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  1. via the New Yorker : FEBRUARY 28, 2015 Leonard Cohen’s Montreal BY BERNARD AVISHAI PHOTOGRAPH BY ROB VERHORST/REDFERNS VIA GETTY Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”—a hymn to souls too carnal to grow old, too secular to give praise, and too baffled to mock faith—recently turned thirty. Cohen himself, now eighty, came of age in Jewish Montreal during the twenty years after the Second World War, and those of us who followed him, a half-generation later, can’t hear the song without also thinking about that time and place, which qualifies as an era. The devotional—and deftly sacrilegious—quality of “Hallelujah” and other songs and poems by Cohen reflects a city of clashing and bonding religious communities, especially first-generation Jews and French Catholics. Montreal’s politics in the early sixties were energized by what came to be called Quebec’s Quiet Revolution, which emancipated the city’s bicultural intelligentsia from Church and Anglostocracy. The pace of transformation could make the place half crazy; that’s why you wanted to be there. Religious thoughts seemed to be the gravest ones in Montreal then, insinuated, even inculcated, by its architecture, seasonal festivals, and colloquialisms. Cohen grew up in affluent Westmount, the best part of Mount Royal, about a mile from my family home in Snowdon—a neighborhood on a lower Western slope, where “the English” (as my mother called them) had no choice but to make room for Jewish factory owners, lawyers, and doctors. Towering over both our neighborhoods, impressing itself on our senses, was the dome of St. Joseph’s Oratory, Quebec’s great basilica, the dream palace of (the now canonized) Brother André Bessette, who healed the body and spirit of pilgrims—the place we simply called the Shrine. A. M. Klein, the first of the Montreal Jewish poets, wrote, “How rich, how plumped with blessing is that dome! / The gourd of Brother André! His sweet days / rounded! Fulfilled! Honeyed to honeycomb!” Its neon-illuminated cross was visible from my bedroom window, an imposing rival for the whispered Shma Yisroel of bedtime. The city’s ironwork staircases, its streets tangled around Mount Royal, carried the names of uncountable saints (St. Denis, St. Eustache, St. Laurent); the fall air was scented by rotting leaves and, on Rosh Hashana, polished synagogues. Fresh snow sharpened Christmas lights. Our curses, borrowed from Québécois proles, were affectionately sacrilegious mocks of the Mass: “calice,” “tabarnak,” “osti”—chalice, tabernacle, host. For Jews, a sense of rivalry was palpable, triangular, and almost Old Country in character. French public schools were run by the Catholic Church, English schools by the Protestant School Board, and some fifty per cent of Jewish students went to Anglo-Jewish day schools that embraced (and effaced) Old World movements: Orthodox, Zionist, folkish Yiddishist. Montreal’s Jews numbered well over a hundred and twenty thousand in those years. A great many men and women behind the counters of our bakeries, delis, and bookstores spoke (as did my father) the Yiddish-inflected English of immigrants who had come in the twenties. The Soviet revolution had changed the boundaries of Russia’s borderlands, closing Russian markets that had previously been open to Jewish merchants and textile manufacturers in Lithuania and White Russia (now Eastern Belarus), forcing them West—just when the Johnson-Reed Act of 1924 closed America to more Jewish immigration. My father and his widowed mother and siblings were trying, in 1928, to get from Bialystok to Chicago, where an uncle lived. The port of Montreal was supposed to be their starting point, before heading down to the Great Lakes. It was where they stayed. (If the accents were heavier, you knew the new arrivals had come mainly from Romania or Hungary after the Nazi defeat, and had witnessed horrors that we did not speak about.) Jewish community life after the war was imbued with a sense of intensely felt tragedy, but so was traditional Judaism as a culture. The world of Yiddishkeit, three generations back for New York intellectuals, was just one generation back for us. Compared with “Dick and Jane” in our English readers, the characters of the Hebrew bible—their violence, jealousies, and treacheries—seemed like family. On a streetcar ride up Queen Mary Road, where the Shrine stood, a nun once told me that I had “the look of Abraham” on my face. Another, apparently reading my mind, asked me if I knew what it meant to have sinful thoughts. (She also kindly shared an amusing word game, so her Inquisition ended with grace.) The largest English talk-radio station had a call-in show on Sunday evenings on which the vexingly courteous Pentecostal Pastor Johnson explained why Jews, in rejecting Jesus, were sadly damned. Most of his callers were Jews who debated and denounced him. Unlike in the United States, Jews in Quebec did not have a neutral civil space to melt into. We had nothing as stipulated as the American Constitution; our liberties derived organically, within the tradition of British Common Law. Canada’s money had a Queen on it, not the founding fathers. The institutions of Jewish Montreal created places in which we fell back on ourselves. The heads of our welfare services and of the Y.M.H.A., the public library, the free-loan society, and political congresses were local celebrities. The family of the liquor baron Sam Bronfman, who supported these institutions, were our nobility. The progressives among us didn’t go to Reform synagogues; we just went to Orthodox and Conservative synagogues, and irregularly. If we got sick, we went to the Jewish General Hospital. My father, a Zionist leader who travelled to Israel in 1954 as if on the hajj, often admonished me with the famous aphorism of Moses Mendelssohn, the eighteenth-century liberal philosopher, that I should be a Jew at home and a human in the street. I understood Mendelssohn more readily than, say, Leonard Bernstein, who, teaching us sonata form on television, seemed human pretty much everywhere. Tolerance meant dialogue and reciprocal recognition, not assimilation. A few years ago, I walked through Bialystok with a historical map of the now destroyed Jewish city—before the First World War, Jews comprised about half the population—and found my father’s house. I was struck by how familiar Montreal’s large immigrant Jewish neighborhoods might have seemed, at least on the surface, to my father in 1928, when he arrived at the age of fourteen: the same hard winter and the same thick-walled constructions, the same forested hills, the same churches, the same easy insular Yiddish dominating commerce in textiles and clothing—the shmate (“rag”) business. The same farmers who had, a couple of generations back, been peasants, speaking a strange national language, working in our factories, speaking against us from hearths and pulpits yet greeting us warmly and with a practiced humility. The same sense that, by contrast, the propertied classes, our local nobility, would tolerate Jews so long as we helped them get richer but did not cross some invisible boundary—the presumably unavailable daughters. In his iconic Canadian novel, “Two Solitudes,” Hugh MacLennan describes Quebec as being defined by two competing cultures, nested in two little nations that were also classes, French and English. The gruff, brilliant, promiscuous Irving Layton—who had been an acolyte of Klein, and who became Cohen’s mentor and advocate—observed many years later that Montreal actually had three solitudes—a Jewish one, too, sitting somewhere between the others. Commercial life was English, so Jews as a community were drawn to the Anglophone world, narrow only in Quebec. Yet immigrant Jews engaged more poignantly, pushing and pulling, with French religious culture, which was locally engulfing. Catholic priests and nuns were ubiquitous public servants, tending to the French population, largely subsidized by provincial taxes and dominating Quebec’s French universities, hospitals, and social agencies, as well as the public schools. Cardinal Paul-Émile Léger, installed in 1953, was a kindly man, concerned for the poor, who ended his days as an African missionary (“a mensch,” my father called him), and the equal of any mayor; he kept anyone under sixteen from entering a movie theatre, except when Walt Disney films made the rounds. In the thirties and forties, the Church in Quebec had been ultramontane, and the not silent partner of the reactionary National Union Party of Premier Maurice Duplessis, who ruled, with a five year interruption, from 1936 until his death, in 1959. He had been xenophobic, populist, ambivalent about the war against Hitler, and classically (if discreetly) anti-Semitic. Behind the scenes, this political establishment instructed French voters, many of whom lived in far-flung farming villages where parish schooling was limited. They were barely literate and easily swayed. Duplessis presided over an apparently impregnable majority, rallied against sinful Montreal—Cardinal Léger sought to ban bingo—and used the provincial police thuggishly, turning it into a personal force. But the war and its aftermath gradually put the Catholic Church on the defensive. The exposure of Québécois soldiers to the triumph over Fascism, the penetration into the countryside of radio and television, the inescapable guilt that Catholic intellectuals felt about the death camps, the Second Vatican Council in 1962—all of these unleashed dissent. The Church’s chief critics were dazzling, cosmopolitan French Canadian intellectuals: Jean Marchand, the charismatic, leftist union leader; Gérard Pelletier and Pierre Elliott Trudeau, the editors of Cité Libre magazine (Trudeau would eventually lead the federal Liberals to victory in 1968); and René Lévesque, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation’s most famous French-language host. When, in the 1960* election, the Liberal Party came to power (Lévesque joined the Liberal’s cabinet as the resources minister), the priests and nuns began losing their grip on the city’s schools and social services, and Quebec entered the humanist insurgency of the Quiet Revolution. The arts began to flourish: the Comédie-Canadienne blossomed, and the filmmaker Denys Arcand joined the National Film Board, producing award-winning French-language documentaries. The University of Montreal and community colleges were infused with provincial funds, and their graduates took social-service jobs in a new, fiercely secular Quebec bureaucracy. Public schools, still divided by language, were taken over more firmly, and funded more lavishly, by the regional government (though the formally “confessional” nomenclature—Catholic and Protestant—was not finally abandoned until 1998). By the spring of 1963, the Quebec government had nationalized old English-owned power companies, disturbing the peace of the residual Anglostocracy. In this loosened political atmosphere, Jews—who voted “Liberal” as faithfully as we conducted Seders—emerged into the culture. We grew infatuated with Trudeau’s federalist idealism. He was elected from a largely Jewish Montreal constituency and remained there throughout his years as Prime Minister. The Quiet Revolution transformed Montreal, at least for a while, into a kind of Andalusia: contesting religious-linguistic cultures rubbing each other the right way. Jews shared professional and literary ties with les Anglais, but we shared an affinity with French Catholics, for religious traditions that were thickly esthetic and that we, each in our own way, both loved and loved to distance ourselves from. We also intuitively understood congregational routine, authoritative interpretation of sacred literature, the prestige of historical continuity—we understood that messiahs matter in this world, that the divine emerged within the precincts of a discipline, commandments, and the mass, all of which produced decorum before they produced grace. As Cohen writes in “Hallelujah,” you cannot feel so you learn to touch: works, not just faith alone. Our rivalry with Catholics at times seemed fuelled by an unacknowledged tenderness, theirs for our historical struggles, professional erudition, and exegetical trenchancy, ours for their majestic spaces, genuflecting hockey champions, and forgiving, suffering servant—a Jew, after all. “I love Jesus,” Cohen told his biographer, Sylvie Simmons. “Always did.” But, he said, “I didn’t stand up in shul and say, ‘I love Jesus.’ ” My mother—the amiably innocent scion of another Bialystoker family—took me, overdressed (oisgeputzt), to Eaton’s department store to see the Christmas pageantry; and then, more reverentially (and to my father’s dismay), she took me to the Shrine’s wax museum, to see depictions of the passions of the saints. When I first heard a recording of Judy Collins’s iconic rendition of Cohen’s “Suzanne,” at McGill in the fall of 1967, a year after my mother’s sudden death—heard about the lonely wooden tower and its occupant searching out the drowning—it occurred to me that I had never expected much empathy from the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. It also occurred to me that Cohen, whose father had died when he was nine, knew loss, and that the distance from mama’s boy to ladies’ man could be short. Which brings me, finally, to McGill. If our emancipation was not in civil society, it was on that campus. The university had been chartered in 1821 to provide English and Scottish Protestants a colonial piece of the Enlightenment, above the atavism of habitant manors and parishes; the student population at the Arts and Sciences Faculty, in the mid-sixties, was something like forty-per-cent Jewish. Cohen was a legend by the time I got there. He had graduated in 1955, and had published three books of poetry and two novels; the National Film Board had made a fawning documentary about him. It was at McGill that Cohen found Irving Layton (he said of Layton, “I taught him how to dress, he taught me how to live forever”). Klein, Layton’s teacher, had been there in the thirties, studied law, and went on to simultaneously write “The Rocking Chair,” a poetic tribute to French Canada, and edit The Canadian Jewish Chronicle. (Secretly, he also wrote speeches for Sam Bronfman). By the time Cohen got to McGill, Klein had fallen silent, spiralling into, among other sources of melancholy, a never-completed exegesis of Joyce’s “Ulysses.” For our part, we found at McGill a kind of finishing school to make ourselves more sovereign, like Cohen was. There was no need for young Jews to offer Quebec some new model of political insurrection—no American-style howl. The restrained, verbose liberalism of John Stuart Mill seemed insurgent enough, even for Trudeau and Levesque. So was the tolerance—the scientific doubt—of the Scottish enlightenment and the lyricism of English and Irish poets, from Wordsworth to Yeats. Hemmed in by Jewish and Catholic sexual norms—and also by Victorian prissiness—the first right that we thought to exercise was the right to Eros. Cohen told Sylvie Simmons that he was first inspired to write poetry when, in his teens, he read, in English translation, the work of the Spaniard Federico García Lorca. But, like many other Jewish youths at McGill, he shuttled between the debating union and the traditions of the English, immersing himself in the study of liberty and literature as in a yeshiva. This open-spirited time of cross-fertilization did not last. The Quiet Revolution, which prompted Trudeau’s federalism, in time gave rise to a more stridently nationalist idea, encouraged by Charles de Gaulle on his trip to the 1967 World’s Fair, and soon championed by Lévesque, too: that Quebec would be better off as an independent country, maîtres chez nous (masters of our own). Spooked by the vitality of English culture in Montreal, and by the fact that many more French were learning English than the other way around, separatists began agitating for an end to English-language education for new immigrants and English signs in the city. Socialists among the separatists, recalling Lévesque’s nationalization of the power companies, began calling for the nationalization of banks and large businesses. At the beginning of the sixties, radical separatists—impatient with the Liberals’ nonviolent democratic methods—had formed the Front de Libération du Québec, or F.L.Q., and gone underground. By the end of the sixties, they had placed bombs in the stock exchange and in mailboxes in English neighborhoods. In 1970, after a spate of F.L.Q. kidnappings (a Quebec minister, Pierre Laporte, was murdered), Trudeau imposed martial law. The city was roiled by arrests; a friend at McGill known for his New Left sympathies saw his flat raided; the police confiscated books, including, he laughed nervously, one entitled “Cubism”. Lévesque despised the violence of the underground, but was undeterred in his commitment to pursue national sovereignty democratically, ultimately through a referendum. In 1968, he had founded Le Parti Québécois. Jews, like most English-speaking residents of Quebec, were shocked when Lévesque was unexpectedly elected Premier in 1976. This proved the cue. Tens of thousands moved to Toronto. Some Jewish intellectuals, professionals, and artists stayed, but most left, and the amity of the sixties dimmed. Cohen kept a house in Montreal, but as his fame as a songwriter grew he spent little time there. Nevertheless, something of his native Montreal could not be shaken off—the short, sweet tradition of which Cohen was, in a sense, the end. In his 1978 poem “The Death of a Ladies’ Man,” Cohen writes of a lover’s “high religious mood” brought low by the dangers of desire: “She beckoned to the sentry / of his high religious mood. / She said, ‘I’ll make a space between my legs, / I’ll teach you solitude.’ ” You hear the resonances of Cohen’s own religious mood, and Montreal’s, in the lyrics of many songs—“Sisters of Mercy,” “Story of Isaac,” “Who by Fire,” “If It Be Your Will”—culminating, perhaps, with “Hallelujah.” The resonances and the losses are even clearer, I think, when you go to the start of the tradition—roughly, Klein to Layton to Cohen—rather than hear only its end. Klein’s 1947 poem “The Cripples,” about French Catholic worshippers at St. Joseph’s Oratory, which I quoted from earlier, reaches this climax: They know, they know, that suddenly their cares and orthopedics will fall from them, and they stand whole again. Roll empty away, wheelchairs, and crutches, without armpits, hop away! And I who in my own faith once had faith like this, but have not now, am crippled more than they. There you have it: a freethinking Montreal Jew, in whose bones the Torah was bred, inventing precise English lines to express envy for French Catholic piety. “Anything beautiful is not your own,” Cohen told a Jewish student newspaper in 1966. “When I write, I place myself in contact with something much more glorious than anything I can pull up from within myself.” Poetry was unlocked by reverence. But reverence might, ironically, embolden the poet to cross boundaries, to perhaps court one of those beautiful Westmount girls. And if you did, if you touched the dew on her hem, you could throw your crutches away. *Correction: A previous version of this post misidentified the election year that the Liberal Party came to power.
  2. http://www.montrealgazette.com/business/Obituary+David+Azrieli+touched+many+parts+society/10014707/story.html By Paul Delean, THE GAZETTE European-born David Azrieli, who fled the Nazis as a teenager, fought in the 1948 Arab-Israeli war and then found fortune in Canada, died Wednesday at age 92. According to Forbes magazine, the Montreal-based real-estate developer and businessman was one of the richest Canadians with an estimated worth of $3.1 billion. He also was one of the most generous, contributing more than $100 million to philanthropic causes around the world, many of them in the fields of medical research, education and the arts. “It’s a great loss,” said Susan Laxer, president of local Jewish organization Federation CJA. “He literally changed the landscape in Israel with his office towers and architecture, and with his philanthropy, he touched many parts of our society and community. Through his legacy, he’ll continue to touch the lives of many people.” Norma Joseph, professor of religion and associate-director of the Azrieli Institute of Israel Studies at Concordia University, described him as “a formidable person, very strong-minded. And he used his mind for a wonderful vision of community and building.” The institute got its start in 2011 with funding provided by the family foundation, “but he did more than give money. He also gave his personal time and effort,” Joseph said. Born into a Jewish family in Poland, Azrieli escaped ahead of the Nazi occupation and kept moving, winding up in British Mandate Palestine in 1942. He studied architecture at Technion-Israel Institute of Technology and fought in Israel’s war of independence before settling in Canada in 1954. In a rare 1973 interview with the Montreal Star, he said he arrived here with no family connections and “literally, penniless.” “Nobody gave me anything,” he said. After earning a Bachelor of Arts degree from the Université de Montréal and working at a number of jobs, he had enough saved for his first solo project in 1957, construction of four duplexes on vacant lots he purchased in Ville D’Anjou. It was the start of a real-estate juggernaut that would eventually include thousands of apartment units, office buildings and shopping centres in Canada, the U.S. and Israel. Among his local holdings is the downtown Dominion Square Building housing The Gazette, acquired for $78.25 million in 2005, and the Sofitel Hotel. The Azrieli Group also held interests in companies active in the fields of energy, water and finance. He remained its chairman until last week when daughter Danna succeeded him, a move prompted by his medical condition. A sometimes controversial figure, Azrieli made headlines in the 1970s when he razed the former Van Horne Mansion on Sherbrooke St. and erected a 17-storey office tower on the site. In 1984, he sued The Gazette for libel over an editorial about a local development, but lost. “From the times of the pyramids to those of the skyscrapers, the works of architects and builders have been monuments to their glory or to their shame,” Superior Court Judge Paul Reeves said. “They build before the public eye and the public rightfully says whether it likes or dislikes what it sees.” In his later years, Azrieli split his residency between Israel and Westmount. “I have two homelands,” he once said, “two places that I love and where I have been blessed to do what I love best.” Active in and supportive of Jewish causes throughout his lifetime, he served as president of the Canadian Zionist Federation and in 2008 authored a book called Rekindling the Torch: The Story of Canadian Zionism, which told the story of the contribution of Canadian Jews and non-Jews to establishment of the state of Israel and their continuing support for the country. He also made Holocaust remembrance a personal crusade after it took from him two siblings and both parents. “This is my vision, to be able to use the tangible rewards of my career in building and construction to create a legacy for education and educational institutions in both of my homelands,” he said. A recipient of the Order of Canada, Azrieli also was a “chevalier” of the Ordre National du Québec. Married for 57 years to Stephanie Lefcort, he had four children: Rafael, Sharon, Naomi and Danna. He died surrounded by family at his country home in Ivry-sur-le-Lac, Que. pdelean@montrealgazette.com
  3. SYNOPSIS At the end of WWII, 60 minutes of raw film, having sat undisturbed in an East German archive, was discovered. Shot by the Nazis in Warsaw in May 1942, and labeled simply "Ghetto," this footage quickly became a resource for historians seeking an authentic record of the Warsaw Ghetto. However, the later discovery of a long-missing reel, inclusive of multiple takes and cameraman staging scenes, complicated earlier readings of the footage. A FILM UNFINISHED presents the raw footage in its entirety, carefully noting fictionalized sequences (including a staged dinner party) falsely showing "the good life" enjoyed by Jewish urbanites, and probes deep into the making of a now-infamous Nazi propaganda film. A FILM UNFINISHED is a film of enormous import, documenting some of the worst horrors of our time and exposing the efforts of its perpetrators to propel their agenda and cast it in a favorable light. [video=youtube;Khut0kKn-c8]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Khut0kKn-c8
  4. Michael Douglas's cancer diagnosed in Canada, now he's helping Montreal hospital By Andy Blatchford, The Canadian Press – 13 minutes ago MONTREAL — Michael Douglas's battle with throat cancer began in Canada — and now the Oscar-winning actor is giving back to the Montreal hospital that detected a disease others had missed. An appreciative Douglas, star of Hollywood films such as "Basic Instinct" and "Wall Street," volunteered to headline a posh fundraiser next month for McGill University's head and neck cancer fund. Last year, Douglas underwent radiation and chemotherapy treatments in the United States for a walnut-sized tumour he now says is gone. But the cancer diagnosis first came from the McGill-affiliated Jewish General Hospital — only weeks after several physicians elsewhere had given him a clean bill of health. As a thank you, the 66-year-old actor, who owns a vacation home north of Montreal in the Mont-Tremblant area, personally offered his star power to the hospital. Douglas's publicist confirmed Monday the Montreal hospital discovered the cancer first. "That's where he found out he had his cancer," Allen Burry said of the Jewish General Hospital in a phone interview. "He was happy to do it (the fundraiser)." Organizers of the $375-a-head gala on May 3 have pencilled Douglas in as the honoured invitee, meaning he will mingle with ticket holders, sign autographs and say a few words to the guests. Those hoping for more face time with Douglas can buy a $750 VIP ticket, giving them access to his pre-event cocktail. "It was his very gracious offer to help us in view of his own battle with throat cancer," said Dr. Saul Frenkiel, a co-chair of the fundraiser who was personally contacted by Douglas. "We're hoping as the evening unfolds that it will be a big year (for the event). . . there's a buzz." Douglas and his actress wife, Catherine Zeta-Jones, have even put themselves up for auction. The biggest item on the live auction list is a golf outing at Mont-Tremblant with the Hollywood power couple. The annual event has featured celebrities in the past, including Montreal Canadiens legend Jean Beliveau and Canadian Olympic Committee president Marcel Aubut. But Frenkiel is pretty sure Douglas is the most prominent drawing card in the event's 17 years. "Certainly, Michael Douglas . . . helps to bring to the attention of the public the need to do important research in the head and neck cancer field," said Frenkiel, a head and neck surgeon, or otolaryngologist. He underlined the importance of the charity because some head and neck cancers are on the rise, including thyroid cancers and throat cancers caused by the human papillomavirus. The money raised will fund research and improvements to direct patient care. Last year's event brought in around $1.5 million, said Frenkiel, who hopes to break the $1 million mark again. "We were very appreciative of his kind support — it was a gracious personal offer and certainly reflected his own inner personality and willingness to help battle head and neck cancer," he said of Douglas. Shortly after announcing last August that he had been diagnosed with cancer, Douglas told David Letterman that he had his persistently sore throat checked out earlier in the summer. "I actually went through a litany of doctors and tests — they didn't find anything," Douglas said during an appearance on Letterman's "Late Show." Douglas, who will begin shooting the film "Liberace" this spring, announced in January that his tumour was gone and that he had regained 12 of the 32 pounds he had lost during treatment. "He's doing well, he's doing extremely well," Burry said.
  5. MONTREAL, March 29 /CNW Telbec/ - Mr. Michel Leblanc, President and CEO of the Board of Trade of Metropolitan Montreal, is pleased to invite media representatives to the Strategic Forum of the Board of Trade, which will focus on major projects in Montréal, on Wednesday, March 30, 2011, at 7:30 a.m. With the Mayor of Montréal, Gérald Tremblay, to be on hand, along with a number of experts and nearly 500 participants, this unique event will enable to learn more about how various key and shaping Montréal projects are advancing. The major development projects will be on-hand: The Montréal of tomorrow, an overview of the city's major projects Emilio Imbriglio, Partner, Raymond Chabot Grant Thornton TOWARDS MAJOR PRIVATE PROJECTS The impact of condo development on the Montréal landscape Jacques Vincent, Co-President, Prével Urban renewal, from Angus to Quadrilatere Saint-Laurent: The need for a territorial approach Christian Yaccarini, President and CEO, Angus Development Corporation The Windsor sector: Major developments for the Bell Centre and its surrounding area Salvatore Iacono, Senior Vice President, Development, Eastern Canada, Cadillac Fairview Corporation Ltd. LARGE-SCALE HEALTH INFRASTRUCTURES Sainte-Justine UHC - Grandir en santé: Innovation in personalized medicine for mothers and children Dr. Fabrice Brunet, Executive Director, Sainte-Justine University Hospital Center MUHC Normand Rinfret, Associate Executive Director and COO McGill University Health Centre The Jewish General Hospital Dr. Hartley Stern, Executive Director, Jewish General Hospital and Philippe Castiel, Director of Planning and Real Estate Development, Jewish General Hospital CHUM Christian Paire, Executive Director, Centre hospitalier de l'Université de Montréal MAJOR INSTITUTIONAL PROJECTS A space for life Charles-Mathieu Brunelle, Executive Director, Montréal's Nature Museums The UdeM's Outremont Campus Guy Breton, Rector, Université de Montréal The Innovation District: Progress report and guidelines for its implementation Yves Beauchamp, Director General, École de technologie supérieure and Heather Munroe-Blum, Principal and Vice-Chancellor, McGill University The redevelopment of the CBC/Radio-Canada site Maryse Bertrand, Vice-President, Real Estate, Legal Services, and General Counsel CBC/Société Radio-Canada The Quartier des spectacles Jean-Robert Choquet, Director, Department of Culture and Heritage, Ville de Montréal and Stéphane Ricci, Coordinator, Quartier des spectacles project, Ville de Montréal The Silo No. 5 and the Bassins du Nouveau Havre: Major revitalization projects for Montréal Cameron Charlebois, Vice-President, Real Estate, Quebec, Canada Lands Company Date: Wednesday, March 30, 2011 Time: From 7:30 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. Where: Palais des congrès de Montréal 1001 place Jean-Paul Riopelle Room 710 The Board of Trade of Metropolitan Montreal has some 7,000 members. Its primary mission is to represent the interests of the business community of Greater Montréal and to provide individuals, merchants, and businesses of all sizes with a variety of specialized services to help them achieve their full potential in terms of innovation, productivity and competitiveness. The Board of Trade is Quebec's leading private economic development organization. Contacts RSVP with Sylvie Paquette Advisor Media Relations by phone at 514 871-4000 ext. 4015 or by email at sylvie.paquette@ccmm.qc.ca.
  6. http://www.theglobeandmail.com/report-on-business/al-jazeera-coming-to-canadian-tv/article1200118/ I am in favour of them bringing this channel to Canada provided that the CRTC keeps a very close eye on it. However, if Videotron adds this channel, they will be receiving an angry phone call or letter. I am still waiting for Fox News to come to Illico, and it is in no way fair to offer Al Jazeera but not Fox News.
  7. Mordecai Richler's Montreal Ten years after Mordecai Richler's death, Sian Griffiths goes on a literary crawl of the novelist's old neighbourhood as well as some of his downtown drinking haunts Sian Griffiths guardian.co.uk, Tuesday 11 January 2011 11.27 GMT Article history Schwartz's Montreal Hebrew Delicatessen ... Richler was a big fan of their famous smoked meat sandwich. Photograph: Sian Griffiths Nearly 10 years after his death, there is again great interest in the award-winning author Mordecai Richler and his vision of Montreal. A new Golden Globe-nominated film based on his book Barney's Version, starring Paul Giamatti and Minnie Driver, is being released in the UK at the end of this month. In Montreal, there is a movement to commemorate Richler by naming a street or place after him - which is meeting with strong resistance from Quebec nationalists who still resent how he poked fun at their cause and what he saw as their draconian language laws, especially in his book Oh Canada! Oh Quebec! Requiem for a Divided Country. Mordecai Richler. Photograph: Steve Russell/AP But Richler will always be remembered for using his biting wit and vivid imagery to evoke the experience of the "minority within a minority" - Montreal's Jewish immigrants - in classics such as The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz. Richler grew up on Rue St Urbain in the historic Mile End district, a 15-minute ride on the 55 bus from downtown Montreal. In its heyday, during the early 1950s, this district was home to a 25,000-strong Jewish working-class community. Yiddish was the language of the street and small home-grown businesses, bakeries and factories flourished. The new arrivals settled mostly around Boulevard St-Laurent. "The Main", as it came to be known, was the unofficial demarcation line between the city's anglophones and francophones. The Jewish neighbourhood effectively became the buffer zone between Montreal's English-speaking and French-speaking communities. Today the area has lost much of its Jewish character as the earlier immigrants became more affluent and moved to more well-heeled anglophone neighbourhoods, such as Westmount. Spanish, Portuguese and Italian immigrants have since moved in, and the area is now more hip, arty and gentrified, with the factories having been converted into trendy lofts. But there are still charming reminders that celebrate an important chapter in Montreal's history. St Viateur Bagel Shop Open 24 hours a day, St Viateur - now run by an Italian - is one of Montreal's institutions and a mainstay of Mile End. Richler's fictional students stop for bagels in the opening scenes of The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz. Enjoy the aroma and the show as the cheeky, cheerful staff prepare fresh bagels (35p and up) in a wood-fired oven. Assorted spreads are available separately (£1.90 and up + tax). • 263, Rue Saint-Viateur Ouest, stviateurbagel.com, +1 514 276 8044. Rue St Urbain Richler grew up at the northern end of Rue St Urbain between Avenue du Parc and Boulevard St Laurent. The street, which was immortalised in Richler's St Urbain's Horseman, was to influence the author's work for a lifetime: "One street would have seemed as squalid as the next. On each corner a cigar store, a grocery, and a fruit man. Outside staircases everywhere," he wrote in The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz. That vision is largely gone, along with the old Jewish immigrant community. Richler's own home at number 5257 is opposite a yoga centre, evidence of the area's gentrification. He attended Baron Byng High School at number 4251. Now a community centre, its students were largely working-class Jewish kids - many of whom, like Richler, became very successful: William "Captain Kirk" Shatner and Nobel Chemistry Prize winner Rudolph Marcus are among the alumni. Duddy fans will recognise Baron Byng as "Fletcher's Field" High School. Wilensky's Light Lunch Ruth Wilensky and daughter A few moments from the Richler home is Wilensky's, which was a favourite hangout for young Mordecai and his mates - and remains virtually unchanged since it was founded by Moe Wilensky in 1932. Newspaper clippings on the wall proudly attest their Duddy Kravitz connection. The signature dish is a grilled roll of beef salami, bologna, Swiss cheese with a liberal dash of mustard (£3), served up by family members, including Moe's spritely 90-year-old widow Ruth Wilensky. • 34 Fairmount Street West and Clark , +1 514 271 0247. Schwartz's Montreal Hebrew Delicatessen Richler indulged his fondness for smoked meats at this world-famous deli. The boulevard is bursting with energy, trendy bars, restaurants and vintage shops. He paid tribute to Schwartz's in Barney's Version, describing their smoked meat as a "maddening aphrodisiac". In his children's book, Jacob Two Two and the Dinosaur, Richler subjected one of his characters to the "Smoked Meat Torture". The deli has the air of a 50s diner. Their most popular dishes are, of course, the smoked meat sandwich (£3.70 + tax) and "the Schwartz combo platter" (steak with smoked meat on the side, salad and chips, £10.60). Celebrity fans include Angelina Jolie, the Rolling Stones, Halle Berry and Celine Dion. • 3895 Boul St Laurent, schwartzsdeli.com, + 1 514 842 4813. Mount Royal The 233m-high "mountain", home to Mount Royal Park, is an important physical divide between Westmount, (traditionally the affluent English-speaking neighbourhood) and Outremont or "other side of the mountain" (the traditionally French-speaking area), which now has a significant Hassidic Jewish community. The park, one of Montreal's greatest green spaces, was designed by New York Central Park architect Frederick Law Olmstead. It's a stunning year-round outdoor playground for hikers, joggers and cyclists and offers a wide range of winter activities including skating on the Lac aux Castors. All winter equipment can be rented from the pavilion (inner-tube £3 per day; skates £5 for two hours; cross country skis from £7.50 for three hours). There are also guided showshoeing tours (£9.50). On a clear day, the Kondiaronk Belvedere offers spectacular views across Montreal. Smith House serves tasty homemade food (soup £1.50, sandwiches from £4.00). All within walking distance of the number 11 bus route . • Smith House, 1260 Remembrance Road, lemontroyal.qc.ca, +1 514 843 8240. Mount Royal Cemetery Mordecai Richler's grave Richler's final resting place is in the vast, beautiful, 19th-century graveyard on the northern slope of Mount Royal. You can access the cemetery via the rear entrance across from Mount Royal Park on the Voie Camillien Houde (also on the 11 bus route) - although the main entrance and office are on the north side on Chemin de la Foret. It is Montreal's answer to London's Highgate cemetery, with many notable people buried here. Richler's grave overlooks his beloved St Urbain neighbourhood. Other "permanent residents" include beer baron John Molson Sr, the 18th-century explorer David Thompson, railway tycoon and Titanic victim Charles Melville Hays and, curiously, Anna Leonowens of The King and I fame. From spring to autumn there are with walking tours (free) and it occasionally stages Shakespeare in the Park. It was used for a key scene in the film Barney's Version. • Open all year around (check winter road conditions before travel). Main entrance: 1297 Chemin de la Foret. Organised Walks and Shakespeare in the Park: check website for details, mountroyalcem.com. Ritz Carlton Hotel Montreal's historic Golden Square Mile - home to high-end stores, boutiques, restaurants, the Musee des Beaux Arts and McGill University - sits on the southern slope of Mount Royal. Bounded by Chemin de la Côte des Neiges to the west, Boulevard René-Lévesque to the south and Rue University to the east, this prestigious district got its name from the well-heeled Anglo-Scottish Victorian movers and shakers who lived here around the turn of the century. The neo-classical Ritz Carlton is a vestige of this era and one of the chicest addresses in Montreal, although it's currently under renovation. Designed by Warren & Wetmore, the architects behind New York's Ritz Hotel and Grand Central Station, it's about as far from Richler's St Urbain as you can get. Its Maritime Bar was one of the author's favourites before it shut down. The wedding scenes for Barney's Version were filmed at the hotel. • 1228 Rue Sherbrooke Ouest, ritzmontreal.com, +1 514 842 4212. Grumpy's The drinking holes Richler liked to frequent, like Grumpy's, are also situated in the Golden Square Mile, just south of Rue Sherbrooke. The bar appears as Dink's in the Barney's Version film. There is a framed photograph of the writer opposite the chair he used to occupy at the end of the wooden bar. Grumpy's is known for its sociable atmosphere - although since Richler's day, it has become more popular with students, particularly McGill University's "jazz rats" drawn by the live music. Every night there is a theme, including the popular Bluegrass night on Thursday. • 1242 Rue Bishop, grumpysbar.ca, +1 514 866 9010. Winnie's Bar One street over you'll find upmarket Winnie's bar-restaurant, another favourite Richler haunt, which gets a nod in Barney's Version. Occupying the mid-section of the large Sir Winston Churchill Pub complex, it offers a warm ambiance with its marble, wood and leather decor. Many employees and regulars alike have been loyal to Winnie's for 30 years. It specialises in alcoholic coffees (Irish, Brazilian: £5.30) while the restaurant offers three-course lunch specials from £6.20. • 1455-1459 Rue Crescent, winniesbar.com, +1 514 288 3814. Ziggy's Across the street from Winnie's and down the stairs is Ziggy's, a cosy sports pub favoured by Richler, hockey fans and players. Richler liked to smoke his trademark cigars outside on the terrace. This end of Rue Crescent was closed for a street party when Richler passed away, so that regulars of Winnie's and Ziggy's could join together to celebrate the author. The emphasis at Ziggy's - where the crowd tends to be a little older - is on drinking and socialising. There is no food which is perhaps why Richler sent a taxi to pick up smoked meat sandwiches from Schwartz's. • 1470 Rue Crescent, ziggyspub.ca, +1 514 285 8855. Photographs by Sian Griffiths http://www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2011/jan/11/montreal-mordecai-richler-literary-guide
  8. http://www.thestar.com/travel/northamerica/article/805447--echoes-of-montreal-in-louisville
  9. Read more: http://www.montrealgazette.com/life/Hear+that+anglo/2557359/story.html#ixzz0fTOymy7v This was a fairly interesting article. It's true that Italian, Jewish, and British anglophone Montrealers tend to speak differently. Being the latter, I tend to find that I don't have any accent whatsoever (in fact, my family from other parts of Canada says it sounds really "clean". I talk exactly like the anchors on Canadian news.) Strangely, this phenomenon is unique to Montreal it seems. Do you have an accent in English that is impacted by your first language, ethnicity, or place of origin?
  10. http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/12/01/montreals-bagels-square-off-against-new-yorks/
  11. Have Some Champagne With That Brisket? Montreal is just bubbling with Jewish culture November 08, 2007 Kathy Shorr Jewish Exponent Feature Ever since the Parti Quebeçois came to power three decades ago, bringing with it greater nationalism and stricter language laws favoring French, it's been easy to feel uneasy about Jewish life in Montreal. The Jewish community has shrunk from a high of about 120,000 before that 1976 election, to just under 100,000 now. Many who left were the younger, well-educated postwar generation of Ashkenazi descent, who had been educated primarily in English. (Barred from attending the Catholic, French-speaking schools, they'd attended the English-speaking Protestant ones.) But come to Montreal today, and you'll find a Jewish world that feels more vital than many American communities with comparably-sized communities. You can see live Yiddish theater, visit a new world-class Holocaust center and sample kosher restaurants serving everything from Chinese food to Moroccan chicken tagine. The Jewish community in Montreal is one of the most traditional in North America. According to a report by B'nai B'rith Canada's Institute for International Affairs, the community has a remarkably low intermarriage rate (less than 7 percent) and a remarkably high rate of religious observance (50 percent keep kosher). At roughly the same time that wave of Ashkenazi Jews left, about 20,000 Sephardic, French-speaking Jews arrived -- most of them coming from North Africa, especially Morocco. And with a continuing influx of Jewish immigrants, including as many as 10,000 Russian Jews in recent years, the city has maintained a vibrant Jewish culture that is now about 25 percent Sephardic. In Search of 'Duddy' Visitors looking for signs of Jewish life have several sections of the city to explore. Anyone interested in history will want to go to the Mile End neighborhood, the setting for Mordecai Richler's famous novel The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz. Just east of Mount Royal Park is a five-street-wide area between the Avenue du Parc and the Boulevard Saint-Laurent -- the Jewish neighborhood for much of the first half of the 20th century. The old neighborhood was increasingly abandoned after the war, as Jews started to make their way out to the suburbs. But Mile End is still home to a large Chasidic community. And it still looks a lot like it did when Richler wrote about going to Tansky's store for a package of Sen-Sen. The rowhouses remain, with their outside staircases and little balconies. And some of the old haunts, like Moishe's Steakhouse and Schwartz's Montreal Hebrew Delicatessen, are open for business as usual. The Montreal Holocaust Memorial Centre People come to Moishe's for the best steaks in town, while Schwartz's long, narrow dining room teems with crowded tables of patrons ordering sandwiches piled with smoked beef. Several blocks north is the St. Viateur Bagel Shop, celebrating its 50th anniversary. It is open day and night, 24/7, and regularly wins the prize for best bagels in Montreal -- as much for the atmosphere as for the bagels themselves. You can see the flames coming out of the wood-burning brick oven, and watch the bagels being pulled out on a long-handled tray and then dumped into a long, sloping bin. They still use the same recipe from 100 years ago -- hand-rolling the bagels and dropping them into boiling water for five minutes before baking. And forget about cinnamon-raisin or chocolate-chip bagels: It's sesame or poppyseed, and that's it! For a completely different scene, head west out Côte St. Catherine Road to Snowdon, a neighborhood of duplex and split-level homes, where many Jews moved after the war. There, you'll find a small campus of Jewish community and religious organizations and cultural groups. The Segal Centre for Performing Arts at the Saidye Bronfman Centre mounts plays of both general and Jewish interest, including an annual play in Yiddish. Montreal has the largest Holocaust-survivor population in Canada; across the street from the Saidye Bronfman are the Jewish Public Library and the Montreal Holocaust Memorial Centre, with 5,000 square feet of exhibit space. The library sponsors all kinds of lectures, readings, films, and live-music and other events for both residents and visitors. A few blocks south of Côte St. Catherine Road is the commercial Queen Mary Road, which feels something like the way Mile End must have felt a few generations ago. There are charcuteries (delis that specialize in meats) where everything is labeled only in Russian, with vats of sweet-and-sour cabbage and trays of whole smoked fish and caviar. There's Israeli fast-food at Chez Benny and kosher pizza by the Snowdon metro station. Cell phones ring, voices chatting in French and Arabic more often than in Yiddish. Yes, indeed, Jewish life in Montreal has changed, but remains alive and well. For more information, go to: www. tourisme-montreal.org.
  12. Montreal's Jews aren't going anywhere By Yoni Goldstein The history of Russian Jews in Montreal, Canada, began more than a century ago, when a coalition of Jews and Christians in the city raised funds to help Jews escape from the Russian empire in the wake of an onslaught of pogroms triggered by the assassination of czar Alexander II, in March 1881. There are widely varying estimates on the current size of the Russian Jewish community in Montreal: The local Jewish federation believes there are fewer than 10,000 Russian-speaking Jews in the city, while Russian community officials claim the actual number is more than double that figure. In either case, a community center and a Russian-language biweekly newspaper attest to the fact that Russian Jews have established a vibrant community in the city (whose total Jewish population is about 100,000). Of course, as in virtually every city outside Israel where there is a Jewish presence, life for the Jews of Montreal is not without challenges. The city has been home to some minor-league anti-Semitism in the past, and the province of Quebec is proving to be mildly hostile to anyone who can't speak in French and isn't willing to learn how. But the biggest threat to Montreal Jews, the Quebec sovereignty movement of the 1970s and then later, in the early-1990s, has more recently lost favor in the eyes of more Quebecois than ever before. Now is a good time to be a Jew in Montreal. Apparently, Nativ, the formerly clandestine organization that since the 1950s has shared responsibility for bringing Jews from what is now the Former Soviet Union to Israel, and Israel's minister of strategic affairs, Avigdor Lieberman, don't agree. According to recent stories in Haaretz and the European Jewish Press service, having apparently run out of Jews still living in the FSU to bring to Israel, Nativ is planning to make a new push in North America to recruit Russian Jews there to make aliyah. Target No. 1: Montreal. It's a peculiar strategy: aiming to do business in a country that has two significant, settled communities of Russian Jews (the other being Toronto, where some 90,000 live); a country that is safe for Jews and where Jewish communities have long prospered; and a country, moreover, to which disadvantaged immigrants flock and where they are welcomed in droves, where they can experience multiculturalism and inclusiveness. When you're trying to convince people to leave peaceful, thriving Canada for a better life in the Middle East, you know you're in trouble of some kind. The only ones that look bad in this story are Nativ and Lieberman. The decision to recruit in Montreal is, at best, misguided. Worse, it demonstrates that the brand of covert immigration missions that were Nativ's bread and butter between the 1950s and 1990s is no longer needed. For 30 years, the organization was solely responsible for assisting countless Jewish escapees from the Soviet scourge, but that very important work is now finished. Jews who, under the hammer and sickle, were unable either to express themselves Jewishly, or to leave for someplace else where they would be free to do just that, are now at liberty to choose where they want to live, including Israel. In fact, Nativ's decision to choose Montreal's as its first stop in North America proves just how out of touch the organization is. (Already in Germany, Nativ has provoked a protest from Jewish communal leaders because of similar efforts there to lobby Russian-immigrant Jews to depart for Israel.) According to estimates from the city's Jewish federation, 80-85 percent of Russian Jews living in Montreal actually moved there from Israel. These people have already been the beneficiaries of Nativ once, and yet, at some later point, they decided that Israel wasn't the right place for them after all. There's no reason to think that they would consider moving back now, no matter how hard aliyah-liaison officers try to convince them. Nativ's venture into Montreal is doomed to fail because the organization's brand of cloak-and-dagger aliyah recruitment simply isn't suited to today's Jewish global village. Its employment of old-style Zionist tactics, which depict the State of Israel as representing the final stronghold against a world of Jew-haters doesn't connect with people anymore. There are, after all, other perfectly suitable homes for Jews. Montreal is one of those places. Perhaps the time has come for Israel in general to reevaluate its relationship with Diaspora Jewry and acknowledge that there are other places in the world perfectly suited to Jewish living. Once it takes that first step, the next job would be to recognize that the overall relationship between Israel and the Diaspora must change. Instead of looking at the Diaspora as a temporary home for those Jews who can't or aren't ready yet to make aliyah, Israel should invest in forming bonds with Jewish communities around the globe. Nativ, which has been reorganized and reportedly has a fat new budget, might even consider investing some of its cash in making those communities healthier, much in the same way those communities have long invested in the welfare of Israel. Montreal's Russian Jews aren't going anywhere and neither are the vast majority of Jews - Russian-speaking or otherwise - in North and South America and Europe. The sooner the Israeli government realizes that fact, the sooner it can begin to forge a new, symbiotic relationship with all the Jews outside Israel who are quite content to stay right where they are. Yoni Goldstein is an editorial writer at Canada's National Post, and a columnist at the Canadian Jewish News.
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