They hid at the El-Wafa hospital.

They hid at the Al-Aqsa hospital.

They hid at the beach, where children played football.

They hid at the yard of 75-year-old Muhammad Hamad.

They hid among the residential quarters of Shujaya.

They hid in the neighbourhoods of Zaytoun and Toffah.

They hid in Rafah and Khan Younis.

They hid in the home of the Qassan family.

They hid in the home of the poet, Othman Hussein.

They hid in the village of Khuzaa.

They hid in the thousands of houses damaged or destroyed.

They hid in 84 schools and 23 medical facilities.

They hid in a cafe, where Gazans were watching the World Cup.

They hid in the ambulances trying to retrieve the injured.

They hid themselves in 24 corpses, buried under rubble.

They hid themselves in a young woman in pink household slippers, sprawled on the pavement, taken down while fleeing.

They hid themselves in two brothers, eight and four, lying in the intensive burn care unit in Al-Shifa.

They hid themselves in the little boy whose parts were carried away by his father in a plastic shopping bag.

They hid themselves in the “incomparable chaos of bodies” arriving at Gaza hospitals.

They hid themselves in an elderly woman, lying in a pool of blood on a stone floor.

Hamas, they tell us, is cowardly and cynical.