My head was buzzing; the same thought surfacing over and over: not to be separated from my father. Freed from the barbers’ clutches, we began to wander about the crowd, finding friends, acquaintances. Every encounter filled us with joy—yes, joy: Thank God! You are still alive! Some were crying. They used whatever strength they had left to cry. Why had they let themselves be brought here? Why didn’t they die in their beds?
