The takeover of the Iraqi city of Mosul this week by the jihadist group known as the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant marks a dramatic new phase in the battle between Shiites and Sunnis.
Mosul, the one-time capital of Mesopotamia, has now become the capital of terrorism, some might say, should the brutal ISIL decide to use it as their base of operations for attacks on Shiites and others around the region.
But as dramatic as the conquest was, it also was the culmination of a creeping trend to fundamentalism in the city that once was the most sophisticated and historically European of all Iraqi cities.
For centuries, the city, perched on the west bank of the Tigris across from ancient Nineveh, dominated the region; its name meaning "linking place" or "junction" and it certainly was that. It sat at the crossroad to Aleppo and Europe and imported much of its culture and good taste.
The Sykes-Picot agreement that carved up the region following the First World War originally had Mosul being part of Syria – until oil was discovered not far east of the city, that is. Then, Britain reopened negotiations with France and Mosul wound up in Iraq, then under a British mandate.
Christians thrived in the city since the second century and there was a substantial Jewish population. People in Mosul are proud to tell you the city's well-educated population once produced the highest proportion of officers in the Iraqi military, then dominated by Sunnis like themselves.
All this began to unravel in the past few decades and the city of culture and intellect gave way to violence and religious extremism. Its streets of statuesque 19th century homes became the setting for bombings and assassinations as Sunni Arabs fought Kurds.
Jews had left in the 1950s, and Christians, once protected by Saddam Hussein, began fearing for their lives after his downfall and the winding down of the subsequent U.S. occupation. Many fled in 2010 following a spate of attacks on Christians throughout Iraq. They told their priests they'd be back after Christmas that year, and packed off to Europe – most never returned.
I met a barber in Mosul at about that time. Mohammed had been an accomplished painter and singer who thrived in cosmopolitan Beirut. But there was little call for his artistry in Mosul, to which he had returned in order to marry. It was forbidden to exhibit paintings of human beings in the increasingly religious city, and his melodic Mediterranean-style songs were out of place. So he cut hair and hoped for a better future.
I imagine that when ISIL's jihadists swept into Mosul a few days ago he, his wife and children probably were among the tens of thousands who fled the city they loved and sought refuge in the nearby Kurdish autonomous region.
But while once-European Mosul has given way to Sunni jihadists, almost without a fight, the real battle is shaping up in Samarra, about 250 km down the road toward Baghdad.
This ancient city, once capital of the Abbasid Caliphate, has a majority population of Sunni Muslims, but it also is home to one of Shia Islam's most venerated shrines: the al-Askari mosque.
This golden-domed building contains the mausoleums of Shiism's 10th and 11th imams, descended from the Prophet Mohamed. The 12th imam, Muhammad al-Mahdi, the one known as the hidden imam, is believed to have gone into hiding at this site and will, one day, return.
No wonder then, that elite forces from Shia Iran are rushing to Samarra to defend their holy site. ISIL's leader, Abu-Bakr al-Baghdadi, was born in Samarra and has sworn to smash the great sites of the Shiites, whom he considers to be apostates, both here and in Najaf and Karbala to the South. Al-Qaeda in Iraq, a precursor to ISIL, bombed the mosque in 2006 and its two minarets in 2007, igniting a major sectarian conflict.
The inevitability of such a battle now brings to mind a wistful tale of this region.
A wealthy Baghdad man sent his servant to the market one day, only to have the breathless fellow return a short while later in obvious terror. The man begs his master to lend him a horse so that he may flee from the Angel of Death whom he encountered in the souk.
"She looked upon me with such a threatening stare," the servant explained. "I shall ride to Samarra," he said, a journey of about 100 km, so Death will not find him.
After lending the servant a horse, the wealthy man proceeds himself to the market and spots the Angel of Death.
"What do you mean by frightening my servant this way?" he asks.
The Angel of Death replies that she didn't mean to scare him; it's just that she was surprised to see him.
"For I have an appointment with him tonight in Samarra."
Death today in Iraq has an appointment in Samarra.