Samy Amimour is one of the terrorists who blew himself up at the Bataclan concert hall. He did so, I’m guessing, because he was convinced he’d wind up floating on some cloud with the other radical terrorists who follow a warped teaching.
Now he’s dead.
There’s something poetic about this. Imagine being Samy, all excited about dying for a cause and being rewarded with eternal splendor. But instead of being rewarded with eternal splendor, you’re simply dead. You were 28, filled with life. And now, because you didn’t have the fortitude to see how awful ISIS is, you killed yourself. You no longer exist. Forever and ever and ever. No heavenly sex. No figs and diamonds. Just dead.
Just dead.
