Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9 Page 10 Page 11 Page 12 Page 13 Page 14 Page 15 Page 16 Page 17 Page 18 Page 19 Page 20 Page 21 Page 22 Page 23 Page 24 Page 25 Page 26 Page 27 Page 28 Page 29 Page 30 Page 31 Page 32 Page 33 Page 34 Page 35 Page 36 Page 37 Page 38 Page 39 Page 40 Page 41 Page 42 Page 43 Page 44 Page 45 Page 46 Page 47 Page 48 Page 49 Page 50 Page 51 Page 52 Page 53 Page 54 Page 55 Page 56 Page 57 Page 58 Page 59 Page 60 Page 61 Page 62 Page 63 Page 64 Page 65 Page 66 Page 67 Page 68 Page 69 Page 70 Page 71 Page 72 Page 73 Page 74 Page 75 Page 76Plough Quarterly • Summer 2015 27 get across–or you might not. It was so difficult and dangerous; our hearts were racing until we got here.” I ask Fadi what his village was like before he left. “I have seen many bodies–in the streets, thrown outside homes, even in the river. When they see a child, they shoot without hesitating. Some people you just never find. “They aimed missiles toward our school. When the missiles hit, they destroyed half the building. I was not at school that day, but I saw it burning.” Fadi says he wants to talk about these things, and words pour from him. But then he adds that he is certain I will never understand. “Honestly, if I told you what Syria was like, and what those men have done to us, you would not believe me.” When I meet Nada in Gaza during the 2014 conflict there, she is five years old. But she has lost her ability to speak, and nightmares prevent sleep. She cries almost constantly. Fadi, age ten, plays war games with his friends at the home in the Lebanese town where he and his family arrived a month before. Photograph by Jonathan Hyams / Save the Children