AL-MAGHAZI REFUGEE CAMP, Gaza Strip—At midnight, Waad al-Shafi was still awake, sitting on the floor beside her 22-month-old son, Jawad. The room was small and worn down by Israeli shelling. Long cracks run across the concrete and flakes of paint hung from the corners. The dim light cast shadows on the wall behind her.
She held a cloth dampened with cool water, which she dabbed lightly on Jawad’s feet as he slept. Every few moments, she placed her hand on his chest and felt his breathing. Jawad stirred before his eyes snapped open. He let out a low whimper before the words came out in broken pieces: “Bang. Blood. Tank.”
Waad didn’t ask him what he meant. She knew. She leaned toward him and smoothed his hair with one hand, keeping the other resting on him. When his voice fell quiet again, she stayed as she was, sitting beside him, awake, watching the rise and fall of his chest.
Jawad has been this way since March 19, when his father, Osama Al-Shafi, said he was going to take his son to the store to buy candy. He lifted Jawad onto his shoulders and headed out. The store was to the west, near their home in the eastern part of Al-Maghazi refugee camp, a few hundred meters from the “yellow line.” When he left the house, his direction suddenly changed and he began wandering eastward.
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