It’s May 1, 9:10 p.m. PST. Osama bin Laden is dead.
Raucous crowds are massing outside the gates of the White House.
My Twitter and Facebook pages are full of folks—Mormon, Jewish, Christian, Muslim, atheist—recoiling from pictures of frat boys dancing in the streets wrapped in the American flag.
My husband and I take our seven and five year old daughters away from the television and tuck them into their beds.
“Remember how at our Passover Seder last week we spilled a drop of your grape juice for every plague that struck the Egyptians?” my husband tells the girls. “We do not take pleasure in the suffering and death of others—even bad guys.”
