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In the days before we reached the Netzarim checkpoint in Gaza in early April 2024, my wife and I rehearsed a stripped-down version of ourselves. We had already lived through six months of war, but this would be the first time we stood before Israeli soldiers. After seeing journalists killed, hospitals bombed, and bullets ripping through children, we believed that how we told our story could mean everything — for our lives and our chances of getting out.

We would tell the truth. But we would keep it to the parts least likely to invite suspicion: that we were a displaced family obeying Israel’s orders, which often came via air-dropped flyers and anonymous, automated phone calls, to evacuate south aft

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