She was one of the Sabra generation, one of the firstcomers who envisioned an Israeli state where others saw only wind, sand and enemies. She sacrificed her private life, family and comfort to her Zionist dreams, and 48 years after arriving in Palestine she inherited one of the world’s toughest jobs—prime minister of Israel.
For years the best bet for an Egyptian in New York was to hide behind a pastrami sandwich and pray. Now, at long last, it is time to get out from behind the rye bread and mustard. President Anwar Sadat, of course, has had a notable hand in changing the climate, but much of the credit for the Egyptian fever now sweeping the continent with the devastating rapacity that government scientists once predicted for swine flu goes to a 3,000-year-old ambassador—King Tut.
Congratulations for printing the article by Suzanne Zwarun describing Murvin Sawyer’s problems with the department of Indian affairs, Aground on an Ottawa Reef (Nov. 6). However, the $140,000 spent by Sawyer on this illfated business venture with Indian Affairs represents a very tiny amount in comparison to the amount of money wasted by the department every year.
Years ago the art of amateur photography was little more than an $8 box camera and a family album of fuzzy Spot, Dick and Jane pictures taken sparingly on birthdays, weddings and holidays. Anything more was difficult, only of interest to the professional or serious amateur.
Laurier LaPierre of Vancouver. It sounds like Sterling Lyon of Montreal or Charlie Farquharson of Rosedale. But there he is, the enfant triste of the 1960s, perky Patrick Watson's dark, francophone alter ego on This Hour has Seven Days, the Québécois who preceded Pierre Trudeau into the anglo national consciousness and demonstrated that French Canadians think, talk, feel and suffer just like English folk.
When the denizens of the Cabbage Patch invade Rideau Hall, those august walls may well bear the first brunt of the impact: Toban Schreyer, aged 3½, much enjoys crayoning his name (sometimes even backwards) on any available surface; the manic gleam in his eye offers bleak hope he will be able to distinguish down-home, slightly-soiled walls from highfalutin Upper Canada GovernorGeneral’s mansion walls.
It was the third hour and the third delirious encore of the Bruce Springsteen concert last month in Toronto. It was hard to believe that the small man up on stage with his guitar cocked at the audience and a diamond-shaped rip in the thigh of his jeans was going to repeat this baptism of energy for 25 more nights, up and down the continent, before his North American tour of 120 concerts—none less than galvanic, the best of them almost Mählerian—comes to an end in January.
Some things for Ed Schreyer to anticipate: 109,207 people to entertain, five royal visits, 522 speeches on harmless generalities (excluding six Throne Speeches), Wednesday nights with Pierre Trudeau, and heaven knows it might be Joe Clark, and dutiful letters to Her Majesty on the state of the Dominion in these troubled times.
If you think that person following entertainer Shirley MacLaine around last week looked familiar, you’re right. It was Canada’s Petra Burka, the 1965 World, North American and Canadian figure-skating champion. Burka, now 32 and a free-lance film researcher, was hired as MacLaine’s personal assistant during the star’s week-long song-anddance stint at Toronto’s O’Keefe Centre.
He was Moses on Mount Sinai, shielding his eyes while the Almighty, looking like an outsize, out-ofcontrol blowtorch, branded the Ten Commandments on a nearby rock. He was John the Baptist, Ben Hur, El Cid, Michelangelo, Macbeth, Mark Antony, Thomas Jefferson and Andrew Jackson.
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