I was walking through the Presidio district in San Francisco on a bright and sunny day. Suddenly a plane flew in low and suspended from its underside was a huge mesh sack stuffed with crushed red chili peppers. The enemy dropped the bag (as did some other planes in the neighborhood with similar cargo) and the air was filled with an overwhelming, choking effusion.
The dream sounds silly but believe it or not it was pretty scary. And I think it's an excellent plan for terrorists. Especially if they can get the peppers frying just before the drop.
I had one other remarkable dream last week, the day before Yom Kippur, about death, though not about terrorism. My father passed away last year - I often dreamt about him just afterwards, in the winter, but then the dreams stopped, until this one: I was lying face-down on a cool grassy hill at twilight outside a darkened house. I heard my father speaking within - not specific words but just the sound of his voice.
This was a very comforting dream that came at a point where I was feeling terribly bereft and overwhelmed by the awful events. I took it as a sign of the ways the dead establish a place in the hearts of the living.
Faye Hirsch, Brooklyn, New York