Crossing A Bridge Where A Sniper Waits

Our old friend Raja Abdulrahim: Battoul makes her way around the smashed bus full of sandbags and steps into sniper territory. A man balancing a large box of produce on his left shoulder, cilantro peeking out, is close on her heels.

"Hurry, hurry," he says. "This is not the time to walk slowly."

She tries to blend into the crowd making its way over the 300-yard stretch of no man's land that divides the two Aleppos: one held by the rebels, one by the government.

Every day, a government sniper holed up in City Hall picks off at least a few people. On good days, no one dies.

People call it the crossing of death.

Once, Battoul and her sister saw a 4-year-old boy pleading with his mother not to take…