I got to the school and went in. The place was in lockdown and parents were enroute to pick up their kids. Everyone was upset and tense. My wife was outwardly calm, as she always was in a crisis. But inside, she was shaken to the core.

There was a TV on in the office. I saw pictures of the palastinians celebrating in the streets. Passing out candy and honking their horns. I saw a fat bitch doing that arab tongue loo loo loo and dancing in happiness at our sorrow.

In that moment I learned something I really didn’t know before. I learned to hate. I wanted her and everyone that celebrated the attack to die. I wanted her to see her family killed in front of her and then take her life. I wanted the families of every hijacker to be killed. Every parent, every brother, every sister, every cousin.

Later, I realized that as a Christian, I should not want that. But in that moment, and in some ways still, I want them all dead. I want them crushed. I want nuclear fire to rain down on them. I want revenge.