One of my ancestors died that night, a Tuesday, 560 years ago, on the wall of The City, fighting next to Constantine XI Paleologos, the last God Ordained Emperor of the Roman Empire. He as fate would have it, was an ancestor of one of my dearest friends, a Levantine Greek. Others of my ancestors, women and children, had gathered at Agia Sophia for the Divine Liturgy that night. When the Turks burst in, the priests took the Holy Gifts and disappeared into the wall of the apse east of the altar. When I was little, I was told that they will return to finish that Liturgy when the church is restored to the True Faith and Worship. The women and children were raped and dragged off into slavery.