handle. Things were hot or cold or frozen. I didn’t know to wonder if she’d stayed up all night rolling and pinching and stuffing for us. Pekeleh, she called her bundles, little packages. Pekeleh also means burdens. Yiddish is like that.”

As with pekeleh, meaning both treats and worries, there have been many contrasts in Reichert’s life, opposite things or states of being existing simultaneously. Her memoir is fascinating for the challenges she has faced and the way in which she has dealt with them. Readers can hear the award-winning writer in conversation with Marsha Lederman on March 4, 7:30 p.m., at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver, in a JCC Jewish Book Festival epilogue event.

How to Share an Egg is the telling of Reichert’s dad’s survival story – a story he so wanted her to share. Experiencing years of difficulty putting pen to paper, she approaches it through her own journey with intergenerational trauma, which she has felt deeply from childhood. Her mother grew up with “a dad who was quick to anger” and an “exacting” mother who taught there was only one way to do things. “That this was the same person who rubbed my feet as I fell asleep seemed impossible,” writes Reichert about her efforts to reconcile her beloved baba with her mother’s mother.

Reichert’s maternal grandfather, who had come to Canada in 1913, died before she was born. On her paternal side, she had no grandparents – her dad was a 17-year-old orphan when he came to Canada in 1947. His parents and five sisters were all killed in the Holocaust. He was one of the 1,123 war orphans Canadian Jewish Congress helped enter the country when the doors were only just starting to open again for Jews.

The Jewish Independent spoke with Reichert by email about her memoir.

JI: You were 9 when your dad first mentioned the possibility that you would write his story. Then there was the trip to Poland in 2015 that was a breakthrough. When did you actually write the first words and, from that point, about how long did it take for you to write How to Share an Egg?

BR: The very earliest work on the book started on that first trip to Warsaw with my dad. I took a few notes and some important photos, but I didn’t yet know where I was headed. After the second trip to Poland, in 2016, I had even more research and notes, but I still wasn’t sure I had a book. The more formal outlining and writing began in late 2020, in the depths of the pandemic. Including the time I spent waiting for my editor’s feedback and the editing, the book took about four years to write. I was earning a master’s degree at the same time.

JI: You write about your personal journey with inherited trauma, and you share some of the healing milestones on that journey. In what ways was the process of writing the book cathartic?

BR: When you write a memoir like How to Share an Egg, your job is to look at yourself very closely, but with objectivity, because the self becomes the central character of the book. In that close examination, you come to name feelings you previously couldn’t name, and evaluate experiences and situations that your younger self might not have understood. All of this leads to greater understanding and greater self-compassion. This, coupled with the relief of finding a way to write this book my dad always wanted me to write, has indeed led to healing and catharsis.

JI: What does your dad think of the book?

BR: He loves it and says that it has given new meaning to his life at 95. A wonderful outcome.

JI: One theme of How to Share an Egg is you finding your voice, being able to stick up for yourself when bullied, to be yourself in the face of others’ expectations (notably, your father’s). From where did you get the courage to be this open?

BR: You can’t decide to write a memoir and then hide from the personal. Readers want to see all of that raw emotion on the page. For the memoir to be successful, the true, honest person in the book should resonate with the true person inside the reader. At a certain point, I realized all of this, and I came to see I was writing about the universal human experience and there is no shame in being human. In other words, I practised radical self-acceptance to get the job done.

JI: You comment in the book about pekeleh meaning both bundles and burdens. Judaism is full of those instances, holding joy and sorrow at the same time. Can you speak about that, in the context of How to Share an Egg?

BR: People often hold a pretty stereotypical idea of what Holocaust survivors and their families are like – severely traumatized, loaded down with psychological and emotional problems, etc. I wanted to address that – to challenge it and expand on it. There is sorrow and trauma, of course, but there is also so much joy and gratitude and celebration. So, the book is meant to express this fuller range of emotion. Part of my decision to write it as a food memoir was to offer the reader pleasure and comfort, even against the backdrop of the Holocaust. A Jewish approach, for sure.

JI: Hedy Bohm, who you mention in your memoir, just had her own survivor memoir published by the Azrieli Foundation. What is the importance of having these stories out in the world?

BR: Yes, I’m so happy for Hedy. She is a wonderful person. Preserving these stories has always been of the utmost importance – firsthand testimony is obviously critical. I also believe a plurality of stories and approaches brings the humanity back into the unfathomable numbers and statistics.

JI: How often have you been to Vancouver, and what are you looking forward to most about your March visit?

BR: I was just there in the fall for the Vancouver Writer Fest! I have friends I’m looking forward to seeing and I’m hoping for some nice weather so I can walk and admire your beautiful city.

For the full schedule and tickets to the book festival, go to jccgv.com/jewish-book-festival.

Chronicle of a community

The past and future of Jewish journalism were on the agenda when Cynthia Ramsay addressed the Jewish Seniors Alliance of British Columbia, Jan. 27.

In a Zoom presentation that was part of the alliance’s Empowerment Series, the publisher of the Jewish Independent spoke on the history of the newspaper and discussed the future of Jewish newspapers in general and the Independent in particular.

Ramsay spoke about the history and future of the Jewish Independent at the Jewish Seniors Alliance of British Columbia Empowerment session Jan. 27. (photo by Karen Ginsberg)

While the paper celebrated its 95th anniversary last year, Ramsay said it could be a century old, depending on how one begins the count.

A Vancouver Jewish Bulletin was published in 1925, printed by Dr. J.I. Gorosh and this was succeeded by a mimeographed newsletter produced by the Jewish Community Centre and dubbed the Jewish Centre News. The name Jewish Western Bulletin dates to the 1930s.

Publishing transitioned to the Jewish Community Council of Greater Vancouver, a forerunner of today’s Jewish Federation, though it appears to have evolved a degree of independence under publisher Abraham Arnold, who took the helm in 1949, in conjunction with his wife Bertha.

The newspaper became formally separate from other institutions a decade or so after Sam and Mona Kaplan took over in 1960.

The Kaplans were very much committed to advocacy journalism, Ramsay said, most notably advocating freedom for Soviet Jewry.

The Kaplans ran the paper for 35 years and, after a period when it was contracted to an American Jewish media chain, it was sold to Ramsay and two partners, Kyle Berger and Pat Johnson. The latter two later left the business but Ramsay says she is happy that they remain friends and that Johnson is on the editorial board and still writes for the paper (including this story).

The new leadership brought fresh policies, including accepting notices of interfaith and same-gender weddings, as well as coverage of a broader range of topics that were previously considered off limits. The paper opened up to a wider range of opinions, including on Israel.

In 2005, Ramsay renamed the paper the Jewish Independent.

“I changed it because I didn’t think Bulletin really said ‘newspaper,’” she explained. “We got rid of the word ‘western’ also. By that point we were online … and it wasn’t just people from BC who were reading it.”

The paper walks a line between supporting the community and providing a critical eye where necessary, she said.

“I think there are concerns that should be played out in public, but then there’s others that really should be dealt with privately,” she said. “We’re not a gossip rag and we’re also not sensationalist or alarmist.

“We don’t ignore the bad stuff that goes on in our community or in the world, but we do try to cover stories in a way that doesn’t depress or paralyze,” said Ramsay, quoting from an article she wrote in the paper’s anniversary issue last May. “We want, rather, to open the door for solutions and at least positive attempts at change. We don’t want you to put down the paper in despair, but rather [consider] what you can do to contribute to making the world a better place.”

Above all, she said, the paper tries to provide a record of the community, a role it has played for most of a century.

image - The first issue of the Jewish Western Bulletin, Oct. 9, 1930 — The first issue of the Jewish Western Bulletin, Oct. 9, 1930.

“The Jewish Western Bulletin, the Jewish Independent, has been the only consistent historical record of the community since 1930,” she said.

“Now, of course, we miss a lot of stuff,” she acknowledged. “We have a very small staff. We have a limited number of pages every issue, we’re not going to cover everything.”

She provided an insider view of how the paper operates in terms of the amount of advertising determining the size of each issue, and how decisions are made about what is covered in each issue and on what page things appear.

The pandemic was deeply challenging to the economic viability of the paper, said Ramsay, and it was at that time that the publishing schedule shifted to twice monthly from weekly.

image - The Jan. 23, 2026, issue of the Jewish Independent — The Jan. 23, 2026, issue of the Jewish Independent.

The Independent has survived when other Jewish newspapers in Canada and across North America have not, she noted, even including Federation-owned publications that have gone under in some cities. She wants the paper to reach 100 and she also has her own retirement in mind, tentatively at age 60.

“I’m 56,” she said, noting that almost 30 of those years have been devoted to the paper.

“I’m already starting to think about succession plans,” she said. “I’ve kind of got a five-year window at this point where I’m looking and wanting to responsibly pass over [the paper].”

Innovation could make the publication more sustainable, perhaps a monthly format, she said.

All in all, she takes pride in her achievements and the longer history of the paper’s contributions to the community.

“I think we’ve been a great success, not just because we’re 96 years old, but … [almost] every year we’ve won an American Jewish Press Association Rockower Award for Excellence in Jewish Journalism, mostly for our editorials, but occasionally for other articles,” she said.

The Jewish Seniors Alliance session was opened by Jeff Moss, the organization’s executive director. Fran Goldberg introduced Ramsay.

Broadway’s Jewish storylines

David Benkof, the Broadway Maven, spoke on Jan. 11 as part of Kolot Mayim Reform Temple’s 2025-26 Voices of Jewish Music series. (photo from David Benkof)

David Benkof, the Broadway Maven, visited Victoria recently, to give a talk titled Spotlight on Jewish Broadway, on Jan. 11. He began with a clip from the musical Spamalot, which, in a tongue-in-cheek manner, asserts that a potential show may have the finest sets, the loveliest costumes and the best shoes, yet it “won’t succeed on Broadway if you don’t have any Jews.”

“The joke is that Jews wrote Broadway, Jews perform Broadway, Jews produce Broadway – and that’s true. It’s historically true, it’s statistically true, and it’s been said so many times that it barely counts as an insight anymore,” Benkof said.

Although seemingly innumerable Jews – Irving Berlin, Jerome Kern, Barbra Streisand, to name a mere few – may be associated with Broadway, Benkof encouraged the audience to consider the meaning of “Jewish Broadway” as something beyond the names of those who created and performed in well-known shows. Rather, he asked those attending in person and on Zoom to think in terms of Jewish-related themes: assimilation, reinvention, insecurity, exile, visibility and ambivalence.

“I want to go a step further,” he said, “and argue that Broadway isn’t primarily Jewish because of the people involved, but because of the very sensibility of the art form. Broadway is Jewish because its plots, themes and character arcs reflect the Jewish experience in North America.”

With clips from Hairspray, Hello, Dolly, A Chorus Line and Chicago, Benkof demonstrated that, while characters and plots were not overtly Jewish, or Jewish at all, there are invariably elements – such as restlessness, striving and defensiveness – that make them feel deeply Jewish.

“It grows out of histories of conditional welcome, where excellence becomes a survival strategy and visibility is both opportunity and danger,” said Benkof. “Broadway characters don’t assume that the room loves them. They hustle to make the room need them. That’s why Broadway feels Jewish even when Jews are nowhere in sight.”

Hairspray, for example, makes no claim that the characters are Jewish. It is method, not identity, according to Benkof, that makes it Jewish. The lead character does not want to tear down the system; she seeks to join it, he pointed out.

“The belief that assimilation is both a strategy and an ethical good is deeply Jewish in a North American context,” Benkof said.

“The combination of idealism, anxiety, and faith that the system can be nudged towards justice if you appeal to its conscience is not universal,” he argued. “It’s a Jewish sensibility operating inside a story that never needs to say the word Jewish out loud, which makes Hairspray slightly subversive, like quite a bit of postwar Jewish art.”

By the end of his Victoria lecture, audience members were able to find Jewish themes in musicals that, on the surface, seem far removed from the Jewish experience: The Lion King, The Phantom of the Opera, The Sound of Music, even The Book of Mormon (think reinvention).

In the example of The Sound of Music, audience members found that its themes of escape, persecution and fear were elements that could be perceived as related to the Jewish experience.

Congratulating the audience, Benkof said, “We could have said, Richard Rodgers was Jewish and, therefore, The Sound of Music is Jewish. That is true and boring. What we have been able to do here today is think about how you won’t succeed on Broadway if you don’t have any Jewishness, as opposed to just Jews.”

Benkof also discussed a Canadian connection to Jewish Broadway, Come from Away, a musical about the care of thousands of travelers, who, after Sept. 11, 2001, had their flights diverted to Gander, Nfld.

In 2024, Benkof made a trip to Gander to see a performance of the show, written by Canadians David Hein and Irene Sankoff.

“I got to go and meet some of the people who had done it,” he said. “They welcomed people into their home and their community, and that, I think, is a very Jewish theme.”

Benkof’s website, broadwaymaven.com, offers five to 15 classes every month. In January, for example, the online educational community had classes on the musicals of Howard Ashman and Alan Menken, on Pal Joey, and a 50th anniversary roundtable on Pacific Overtures by Stephen Sondheim and John Weidman. Upcoming events include classes on Sweeney Todd, Evita, Kiss Me, Kate and Cats, among others. Benkof also posts weekly about Broadway on Substack: substack.com/@thebroadwaymaven.

Benkof’s talk was the third lecture in Kolot Mayim Reform Temple’s 2025-26 Voices of Jewish Music series, part of the Vancouver Island shul’s annual Building Bridges program. The next in the series will be from Naomi Cohn Zentner, an ethno-musicologist at Israel’s Bar-Ilan University, on Feb. 8. Her talk – Music and War: An Optimistic View – will examine how Israeli musicians have responded to recent historic events and explore music’s role in processing grief, inspiring resilience and connecting community in times of crisis. Visit kolotmayimreformtemple.com.

Sam Margolis has written for the Globe and Mail, the National Post, UPI and MSNBC.