He was a laborer in Québec when the NHL came calling. The Boston Bruins offered him a tryout.
But Moe Hurwitz had other plans.
“There's no time to play hockey when millions of my brothers are getting killed in Europe.”
The children of Jewish immigrants Bella and Chaim endured the intolerance in Canada.
Still, after the declaration of war against Nazi Germany, five of them signed up to fight for Canada. Another joined the U.S. Army.
If, in the late 1930s, you frequented the bagel shops on The Main or read the sports pages in the Montréal Gazette, you would know of him.
He raced canoes down the St. Lawrence and stared down opponents on the rinks of Québec.
You would know Moe Hurwitz.
And word was spreading south as he barreled into the Boston Olympics.
“For the visitors the untiring Moe Hurwitz was the bright star. Hurwitz, who alternated between forward and defense, bagged two of his team’s three tallies.”
But Moe’s glare shifted to the Nazis.
Before he left home, he said goodbye to his brother.
“Don’t worry, Harry, I won’t be back. You look after yourself.”
April 1944. Harry was aboard HMCS Athabaskan near France when a German torpedo tore into the ship.
Covered in oil and clinging to debris as many of his shipmates died, Harry was plucked up by a ship bearing a swastika.
Moe was training in England when he heard Harry was taken prisoner.
He was ready to fight any and every Nazi to save his brother.
He’s in the fight by August at Cintheaux, France. With the Canadian advance stalled, the task to take the town falls to Moe’s troop.
They quickly knock out the German tanks and guns, but are without backup and facing a number of enemy soldiers.
Moe wasn't about to wait.
“Like a flash, the Sergeant leaps out of his tank, Sten in hand and with a mighty shout he dashes up and down the hedge rooting prisoners out of their slit trenches.”
When an explosion injures his arm (and singes his moustache), he keeps rounding up enemy soldiers.
Reinforcements arrive and Moe’s troop hands off dozens of prisoners.
“Just like the movin’ pictures, eh, sir?”
In Holland a month later, he jumps from his tank, clears three buildings, and charges two machine guns before rounding up more prisoners.
When a Canadian tank is hit and bursts into flames, he twice crawls 50 yards under heavy fire to rescue two fellow soldiers.
Typical Moe.
Leaping from his tank, “Geraldine,” and rushing machine guns. Flushing out enemy soldiers as though he were digging a puck out of the corner in the frigid rinks of Québec.
Then, in October 1944, he was behind enemy lines when he last made contact.
Moe was missing in action.
Five months later and Moe’s family still doesn’t know where he is. Imagine his mother writing this letter.
“…my son and another man are still the only ones not accounted for.”
March 19, 1945. Moe’s family receives this cold message.
He was 25 years old.
Moe wrote “Hebrew” on the things he carried. “Heb” was engraved on his identification discs. He wanted everyone to know he was Jewish.
Yet, his grave was marked with a cross.
Moe’s family and the Canadian Jewish Congress had to request a change and the matter was eventually rectified.
Harry survived the torpedoing of HMCS Athabaskan and the prisoner camp. He carried his brother with him every day until his death last year.
“My Sergeant brother Moe was the real hero.”
He wasn’t a Boston Bruin. He turned down the NHL and knew he wasn’t coming back.
The Military Medal. The Distinguished Conduct Medal. A humble, fearless, fighter.
We see you, Samuel Moses Hurwitz.
Know their stories.
Know their fight.
See their light.
Learn more in @ebessner's Double Threat: Canadian Jews, the Military, and World War II.
Moe Hurwitz is buried in the Bergen-Op-Zoom Canadian War Cemetery in the Netherlands.
With his Jewish mother weeping after hearing her brothers and sisters were murdered by the Nazis, Alex Polowin wondered what he could do. He wanted to try to help her remaining relatives.
“I felt I owed it to them try to save their lives.”
Born to a Jewish family in Lithuania, his parents brought him to Canada when he was three years old.
14 years later, in the middle of the Second World War, he lied about his age to enlist in the Navy.
As he and his shipmates protected the supply routes from U-Boats, he stared down antisemitism.
Fighting the Nazis on the Atlantic crossing, the Murmansk Run, off Normandy on D-Day. Fighting the intolerance of his own shipmates.
When his father took him to the train to head off to the war, he looked him in the eye and said words Vince Speranza never forgot. As he was about to jump for the first time, those words came rushing back.
"Son, don't do anything to shame the family."
When they were surrounded by the Nazis in Bastogne, his wounded friend asked him for a drink. He scoured the bombed out local taverns until he found the fruitful tap.
Vince filled his helmet with beer and brought it back to Joe Willis.
Frank Slade was helping his Aunt Ethel run her gas station in Goldsboro, North Carolina, when there was a knock on the door.
Two men told him he had a choice between joining the U.S. Army for the Korean War or returning to Canada.
What did he do?
He returned to Canada. But at the Horseshoe Tavern in Toronto, he bumped into a buddy from Newfoundland.
Don Penney was in a Canadian Army uniform and about to head to Korea. He told Frank to join him.
The next day, Frank Slade signed up.
Frank and Don were from fishing villages in Newfoundland, their childhood far removed from the conflicts they read about in the newspapers and heard on the radio.
Frank's first job was carrying messages to people in town who didn't yet have telephones. His pay?