—————–jihad Mag——————

The magazine’s roving reporter overheard this conversation in a cafe where two mothers were sitting and chatting over a plate of tabouli and a pint of goat’s milk. The older of the two women pulled a small folder out of her handbag and started flipping through photos. They started reminiscing. We bring you their conversation…

This is my oldest son, Mujibar. He would have been 24 years old now. “Yes, I remember him as a young boy,” says the other mother cheerfully. “My Mujibar is a martyr now though,” the mother confides. “Oh, so sad dear,” she whispers. “And this is a picture of my Nazir, he was my favorite. This photo was taken when was just 5-years-old. He was a martyr too…he was on the bus with the Israeli kids when he exploded in his suicide vest,” says the proud mother. With tears in her eyes, she adds, “Tomorrow would have been his 17th birthday.” “Oh! my dear, I remember him,” says the other happily, “he had such curly hair when he was born.”

After a short pause and a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother looks wistfully at the photographs and, searching for the right words, says . . .

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“They blow up so fast, don’t they?”

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