As I held the 2-month-old baby girl and listened to the translator, I prayed. It was December 23; we had brought food for the family of five. Always hospitable, the Syrian refugees insisted that we come into their home for coffee. The living room/ bedroom was the size of a king size bed. Nevertheless, this family was fortunate the father had a job. Many refugees lived in homes made from scavenged trash.
The most memorable part of the visit was the gesture the father made as he spoke. He made a cutting motion with his right index finger from the back of his neck to the front of his throat. I did not need the translator; he was speaking of a beheading.