People who saw such things never smiled any more, no matter how long they lived; and sometimes their hair turned white in a day, and some people became insane on the spot.
Often we heard that the pogrom was led by a priest carrying a cross before the mob.

Our enemies always held up the cross as the excuse of their cruelty to us.

I never was in an actual pogrom, but there were times when it threatened us, even in Polotzk; and in all my fearful imaginings, as I hid in dark corners, thinking of the horrible things the Gentiles were going to do to me, I saw the cross, the cruel cross.
I remember a time when I thought a pogrom had broken out in our street, and I wonder that I did not die of fear.

It was some Christian holiday, and we had been warned by the police to keep indoors.

Gates were locked; shutters were barred.