It was very long ago, however. The Christmas truce of 1914 is the most dramatic.

It's possible that there are three different levels of thought going on here, and that they're all going through the heads of the same people all at once.

First, that it's bad politically to attack people on their holy days, especially if the population is overwhelmingly active (even if not voluntarily) in the practice of the dominant religion. Think of an attack on this country on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. How effective would it be? The big targets would not be as busy, except for last-minute shoppers and travellers, and the country would be so angry there would be no placating us. At all. Ever. And the rest of the world would be equally outraged. The Yom Kippur War (already mentioned by Tom a little while ago) is a good example of that.

Second, this is us trying to stretch to show our respect for somebody else's religion. In spite of all the stupidity over posting the 10 Commandments in courtrooms and classrooms, many of us do recognize that freedom of religion is an elementary building block in the ediface of American culture and law.

Third, it's a convenient time to give the Taliban a little breather so they can take a little of their prayer time to meditate on whether this is what they really want, and if perhaps Allah is trying to use the Americans to tell them something. A long shot, but worth it.

It also may be that there is a little of Hamlet in America's self-imposed truce. The prince had just screwed up his resolve to kill his murderous uncle, and where does he find the king? In his chapel, praying, imploring God's forgiveness for his sin. Hamlet thinks aloud:

Now I might do it pat, now he is praying,
And now I'll do't. [He draws his sword.] And so he goes to heaven,
And so am I revenged. That would be scanned.
A villain kills my father, and for that,
I his sole son do this same villain send
To heaven.
Oh this is hire and salary, not revenge.
. . . And am I then revenged
To take him in the purging of his soul,
When he is fit and seasoned for his passage?
No. [He puts up his sword.]
Up sword, and know thou a more horrid hent,
When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage, . . .
Then trip him that his heels may kick at heaven,
And that his soul may be as damned and black
as hell, whereto it goes. (Act III, scene iii)

Though not a believer myself, I can sympathize with that point of view as well.

Mary Anne