An article in The CJN in 1995 spurred a family’s campaign to reclaim forgotten land in Israel. Now, after 20 frustrating years of bureaucracy, Meta Surchin, 91, fears she won’t hold the deed to her grandfather’s land within her lifetime.

“It’s not understandable why it should take so long when we have done everything they’ve asked us to do,” says Surchin, who lives in Montreal.

Surchin’s grandfather, Abraham Levin, bought two parcels of land, a little under two acres, near Afula in northern Israel, in 1936. A staunch Zionist who attended the early Zionist Congresses in Europe, Levin also knew Chaim Weizmann. “He was there for the wedding of my father and mother,” Surchin says. “They were very close friends.”

Born in Lithuania, Levin lived most of his life in Montreal, where he founded Dominion Tassel and became one of the wealthiest members of the Jewish community. When the State of Israel appealed to Canadians for investments, he took the lead. “He bought potash mines, orange groves,” Surchin says, “and he bought this land.”

Eight years later, when Levin and his wife died, there was no record of the land, and the property was completely forgotten. 

Then, in 1995, Surchin’s son Mark came across an article in The CJN titled “Many Diaspora Jews own unclaimed Israeli land.” The article began, “Do you unknowingly own land in Israel? Before you reply in the negative, read on.” 

The article ended with a list of Canadian investors, including, to Mark’s surprise, Abraham Levin. He notified his mother, and the family began the process of claiming the land.

Initially, things seemed simple. The family’s lawyer told them, “You have to convince the authorities that your mother really is the heir of Abraham Levin.” This seemed like a standard legal process.

However, as the situation evolved, over multiple trips to have documents certified at the Israeli Consulate, the picture became more complex. Part of the bureaucracy stems from Israel’s “apotropos” system of guardianship, a term dating back to the Ottoman period, whereby the land is administered for absentee owners.

A local moshav has also been using part of the land since before Levin bought it. “It’s unclear… what their rights are,” Mark says. Surchin will probably need to buy them out before she can take possession.

“We’ve had a chicken and egg situation,” Mark says. “Do we spend the money to put the land in her name and then see what happens, or look for someone to buy the land first?”

This year at last, the family finally found a buyer for the land. However, this seemingly simple real estate deal now hangs in a fragile balance. While the apotropos has finally recognized Meta Surchin’s claim, the family is waiting for the Israeli land registry to put the deed in her name before the sale.

Haifa-based real estate lawyer Dena Slonim, who has dealt with many similar cases, although not directly with Surchin’s, says the process of registering a claim on “ownerless” land under apotropos control can be “lengthy and complicated.

“There have been cases of unscrupulous persons taking advantage of the absence of the owner and fraudulently taking control of properties,” Slonim told The CJN. The Israeli bureaucracy “does [its] best to prevent this, sometimes raising insurmountable barriers for legitimate heirs.”

Mark, who lives in Toronto, isn’t sure how much the land will ultimately be worth. “Initially, we had no clue if it was worth anything… We just thought that if Abraham Levin bought it, we should honour his memory by putting it in my mother’s name; that’s what he would want.”

“It’s less than the average price of a house in Toronto,” he says, perhaps somewhere just under a million dollars. The family will probably see much less. “There’s the development levy… betterment tax, capital gains tax, legal fees. When all is said and done, I expect it’ll be under $500,000.”

Slonim said these charges can lead to further delays, particularly when families are unable or unwilling to pay. “Each case is unique, fascinating, and often tragic, as the history of the family, and of the Jewish People in the 20th century, comes to light,” she says.

Zionism has always run deep in the Surchin family. Surchin’s father, Leon Levin, was just as active in Israeli causes as his father had been. Her daughter, Eleanor Schneider, made aliyah in 1973 and is currently a lecturer at the University of Haifa. Levin now has descendants living all over Israel.

Given the family’s unwavering loyalty to Israel, they’ve been stunned by the obstacles. “It has felt to us,” says Mark, “like there’s some kind of a conspiracy here.” 

Slonim believes that the delays have probably not stemmed from any official government stance. “The… Israeli government position on foreign ownership of land is more of an economic issue; I don’t think that the difficulties imposed on foreign citizens trying to claim ownership… are related.”

Regardless of the cause, Surchin herself is disappointed that Israeli officials have seemingly done all they can to stall the family’s claim. “My grandfather would be very upset,” she says. “It needs to be resolved.”

Eleanor Schneider, one of Meta Surchin's daughters, on her mother's land near Afula in Israel