When I recall my childhood, I feel like I am having a dream. How does the little house look, which used to sparkle with lights? Does the little tree grow which I planted long ago?
Belz, my little town! The little house where I spent my childhood! The poor little room where I used to laugh with other children! Every Shabbos I would run to the river bank to play with other children under a little green tree. Belz, my little town! My little town where I had so many fine dreams!
The little house is old and overgrown with moss. The old roof collapsed and the windows are without glass. The attic is crooked, the walls bent. I would never recognize it.