Two Middle East mothers are sitting in a cafe chatting over a plate of tabouli and a pint of goat's milk.

The older of the mothers pulls a bag out of her purse and starts flipping through photos. And they start reminiscing. This is my oldest son Mohammed. He would be 24 years old now.'

'Yes, I remember him as a baby' says the other mother cheerfully.He's a martyr now though' mum confides.

'Oh, so sad dear' says the other. And this is my second son Kalid. He would be 21?

'Oh, I remember him,' says the other happily, 'he had such curly hair when he was born'.

'He's a martyr too' says mum quietly.Oh, gracious me ...' Says the other. 'And this is my third son. My baby. My beautiful Ahmed.He would be 18, she whispers.

'Yes' says the friend enthusiastically, 'I remember when he first started school'He's a martyr also,' says mum, with tears in her eyes. After a pause and a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother looks wistfully at the photographs and says...

They blow up so fast, don't they?'
....................It's simple...

In South Los Angeles, a three-family apartment was destroyed by a fire. A
black family of six lived on the first floor, and all six died in the fire.

A Hispanic family of seven lived on the second floor, and they, too,
all perished in the fire.

A white couple lived on the third floor. They
both survived. Jesse Jackson was furious. He demanded to know why the
blacks and Hispanics died in the fire and only the white couple survived.
The fire chief said, 'It's simple---when the fire broke out, the white
couple were both at work.'