Je Suis Charlie. Je Suis juif. Je Suis Libre.

Les laisser continuer à manger du gâteau.

Whether it was Marie Antoinette or some other fabled princess who actually said it, she was on to something. Let them eat cake. And drink wine.  And fill their croissants with chocolate. And enjoy satire, or not. And be Jewish, or Christian, or Muslim, or not. Let the French, and the rest of us, continue to be free.

I have been reading about the end of the American Civil War, of the jubilant and irrepressible crowds pouring into the streets and cheering Lincoln outside the White House. My mom used to tell us about people dancing in the streets when World War II ended. I always thought the part about her father throwing open the windows and letting the freedom in to be a bit of embellishment, if only because I have never seen a Brooklyn window capable of being thrown open. Inched upward with great difficulty, maybe, but never thrown open. I will never know, but it’s a good story.

What I do know is that, back in the day, as with any good story, war had a beginning, a middle, and an end, not to mention pretty detailed character development. The battle lines were drawn. Literally. North and south. Blue and Gray. Allies and Axis. Good and Evil. To the victor went whatever spoils were left and to the loser eventually went some reparations and reconstruction and to everyone went some real hope for peace.  Sure, John Wilkes Booth was practicing his marksmanship only miles from the victory celebration and there will always be people who hate, but white flags and handshakes and treaties at least signified the beginning of a different chapter.

Not so much these days. Three murderers are dead, but I am anything but irrepressibly jubilant. My heart breaks for the moments of terror suffered by so many over the years, and in Paris this week. I grieve for the families of those who were slaughtered because of their drawings or their religion or simply because they were in the way. I grieve for the French and for all of us who value not only freedom but life itself. And I know full well that there are countless other murderers out there taking target practice with renewed fervor, and there is no imminent end to the madness. They will not give up, but neither will we.

Sure. Freedom is an ideal, and our methods and goals are always in need of tweaks. The road to freedom is littered with blood and immeasurable destruction. Sometimes we don't go far enough and sometimes the cost is too great, but the road remains open. In theory I would die for freedom, though I certainly prefer not to.

Mohammad or any prophet worth his or her salt would, I imagine, feel cheapened by the idea that executing folks wielding nothing more than a pencil could avenge some great wrongs, real or imagined. I am glad that three terrorists in France are dead and can no longer kill. And I wish with all my heart I could see the looks on their faces when they realize that if there are indeed 72 virgins waiting they are most assuredly waiting for somebody else, certainly in a different location. And you can't take it – i.e. your AK47 – with you, so blasting through the pearly gates is as unlikely as the falsely promised gang bang.

My greatest hope is that each of us continues to uphold our freedom and do the best we can with our lives, even though we will all inevitably fall short. It's what makes us human. We must continue to eat cake and croissants and drink wine and think our own thoughts without fear of those who just don’t get it.

Nous sommes Charlie. Nous continuerons d'être libre.