"A couple, mid-40's or well preserved 50's, approached me. Nattily dressed, he bareheaded, she sporting a small hat. They stared. I stared back.

"Do you speak English?" he said.

Only if I have to," I replied, silently cursing myself for slipping into wiseguy mode. I promised to try and behave.

"Are you a settler?" he said.

"Yes," I replied, fighting back the impulse to say "No, I'm a daffodil" or "No, I'm a giant roach."

"Are you here for the demonstration?" he said. "Yes," I replied again, biting my lips not to say "No, I'm here for the tsunami" or "No, I'm waiting for a bus to the zoo."

A long pause during which they kept exchanging "meaningful glances." I was getting annoyed.

"Is there something I can do for you?" I asked.

They smiled at each other.

"We have a proposition for you," the lady said.

I was taken aback. It's been years since anyone propositioned me.

"Our congregation" she continued - she didn't identify the congregation and I didn't ask - "feels the reason the PoorPalestians (she said it like one word) behave the way they do is that they don't know how caring we Jews are."

All my alarm bells were going off.

"We feel that any time an incident occurs..."

"You mean a terrorist attack?" I interrupted.

She frowned. He put his hands in his pockets. "...an incident" she continued, "an incident involving loss of life..."

"Jews murdered?" I said. "...a loss of life. Any life. All life is precious. We feel that..."

He interrupted. "Whenever someone is killed, including Poor Palestinians, especially Poor Palestinians, Jews should build a kindergarten or a playground in a Poor Palestinian village or enlarge a Poor Palestinian hospital ... to show them how caring we are." They smiled at each other.

"Let me understand this," I said, trying to keep the incredulity, the fury, out of my voice. "Every time an Arab kills a Jew, the Jews build them a playground?"

They nodded, and smiled.

"The more Jews they kill, the more playgrounds we build?"

They nodded, no longer smiling.

"Aren't you afraid they'll run out of Jews to kill before you run out of money for playgrounds?"

"See?" he said to her, "I told you he wouldn't understand. That type, hopeless..."

It was all I could do to keep from hitting them. But I smiled, and said "I'm sorry. You've misunderstood me. We already have a program like that."

They stared.

"Yes, every time Jews are killed by PoorPalestinians we send over helicopters that drop bags of bagels on them. It's called BAGELS FOR BASTARDS."

... a bit old but an excellent excerpt from an excellent article, read it all here

Bagels for Bastards