This is the beginning of the book. From the time the Jews encountered him in Medina, a town they founded years before, they had a name for him. HaMeshugah. That's all they ever called him, never by his name, down through the ages. But he was no ordinary nutcase. He was SuperPsycho. Muhammad was a mix of maniac and monster unique in the pages of history, a bottomless pit of cruelty, devoid of conscience, scruples, or principles, inhuman to his fingertips. He cared only about three things: Me, Myself, and I. Today he would be recognized as criminally insane but it wouldn't be hard to prove that he knew right from wrong in order to put him on trial. What was right was good for Me, Myself, and I and what was wrong was bad for Me, Myself, and I. With Muhammad it all was as simple as that. Muhammad was a serial murderer, a serial rapist, a serial robber, and in one documented case, a child molester. We are still wasting our breath talking about him today because he parlayed a local phenomenon, worship of a meteorite that happened to land in the desert 50,000 years previously, into a world-wide religion. As far as I am concerned people can worship whatever they want: meteorites, parking meters, rhinoceroses. But no one's religion can purchase him a pass from facing justice for his crimes. If that doesn't happen while the perpetrator is alive, posterity has an obligation to the victims to put him on trial in absentia. Nor can societies who elevate a mentally disturbed fiend to the status of god expect others to look away.