All that chanting. Angry slogans. It was a gorgeous day. Sunshine. Cold. People everywhere. It felt good to be out in the city. But the spirit of the crowd felt wrong. Too many people out for blood. It got uglier and uglier as the protesters came to a stop, filling the Place de la République. The girls, faces painted with peace signs, had all gone home. The students singing “Imagine” had left. There were Stars of David and swastikas side-by-side on the same banners: “Sionisme = Nazisme.”I stumbled into a crowd gathered near a group of stands selling merguez. I bought one and stood watching a group of Jewish students being harassed by some drunken kids. I looked on along with the rest of the crowd. I stared at the kid who was conducting the whole thing. I wanted to kill him. The people standing in front of me left and I found myself on the edge of the curb, on the same level as the students, and I continued to watch from behind my sunglasses. Then I saw Gilad and Colin. They looked frightened, boxed in by a growing crowd.
