The lights go down, and for a moment I forget I’m watching a screen. It fills with a rooftop in Tel Aviv at night, black and grey. The camera pan(（镜头）摇摄)s down. Through windows, we see people watching screens of their own – couples holding each other close, following the news, eating food. They appear absorbed in their own worlds, and why wouldn’t they be?(他们似乎沉浸在自己的世界里，而这又有什么奇怪的呢？)
灯光暗下来，有那么一瞬间，我忘了自己是在看一块屏幕。屏幕上浮现出夜晚特拉维夫的一处屋顶，黑灰一片。镜头向下摇。透过一扇扇窗户，我们看到人们也在看各自的屏幕——情侣相拥，追着新闻，吃着东西。他们似乎沉浸在自己的世界里，而这又有什么奇怪的呢？
That’s the thing I can’t get past(释怀；越过) as a Palestinian journalist from Gaza, watching this apparent tranquillity(安宁；平静): this must be it – this must be what safety actually looks like. Just an evening uninterrupted, with no military aircraft flying overhead or drones buzzing incessantly(不停地；持续不断地). Meanwhile, men and women on the rooftop above them calmly talk about how they decided how many Palestinian civilians would die on any given night.(而与此同时，他们上方屋顶上的男男女女，正平静地谈论着他们如何决定某个夜晚要死多少巴勒斯坦平民。)
作为一个来自加沙的巴勒斯坦记者，看着这份表面的安宁，有一点我始终无法释怀：这一定就是了——这一定就是安全真正的样子。只是一个不被打断的夜晚，头顶没有军机飞过，也没有无人机嗡嗡不停。而与此同时，他们上方屋顶上的男男女女，正平静地谈论着他们如何决定某个夜晚要死多少巴勒斯坦平民。
These are the soldiers, mostly intelligence officers, who helped Israel carry out its destruction of Gaza. Their testimonies form the basis of NAZA, a documentary whose title comes from an Israeli military acronym used to indicate how many civilians are likely to die in an airstrike on the territory.(他们的证词构成了纪录片《NAZA》的基础，片名来自一个以色列军方缩写，用来表示一次空袭该地区可能造成多少平民死亡。)
这些人就是士兵，大多是情报官员，他们帮助以色列实施了对加沙的摧毁。他们的证词构成了纪录片《NAZA》的基础，片名来自一个以色列军方缩写，用来表示一次空袭该地区可能造成多少平民死亡。