Novy Gorod was a suburb of the city of Vilna where I was born and raised until twelve years of age. After many decades, I now realize what a beautiful town it was, it was located on high ground surrounded by mountains, forests, lakes and meadows.

There was a wide cobblestone street with a big market square in the center and stores lined up on both sides. The stores contained merchandise to suit everyone's needs or pocketbook. On Fridays peasants around Novy Gorod brought their fresh vegetables, berries, onions strung up like braids, earthenware and stacks of wood to sell.

My mother had her grocery store and bakery located on that broad street and those peasants liked to buy goods from her, they bought herring, salt, tobacco alcohol, barley and much more. She treated them like her own family.

As a child of seven I helped my mother in the bakery, she baked bread during the week and on Thursday nights she baked challa, she used to wake me in the early morning to smear the challas with egg yoke to make them shiney.

After I was through with my obligation, I would watch the sun rise behind the snow covered mountains, which were like domes of many shapes and angles. Those early morning sunbeams were like burning wings penetrating through the nightly misty clouds. It was as if there were an ocean of waves chasing and climbing, one on top of another, swallowing them like beasts.

We had long winters with much snow and sleet, but at long last the spring was there once again. The early morning sunbeams forced mother earth to throw off the frosty blanket to restore its normal function and capability to nourish the population, the meadows with their green fresh grass sprinkled with field flowers looked like an Oriental rug.

In the heavens above, the early evening sunset was enchanting, with the variety of colors melting into one great hue. A hue like a water color painting stroked by the greatest artists from the world over. Even the tree, which had seemed forsaken, was restored to new life when the sunbeams took mercy on it. The once dried branches are now able to produce its new descendants. And oh that spring breeze made it sway like a religious Jew praying.

Novy gorod, in spite of its natural beauty, was infested with a bad element of thieves, rapists and killers. Our mother was very much concerned about us children growing up in that kind of atmosphere. One night I heard her say to my father, 'it's getting very bad for our children to grow up here," shortly after, mother started to sell out the provisions and finally gave up her way of life in the business world.

We moved to the city of Vilna proper, it was very exciting and something different. Our four room walk-up apartment was like a railroad flat; all windows faced a court, where there was a water pump, a garbage disposal box and an outhouse. My father had his shop in the same building but facing a narrow street with many stores and a small synagogue.

On Saturday evenings, my father used to meet his colleagues there to discuss the torah; that was his diversion, my sister's and my diversion was to stand outside the gate of the building and chew the pits of sunflowers. Friday evenings, however, were the most enjoyable for us children. Mother baked a babka, cooked a carrot tsimmes and a good time was had by all. Even our lodgers, who came from small towns around Vilna to study, indulged in that special event.