He’s calm and composed. Pink t-shirt, jeans and leather sandals. Short grey hair. Haaretz’s Gideon Levy is riding shotgun this morning and Dr. Ghassan Hamdan of the PMRS is driving. A photographer, Henrik and I are in the back of the car. Parking on Sakin Street, just north of the Ein Beit El-Ma Refugee Camp. We’re at the house where Dr. Khaled Salah and his son Mohamed were killed in cold blood by Israeli military snipers almost two weeks ago after clashes with local fighters had ended. The members of the neighboring Akel family show us into their home in order to survey the damage caused by a military raid that kept everyone in Nablus and the surrounding refugee camps up for the entire night.

In the Akel home husband, wife and four children crouched in the bathroom for hours as the IDF blew apart almost every part of the house with countless rounds and missiles. The neighbors escaped relatively unscathed, the patriarch sustaining wounds to the shoulder and some shrapnel in the ear. In the Salah home next door scenes of pandemonium on that night, as Mohamed, still gasping, was left bleeding for nearly four hours before ambulances where aloud to reach him (by which point he was already dead). For an hour we sit and listen to Salaam Salah’s horrific story as she reconstructs the night in which her husband and son where killed.

Salaam repeatedly asks Gideon if he knows Itai, a producer from Channel 2 in Israel. “Itai did a story on our family two years ago, during the mundial [World Cup].” “It was a story about brother and father watching soccer on TV while tanks rolled by in the streets outside. How our family was peaceful and how nothing happened to peaceful families,” interjects Diana, who has just graduated from An-Najah University and was engaged to get married in August before the martyrdom of Khaled and Mohamed. The wedding has now been postponed indefinitely.

“He was a man of science not politics,” explains Salaam, somewhat compulsively trying to emphasize how normal their lives were. The immediate family – which in addition to Diana, includes 11 year old Ali, and an older brother Amer (who is currently completing his studies in Boston) – is now homeless, sharing a flat with family and relatives until a new place can be found. “That night they where shooting so much. Each time a rocket hit you could feel the whole building shake like this,” she says as she sways her hands back and forth. “All I can remember is the sound of crashing glass, the smell of perfume and detergent and the light from the refrigerator door that was propped open.”

After eliminating the two fighters, the IDF ordered all the civilians evacuated from the building, threatening to blow up the structure and kill whoever remained inside in the process if they did not comply with the order. Khaled noticed that the door was jammed, and instead appealed to the soldiers for assistance. In a loud booming voice in English he said that he was an American national, a Professor and committed to peace. He simply requested that someone be sent to allow the family to exit the house. Instead military snipers responded with a volley of fire. “The soldiers where laughing at me. They kept saying ‘Ikhras ya marat’ (shutup you woman) to me as I tried to get an ambulance, some help for Mohamad. We knew Khaled was killed, but there could have been something done for Mohamed. He was gasping and wheezing, following me with his eyes. They didn’t even let me and Diana get out of our nightgowns and change. And I can remember this green-laser searching in our home for more men. They didn’t get Ali because he was too short to see.”

“When they took mother in for investigation they humiliated me and put me with the men,” explains Diana. “They must have known what they where doing. It was so calculated. Poor Mohamed, he was born in 1988, at the beginning of the last intifada.” “He was born to the first intifada and killed in the second,” asserts his mother blankly, laconically summing up a familiar story. “Why did they do this? I want you to tell people in Israel how we feel. We’re human too, even if they mock us, at least tell them our story. I want to know how they think about us after reading what happened to Khaled. He signed a statement for peace and I yelled to the soldiers about this – I mean my name is peace.” Tears are increasingly punctuating the sentences as the narrative unfolds, as the tangible evidence of a past life is presented – diplomas, reports, honors, photos of family outings and engagement parties.

In June both Khaled and Mohamed celebrated birthdays, on the 8^th and 23^rd respectively. The night of the killing, Salaam and Diana had just returned from a wedding party. “Mohamed was waiting up for us. He always waited after such events for the candy and the chocolates. He liked sweets. He was such a gentle boy,” his mother explains. “But also scared, his nose would bleed when he was afraid and he’d constantly bite his nails because of the violence of the last few years.”

Gideon simply looks on, occasionally asking the odd question to fill out the story, paint the broader picture. He’s been doing this for fifteen years…collecting fragments of broken lives to write another article for a newspaper read by people with no connection to the territories or what life there means. “Nobody reads our columns anymore,” Gideon explains, referring to himself, Amira Hass – who’s also, incidentally in Nablus these days - and a few other Israeli journalists who routinely cover the abuses of the occupation.

“I think if only Sharon had a heart-attack this will end,” asserts Salaam near the end of the interview. “I don’t think it is that simple,” is Gideon’s reply. “He is the head of the snake.” “The snake has many heads.” “But maybe if Sharon dies, Mofaz will be so sad he will not be able to do anything.” Suddenly everyone is laughing. “Maybe without Sharon and Arafat we would all be better,” replies another family member, to more chuckles. The photographer is taking photos of the family, as the conversation turns again to the mundane. As we depart Salaam vows that she will pursue legal action as soon as she recovers from the current shock. “I want Mofaz to be brought to justice for this, I want the soldiers who laughed and did this to also be held accountable.” Nobody knows what to say. Salaam offers Gideon official reports on the incident, “No, no. Thank you. You’re story is worth more than any report. This is enough for me. Your word.”