Under a roof that is not my own, in a modest home in Al-Shati Refugee Camp, I lie in the small bedroom of a child who, along with his parents, fled to the South of the Strip seeking safety, only to meet their doom there. I try to sleep, overcome by a fear that the family will return to surround me, bringing with them nightmares other than those currently hovering overhead. My wife and children lie beside me, war-weary and exhausted. I hear the rumbling of their stomachs and mine as the buzz o...
