Suddenly one of the strange looking bald men scurrying around the platform trying to get us quickly into two columns came up to me and whispered in Yiddish: “Tell them you are sixteen and go to the right. Get away from your mom right away.” I stared blankly at him. “Go, fast!” He said, looking around to make sure no one heard him. “You have to say goodbye to them, now. Fast! Before you reach the head of the line.” He added: “Trust me!”
