One of those must-read books that serves, in my case, as a reminder more than anything else. It is, as the copy I have quotes from the New York Times review of it, "A slim volume of terrifying power."
At different times Night will mean different things. To me, at this time, it read as a call for vigilance.

And then, one day all foreign Jews were expelled from Sighet. And Moishe the Beadle was a foreigner. Crammed into cattle cars by the Hungarian police, they cried silently. Standing on the station platform, we too were crying. The train disappeared over the horizon; all that was left was thick, dirty smoke.
Behind me, someone said, sighing, "What do you expect? That's war .."
The deportees were quickly forgotten. A few days after they left, it was rumored that they were in Galacia, working, and even that they were content with their fate.
Days went by. Then weeks and months. Life was normal again. A calm, reassuring wind blew through our homes. The shopkeepers were doing good business, the students lived among their books, and the children played in the streets.