Their names are very mellifluous and so easy on an American's ear. They are Svetlana, Galina, Larissa, Raisa, Vladimir and Allie. They are the new immigrants from Russia.

I am sure that you have noticed their arrival. They are stabilizing neighborhoods all over New York City. Notably Brighton Beach, Coney Island, Pelham Parkway and Rego Park.

With a lot of hope they are bringing a sweetness and a naivete that is both touching and refreshing.

Let me tell you how I became involved with these newcomers to America. I was an election registrar during the 2004 Democratic Primary at Jericho High School when Roz Cohan, my former boss at FEGS (Federation Employment Guidance Service), stepped to my desk. She is in charge of a UJA group trying to teach English to Russian immigrants. I had worked out of an office on Queens Boulevard in Rego Park. I taught mostly Bucharins who came from Uzbekistan.

Their former homeland became inhospitable to Jews and unsafe to raise children. I went into their homes as an invited guest on many occasions. The foods are interesting and have a Middle-Eastern flavor.

Their homes were neat and each one had a television set, a computer and a record or tape player. It did not remind me of the poverty that I associated with the immigrant waves of the 1920s and 1930s. I worked with them on a one-on-one basis.

Roz immediately drafted or enlisted me to come to Brooklyn (Kings Highway and Coney Island Avenue) to teach English to classes of six or seven students. I do not know Brooklyn at all even though I was born in Crown Heights Hospital (now defunct) 70 years ago.

The neighborhood was quite a shock to me. As a long-time suburbanite I was introduced to an integrated and polyglot environment. Russians, Chasidim, Arabs, Afro-Americans, Italians, Jews and Orientals all walking on Kings Highway. The "burbs" sometimes put you to sleep. This neighborhood worked. It clicked, and to me it was a much sought-after revelation about New York City and its many diverse areas.

I was not enthusiastic about driving on the Belt Parkway from Jericho. It is the only route that makes sense but it is always backed up.

My first session with my class changed my mind. The level of English comprehension was low but they were like sponges in their fervor to learn. I used my columns from the Syosset-Jericho Tribune as text - very ego gratifying. They read the stories and at the idioms and difficult words we stopped many times for blackboard explanations.

They would help each other when a word stopped them. The Russian word was whispered and the recognition shone in their eyes. Many of the proverbs and adages of American speech had almost exact Russian interpretations.

Once when we read a sad column I could see the sympathy they felt. We discussed family matters and it was obvious that these ideas are international in scope.

In the late 1940s and early 1950s my parents helped many of their "landsmen" from Europe through HIAS (Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society). Now in the newborn millennium their son, Stanley, is doing the same.

Each week as I fight the Belt Parkway I vow I am finished with this journey. Yet, these lovely, innocent and friendly people draw me back to them and I am hooked again.

Thanks Roz.