I was born in 1909, the fifth of eight children, in Miechow Lubelski, a Jewish shtetl (township) in the vicinity of Lublin, Poland. It was a reasonably sized population, I would estimate about 20,000, and a very large proportion of them Jewish. I am not sure how many non-Jews lived there but the only Poles were the ones who worked in Miechow. In all my time there, I only knew two. One was the postman, who spoke Yiddish better than Polish. The Polish citizenry in the area lived in scattered, smaller rural settlements and farms. In Michow, there was a very close, active community, largely insulated from the rest of Poland, and the world.

My father, Itzchok Boruch had a great influence on me. He commanded a great deal of respect in the Miechow Lubelski community, and certainly from his children. Within the family, this respect was based on love rather than fear, for he was never one to over-emphasise discipline as a child-raising tool. This is not to suggest that we were allowed to run riot - certainly not. It's merely a comment that his methods were based on negotiation and consensus, skills that he had honed to the point of perfection. He was a wise parent and in raising his children, used a well-developed sense of humour where other parents might have used a strong hand.

However, for all his guile and tactfulness, when faced with the defence of an important principle, Reb Itchi-Boruch, as he was known, was quite unable to compromise. There are many examples of his uncompromising nature but I will only outline one.

When Reb Itchi-Boruch was about to marry Frymet Korn, his father-in-law-to-be, Reb Arieh Korn, a respected ritual butcher, expected his son-in-law to carry on the family tradition. My father, however, made it quite clear to Reb Arieh and his future mother-in-law Fajga Szprynca, that he could not fulfil this expectation.

"Reb Arieh," he said firmly, "I do not denigrate your profession in any way. However, it is not possible for me to take the life of any living thing, especially cut its throat. Your daughter and I want to marry, but if you insist that her husband should take over your business, then she will have to find another. And so, unfortunately, will I."

It is a measure of my father's determination that his future father-in-law blessed the union without again referring to the subject. Itchi-Boruch became a successful peddler and a respected member of the community.

Miechow was not my father's birthplace. He was actually born in Loszic. My paternal grandparents were Shlomo Gdalia and Esther Malka. I can remember my grandmother only as a silhouette in a fog for she passed away when I was a young child.

My father Itchi-Boruch had numerous siblings but many died young. There was Golda and Yossel-David who in 1904 already belonged to a Zionist group. I remember, in 1923, Papa received a letter from Uncle Yossel in Palestine and the adults all crowded around to read it and wonder.

My mother and her family had lived in Miechow for many generations. She had a number of siblings: Chaia Raizl who lived in Warsaw; Shayna Malka who lived in Lublin; Brucha, lived in Warsaw and there was also a brother, Yankel.

Our household was not lacking in piety for Reb Itchi-Boruch was as observant and God-fearing as any of his peers. However, his religious attitude was tempered with realism. "Can not a man make his own way with God ? Does he really need a matchmaker ? " was one of his favourite sayings when the subject came up.

My father's sense of humour was legendary and two episodes in particular will illustrate his wit.

Consider this example. Friday night, the Sabbath, was always special in our home. Papa would come home from work to find the house sparkling, the table set and the children glowing with anticipation. After preparing himself, he would preside over the Sabbath meal in a jovial mode. The prayers would be sung rather than dryly recited by the head of the household. In the tradition of Jewish hospitality, there was usually a Shabbos guest, often a stranger, far from home. In our household, the Sabbath had a deep spiritual, rather than just a religious presence.

One such Sabbath evening, as we sat at table, blessing our good fortune and enjoying the meal that we had waited a whole week for, we heard sounds of distress coming from next door. This particular neighbour was the local furman, that is to say, he owned a horse and cart which was available for hire. He was usually a jovial fellow, quick with a smile and a joke. This night, however, the wailing was definitely coming from his house. Papa immediately went to investigate. He found a home totally unprepared for the Sabbath, with the family sitting in the kitchen in a state of anguish.

"Reb Yankel, is the matter ? Why are you so distressed ? And your good wife ? Surely it is written that Shabbos must be greeted joyously."

"Reb Itchi-Boruch, how can I be happy ? My horse, my livelihood, has just died. And I have a full day of work after Shabbos. What is to become of us ? How will we live ? I know no other trade."

"Calm yourself, Reb Yankel. God will provide. Meanwhile, let us go and say Kaddish (Jewish Prayer for the Dead) for this noble animal, who has served you so well for so many years.".

From anyone else this could have been considered blasphemous, and perhaps it was, but Papa was always quick to recognise that easing of human torment always took precedence over religion. After all, Man's relationship with his fellow man was at least as important as his relationship with God - hadn't God himself said so ? He therefore guided Reb Yankel outside to the stall where the horse lay, lifeless. Calling up to the heavens, Papa implored God to consider the hard working and righteous life this creature had led. He recounted the suffering that this animal had endured in order to feed the family and the relief it had brought to so many people who would otherwise have had to walk everywhere. Surely, he argued, such an equine saint deserved a glorious place in the animal heaven.

Those of us watching this performance laughed. Even the bereaved family could not suppress their mirth. Papa, however, was no empty clown. Having dispelled the gloomy cloud that had engulfed them, he persuaded them to join us for Shabbos. My father never considered that we had barely enough for ourselves. For him, this was the true spirit of the Sabbath, and we just took it for granted that God will provide. He certainly did for Reb Yankel, although Papa lent a helping hand.

As soon as the Sabbath was over, my father persuaded the local gentry that it was in their interest that Reb Yankel continue to operate. He was therefore able to purchase another horse, meet most of his commitments and continue to support his family without having to resort to charity.

No one who knew Reb Itchi-Boruch would ever accuse him of being irreverent. As already indicated though, his reverence was flavoured with a broad streak of humanity as well as a sense of humour.

My mother, Frymet, was a deeply pious woman; pious in a way that was far removed from Papa's piety. To her, religious observance was not to be questioned and there were times when she disapproved strongly of her husband's broader attitude. As far as we children were concerned, this never led to any disagreements between them. In her role as a traditional Jewish wife, she accepted her husband as the breadwinner and therefore head of the family (though the horse episode must have tried her patience dreadfully).

She was a caring woman, not only towards us but also to those who were less fortunate in our community. Together with some other women, she ensured that those in need would not starve, especially on the Sabbath. Many years later, when the family moved to Warsaw, my mother went out of her way to join a group who looked after Yeshiva boys. Twice a week, my mother cooked for forty hungry Yeshiva students. She saw this as her 'holy work'.

Having already brought four daughters into the world (Sara, Rachael, Yehudis and the eldest whose name I cannot remember as she had died by the time I was born) and a boy who had died, my parents were desperate for a son. Pregnant again, it occurred to mother that she might ensure the birth of a boy if she could obtain the rabbi's blessing. Neglecting to mention this to Papa, she took herself off to the rabbi, who agreed, for a fee, to pronounce the appropriate blessing and follow up with regular prayers until the birth of the son. Bringing the news to her husband, my mother begged him to make immediate financial arrangements to maximise the effects of the rabbi's benediction.

Now, rabbinical intervention did not impress Papa as a solution to the problem, but it was certainly not his style to tread on anyone's beliefs. He had a more subtle approach. At the first opportunity he himself visited the holy man and proposed the following;

"Rabbi, it is certainly worth that amount of money if my wife could present me with a son and heir. However, you are asking me to bet on the fact that you can produce the desired result. Surely then you should match the bet. That would appear to be fair to me.".

"Reb Itzchak," laughed the Rebbe, "no-one ever gets the better of you.".

"Indeed, Rabbi. Does your reluctance to accept my bet indicate that I will have another daughter ?".