When I went back to sleep, I had a dream I've had before, and I think it's from a previous life. I was with a group of friends on vacation to a "safe place," some sort of enclave. You traveled by car to a landmark, which was an abandoned building hanging off the die of a hill, where you climbed a ladder into the mill and stepped out into a community of homes. This could have been Sherwood Forest, Shakespeare's Forest of Arden, a royalist hideout from the Oliver Cromwell revolution, the French underground, I just don't know, but in the dream, I believe I was Jewish.
Nothing frightening or unsettling occurred, just a sense that this space was temporal.