Many, many years ago, during my first week in Montreal, I was sitting out on the back balcony of my apartment, enjoying the sights and smells of this new home of mine. I happened to catch the goings-on in the alley, where a confrontation was taking place between three white, francophone thugs-in-training (they were around 10 or 11 years old) and a couple of Hassidim children. Being stronger and more vicious, the little whiteys soon got the upper hand, and chased the other two back up the alley, throwing rocks at their targets along the way.
“Well, that was interesting,” thought I. “Things never change.”
Not less than five minutes later, I see these same three mini-thugs come racing back the other way, terror apparent on their eyes. “What the…?” Ah, following close on their heels are about 10 Hassidim, coming to the aid of their brethren. The little hoodlums cowered in an old hangar (slowly and sadly disappearing from the inner-city landscape of Montreal: hangars, that is), begging for mercy, cajoling, suddenly learning how to whimper in English, trying everything to endear themselves to their former enemies, anything to save their hides.
This memory came back to me this morning while listening to the news, hearing that the “government” to the south is now asking for other nations to step in and clean up its mess in Iraq, all the while maintaining control of all UN forces. The sad part is that other countries will send troops.