COMMENT | Every morning in Gaza, our medical team moved bed to bed on ward rounds.

A surgeon, an emergency doctor, a physiotherapist and a mental health colleague worked side by side. We would ask each patient how they were feeling, discuss the medical plan, check their wounds, assess infections, and consider what more could be done.

And sometimes, after all this, patients would try to give us something.

An apple. A small packet of coffee. A piece of food. Whatever they had.

That is what stayed with me.

Food was scarce. Clean water was...