Friday, February 02, 2007

The Hands of God

Michael Yon wrote in Online Magazine reported He was dressed as a woman as he walked down the alley toward the mosque full of worshippers.

The hijab (or nijab) is a good way for a man wearing a suicide belt to hide that fact.
It was Friday, just before Ashura, and the air was chilled. The bomb strapped to his body was studded with ball-bearings so that he could kill more villagers as they gathered for prayer. The detonation would eviscerate and dismember those closest, shattering bones into fragments, but the ball-bearings would ensure lethality beyond the percussive edge of the blast wave, ripping through the flesh of people who might not have been knocked down by the explosion.

There were no soldiers in his path to stop him; no police to alert to the man in women’s clothes. There were only villagers. The man dressed as a woman was to be the agent of their deaths. He kept walking down the alley toward the mosque where more than one hundred people were praying, a mass murderer masquerading in a woman’s garb.... The closer a counterfeit comes to the genuine article, the more obvious the deceit. As the murderer dressed in women’s clothes walked purposefully toward his target, there was a village man ahead. But under the guise of a simple villager was a true Martyr, and he, too, had his target in sight. The Martyr had seen through the disguise, but he had no gun. No bomb. No rocket. No stone. No time. The Martyr walked up to the murderer and lunged into a bear hug, on the spot where we were now standing.
He was a true Martyr, unlike the coward dressed in women's clothes. May Allah/God grant him prompt entry into Paradise/Heaven, and may the coward dressed in women's clothes go directly to Hell (without passing Go, and without collecting $200).
The blast ripped the Martyr to pieces which fell along with pieces of the enemy. Ball-bearings shot through the alley and wounded two children, but the people in the mosque were saved. The man lay in pieces on the ground, his own children having seen how his last embrace saved the people of the village.
I hope they are proud of their father, and I hope that the village takes care of his widow and children.

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