Below me, out of every entrance, men, women, even some children spill into the dark street, driven by men in the hated black uniform. They are herding their prey into a holding area, like driving wild animals towards the inevitable net. A few of the stunned victims are wearing street attire and are carrying small suitcases, but many are still in flimsy night shirts or even underwear. These thugs work very fast, practically throw their captives into the back of the trucks, clubbing those that don't move fast enough to suit. Then the troops pull down the canvas sides of the vehicles, and, with their human loads, roar off into the night.
Stillness descends once more on our neighborhood.
It is over. As if we had the blood of the lamb painted on the lintel and doorposts of our house as told in the Old Testament. To this day I can not say why we were saved.