For the first time since the war began, I had a nightmare last night.  In the health clinic, I was attacked by a terrorist with a carving knife.  The details aren’t important but when I decided it was enough and I woke myself up, my heart was racing.  All I could think about was how I could lower my pulse so I could go back to sleep.  And I began to wonder why I didn’t think of revenge,  especially since the attacker was a specific person, although not one I knew.  Shouldn’t I have turned around and grabber the cleaver?  After all, I have learned to control my dreams to a certain extent – since as a child I had the usual Hitler dreams of refugee children.  I just wanted to get back to sleep and in a state of safety.