She is sitting on television telling the story like it is a pleasant memory. She was on a bus. The radio said a suicide bomber had walked into the Sbarro restaurant. Three dead. She admits she was disappointed. She had wanted a bigger number. Two minutes later the radio said five. She tried to hide the smile but couldn’t. Praise Allah, she says. It was great. Around her the other passengers started clapping as the count went up. They didn’t know she was one of the bombers. On the way back they went through a Palestinian police checkpoint and the officers were laughing. One of them put his head in the window and said congratulations to us all. Everybody was happy. That’s not some fighter in a tunnel. That’s a woman on a bus, and the police of the Authority waving them through with a blessing. The world still talks about a peace process and a state as if this were a border dispute that ran long. You don’t hand a flag to a culture that treats a restaurant full of families as a scoreboard and then thanks Allah when the number moves. This is what they are. This is what they celebrate. This is what they want to reward.