Author: tomwamser

Over the last few months my wife and I have become devoted watchers of Jeopardy. This hadn’t been planned. We had never sought out Jeopardy, or any other game shows before. Yet, we find ourselves night after night anxiously awaiting the next contest, especially the Tournament of Champions.

I watched game shows quite a bit while growing up. But then again, I watched almost everything back then. My favorites were the $20,000 Pyramid and Family Feud, but I also enjoyed others like the Match Game and Password. I would even at times watch old reruns of What’s My Line, You Bet Your Life and I’ve Got a Secret.

Jeopardy, however, was never high on my list. I preferred those game shows that involved snappy answers to silly questions, as opposed to those that made me think. I wanted to laugh at the wacky things the recently married said on the Newlywed game, or the “spontaneous” quips Paul Lynde spat out from the middle cube in Hollywood Squares. The actual questions and answers were superfluous.

Jeopardy provides an entirely different source of enjoyment than those other game shows. For Jeopardy, the only thing that matters is the answer and corresponding question. The bon mots from Ken Jennings and, before him, Alex Trebek, are generally lame. The time of the show when the nerd contestants introduce themselves is often terribly discomforting.

And yet the show works. I had to ask myself why. The categories are often obscure. The answers range from ridiculously easy to impossibly hard. The need to provide a response in the form of a question is an unnecessary twist that is often mangled (“What is Napoleon?” “Who is the Rock of Gibraltar?”).

I have concluded that the secret of Jeopardy is that it provides viewers with a false sense of intelligence. The game allows you to consistently fool yourself about what you know and how well you know it. You find yourself constantly thinking, “I knew that” or “Well, that’s an easy one” as answer and question flash by.

The truth is that if you’ve played Trivial Pursuit, you do know questions to some of these answers. You just ignore the fact that the ones you do know tend to be the $200 and $400 answers, like “A government slogan of WWII said to sink ships” or “Before directing movies like “SE7EN,” David Fincher directed this singer’s videos for ‘Vogue’ & ‘Express Yourself’”. You snap off the questions to those in no time. (“Where is loose lips?”; “Why is Madonna?”).

The $1600 or $2000 answers are a good bit harder, but those seem to always come up when you are sipping iced tea, or the cat is meowing. You become convinced that, absent distractions, you would have known the questions to answers like “These subatomic particles come in 6 flavors, including up, down & strange.” or “The College of Engineering at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas is named for him.” (“Whom is Quarks?”; “What is Howard Hughes?”).

It is especially gratifying when you know a question that the contestants get wrong; then you can really gloat. “Those idiots. How could they not know that?”. The other night the Final Jeopardy category was “Ancient Literature”, and the answer was “The first known play by Aeschylus was named after this foe he fought against in 480 BC”. Since I have spent an inordinate time over the last couple years listening to a podcast on ancient literature and history (not all the nerds are on Jeopardy) I immediately knew the question. The three contestants, who had ripped it up all night, did not. Boy, did I feel superior!!! (“When are The Persians?”).

This sense of superiority can be expanded dramatically by watching “Celebrity Jeopardy”. The answers are much easier, and the contestants less learned. It’s not quite like the SNL parody (Answer – “The sound a dog makes”. Sean Connery – “What is Rhuff? Just how your mother likes it, Trebek.”), but sometimes it’s not far from that. (“I’m glad I got to be Frank Drebin of ‘Police Squad’ and kiss Priscilla Presley”; “Kathy Lee: I hate that sushi condiment, but love hot stuff, so I’m not sure why”). (“Which is Leslie Nielson?”; “How is wasabi?”).

After a bit, and with some prodding from your mother-in-law, you start to think that maybe you could actually compete on Jeopardy and imagine the game you would play. Conveniently, all the categories are things you know. In my fantasy game, I can hear Ken Jennings call out “The Bothers Marx” (the comedians, not Karl and his brothers Hermann and Emile, though they were affectionally known as Huey, Dewy and Screwy), “World Literature I have Read”, “The Russian Revolution”, “Beatles Solo Projects” and “70’s Movies”. The Double Jeopardy categories are “Sherlock Holmes”, “Philadelphia Sports Collapses”, “Reinsurance”, “WWI”, “60’s Cartoons”, and, miraculously once again, “The Brothers Marx”. Final Jeopardy is “Potent Potables”.

You notice that there is no math or science in my imagined game. I have always stayed away from those subjects as much as possible, and – lucky me – they have not appeared. I guess that if I had to I could hark back to the Self-Paced Astronomy class that fulfilled my science requirement in college, but I doubt if that would get me past the lowest rung of answers.

At this point in my reverie my attention is again captured by the game on the screen. I realize that the categories not only include science and math, but drill down to specifics like “Science Etymology” or “Math Symbols”. It is likely that some category like that comes up, and, when it does, I might as well put down the buzzer.

I also notice that the contestants have milliseconds to ring in before their rivals and then come up with the questions. They can’t lean back in their comfy chair and contemplate. Since I often must think for a few seconds to answer the question, “What is your name?”, this could be a problem.

I think it best if I put all these fantasies of competing in Jeopardy aside and just enjoy watching Troy, Ben and Yogesh reel off the questions from categories as diverse as “Bulgarian Royalty”, “The Geography of Insects” and “Find the Fractal”. But if the answer “Yankovic song from his ‘Weird Al in 3D’ album that references a game show” crops up, I will puff out my chest and proudly shout “Whose is ‘I Lost on Jeopardy’?”.   

I was listening to a podcast recently recounting Homer’s Odyssey. The host, Doug Metzer, did a masterful job walking through the events captured in the saga and putting the story in the context of the history and other writings of the period. He emphasized that the Odyssey is not a simple tale of valor, but also a commentary on the dubious nature of heroism. That is what makes it a modern story.

The Odyssey is in many ways the prototypical hero’s journey. Odysseus, the archetypal alpha male, sails off to war and finds glory as the architect of the fall of Troy. He then spends nine years trying to make his way back home, overcoming obstacle after obstacle along the way. He defeats the Cyclops, resists the temptation of the Sirens, and is the lone survivor when his ship is wrecked.

Eventually Odysseus makes it back to his home in Ithaca only to find a gaggle of suitors who, assuming he is dead, seek the hand of his wife, Penelope, along with his wealth. He massacres the suitors, is reunited with his wife, and takes his rightful place as King of Ithaca.

Most retellings of the story end there with a family reunited and a hero basking in his glory. However, Homer’s saga does not conclude in such a sanguine manner. It is this oft forgotten ending that provides ready guidance as we consider the plethora of hero stories we are confronted with daily, whether it’s in various media, or in the myth’s politicians weave around themselves.

After Odysseus dispatches the 108 suitors, along with an undisclosed number of maidservants deemed disloyal and a goatherd that had dissed him when he was in disguise, he finds himself confronted by the families of the suitors. They want to know how he can justify the harshness of his actions. After all, he had been gone for 20 years, and had not been heard from for the last nine. Maybe the suitors had been overly aggressive in their pursuit of Penelope, but did that justify wholesale slaughter?

The families are also troubled by the fact that Odysseus has returned alone. Twenty years before he led a generation of Ithacan youths to a dreadful war on a foreign shore and not one of them came back with him. How was that possible? Reminiscent of Job questioning God, the families’ confrontation of Odysseus makes us wonder whether he really is the hero we have made him out to be.

Like Job, the families get no real answer. As they are about to attack Odysseus (probably a bad idea), Athena intervenes. She commands the Ithacans to lay down their weapons and, channeling Rodney King, basically says “Can’t we all just get along?”. Since she is a God, they comply, and all is seemingly well.

This coda is discomforting. We all revere heroes. We do not tire of stories where great men or women face seemingly unbeatable odds, but power on through using grit and fortitude. We like them even better if their foe is pure evil, or they are exacting a well-earned revenge on those that have done them or society wrong.

But Homer does not allow us to bask in hero worship. He makes us face the consequences of the hero’s action. The lives lost. The families sundered. The community ripped apart. The hero may embody personal glory, but he also leaves a wave of destruction in his wake.   

In many ways, the turbulent 1960’s and 70’s undermined the comfortable narrative of the glorious hero. The anti-hero became the focus. In films like “Bonnie and Clyde” and “Dirty Harry” the “hero” is morally suspect. We root for them with the full knowledge that they are not anyone we would ever want to emulate or have as part of our world.

In “real life”, the release of the Pentagon Papers, followed by the exposure of the FBI’s ConintelPro, Watergate and Church Committee revelations on the activities of the CIA destroyed, seemingly forever, our faith in those running the government. They were not heroes, but the morally ambiguous, and had to be watched at every turn.      

And yet it is hard to shake our love of heroism. We want to put our icons onto a pedestal and boil down narratives such that the differences between good and bad are clear. We want to stand confident as to which side our champion is on. Woe to those that muddy those waters by raising inconvenient facts. History is to make us feel good about who we are by glorifying the giants that came before, regardless of troubling details.

We also see our ties to heroism in the expectations we place on our political leaders. We demand of them perfection. They must be right on every issue, never waver, never err. We dismiss their foibles as immaterial if they do not comply with our manufactured vision. Just as importantly, their opponents are not just wrong, they are inherently and irredeemably evil.

The ending of the Odyssey demands more of us. It requires that we look at those harmed by policies we support. It compels us to admit that those left behind have a right to feel frustrated and angry. It makes us take a step back and consider the consequences of actions. We are obligated to question whether the white hat we embrace is really as white as we believe it to be, and whether the hat our opponent wears isn’t more gray than black.

This is especially hard in these times. There are so many leaders who seem to care about nothing but naked power. They are willing to sacrifice values supposedly held dear to acquire that power. They create and inspire myths that mask their flaws and demonize their opponents. Frustratingly, many are willing to accept these myths as fact, looking no further than the façade.

We have an obligation to expose those myths. To strip naked the “heroes” and show the cruel reality behind their “deeds”. At the same time, we cannot make myths of our own, putting our champions on a competing plinth. Raising our beliefs to the status of unimpeachable doctrine. To do that is to perpetuate the illusion of the hero, and fail to confront the complicated reality of the world we live in.

The saga of Odysseus does not conclude with the end of the Odyssey, book 7 of an 8-book cycle called the Telegony, of which only the Odyssey and Iliad survive. While we do not have Book 8, we know from other writings that Odysseus quickly grows tired of the staid life, and soon leaves Ithaca and Penelope behind. He gets involved in another war and marries another queen. He eventually makes his way back to a war-torn Ithaca, only to be killed by a son he sired while on the 9-year trek back from Troy. Not what most of us think of as the quintessential end of the hero’s journey, but maybe fitting. Maybe the “hero” is not all he or she is cracked up to be. Another apt lesson from Homer.             

I recently stumbled on the New York Times “72 of Our Favorite Facts of 2023”.  It was a rehash of a mishmash of stories throughout the year that piqued the interest of Times staff members. I have not been immersing myself in stories the way the Times reporters do, but their list did lead me to reflect on some of what struck my fancy in 2023. I could never get near 72, so here are 10 things about 2023 that intrigued me.

The Obsession with AI. The near frenzy surrounding AI is either an example of the media latching onto something and blowing it out of proportion, or another item to add to the long list of things that I don’t understand. I thought we have been dealing with AI for years, and had pretty much identified the risks, accepting that we would have to deal with those risks for a long time to come. Based on the hysteria of 2023, you would think that recent innovations raised those threats to a new level. Maybe, but I haven’t seen anything meriting this insanity. It seems more like another example of the lemming nature of media, legitimate and social. Time will tell.

The Non-Transportability of Anti-Woke.  When Ron DeSantis announced for the Presidency, he thought conservative voters across the country would line up to pay homage to the man who had sought to roll the clock back to great acclaim in Florida. It just didn’t happen. Apparently, people want more from a President than a blowhard culture warrior. I took more pleasure than I probably should in watching his well-funded candidacy fall flat.

Philadelphia Sports Debacles. While neither the Phillies’ failure to make the World Series nor the Eagles decision to stop playing football halfway through the season had the grandeur of the Phillies’ 1964 debacle, both were hard to take. The Phils vanquished the Braves and were up 2-0 and then 3-2 on the Diamondbacks, only to fail on an epic scale to get to the last win they needed to go back to the World Series. But even that collapse couldn’t match the Eagles descent from a 10-1 start to games in which they weren’t even competitive. These seasons were poster children for why betting on sports is a bad idea!!!

Fall of Bitcoin. I tried to understand the lure of bitcoin. I really did. But it always struck me as the wild west of finance. Using real money backed by a government with incentives to keep it stable to buy fake coinage which wavered on the unregulated whims of an unknown coterie of self-aggrandizing entrepreneurs and investors. What could go wrong? Sam Bankman-Fried, that’s what. The only surprise was that it took so long for fraud to be exposed. Oh yes, and that people are still putting their money into this.

Movies, Movies, Movies. In 2022 I went to see “A Night in Soho”. Not only was I the only person in the theater, I was the only one in the entire multi-plex. I feared that movies on the big screen were moving toward a niche undertaking. But 2023 was a great year for movies. Locally, the Philadelphia Film Society aired 99 of the 100 Sight and Sound Greatest Films of All Time to large, appreciative audiences. Plus, 2023 produced one the most interesting crop of first run movies in a long time. They weren’t all great, but they were generally serious movies. Even “Barbie” had a bit of an edge to it. As a bonus, superhero movies seemingly have run their course. Buff that I am, I couldn’t be happier.

Reasons To Be Cheerful. I have probably mentioned this site started by David Byrne before, but it really hit its stride in 2023. The name says it all. The stories presented are a constant reminder that there are people out there working hard to improve the world around us. From big stories, like the impact from the removal of dams on the Penobscot River in Maine, to small stories, like the “water ATM’s” in rural India that allow families to access clean drinking water for a nominal price, these tales of innovation and determination are a welcome respite to the daily bombardment of stories on war, pestilence and crushing poverty we are inundated with.

The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store. I was dreading the 15-hour drive from Atlanta, through Charlottesville up to Philadelphia. Luckily, I landed on the new book, The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store, by James McBride to accompany me on the way. I had read other books by McBride, so I knew this would be enjoyable, but I was not fully prepared for the adroit mixture of humor, suspense and social commentary that this book provided. I do not like to drive, but the time just flew by. I am not saying that this is the greatest book ever written, but it may be the most satisfying, and that is saying a lot.

UFO Report. The report on unidentified flying objects issued by the Pentagon’s Office of the Director of National Intelligence was to be the one – the report that acknowledged unexplained visitations. However, predictably, the government took the blue pill, and just said there were some things they can’t explain – as of yet. But that wasn’t the end of it. In July three military veterans claimed during Congressional hearings that the U.S. government has operated a secret “multi-decade” reverse engineering program of recovered alien vessels and had recovered non-human “biologics” from crash sites. In December Congress passed legislation that should speed disclosure of governmental information on “unidentified anomalous phenomena, technologies of unknown origin and nonhuman intelligence.” Wherever he may be, Fox Mulder is smiling.   

Lorena Boebert. We are used to politicians being caught in scandals, but usually it’s because information is uncovered which reveals something they tried to hide. Rarely is the scandal played out in public for all to see. However, Lorena Boebert is no ordinary politician. She is arrogant, aggressive, sanctimonious, and often intentionally obnoxious. As such, it was doubly delightful to watch her crash and burn while being thrown out of a performance of the play Beetlejuice for creating a disturbance. This was only enhanced by pictures of her with her hand in the lap of her escort for the evening. And of course she topped it off with the cry heard from egomaniacs everywhere, “Do you know who I am?”. I wish I was a bigger man and did not relish this so much, but I cannot help it. It makes me laugh even months afterwards.

The Lingering Pandemic. Limitations on gatherings are a thing of the past. Zoom meetings are for convenience, not necessity. Masks are a comparative rarity. And yet, the impact of COVID permeated 2023. You can still feel the tensions rise with any talk of a new strain. Teachers were struggling to get kids caught up from a year of virtual “learning”. There is a belief that social behaviors have changed for the worse. Many people seem wary of crowds – I know that I am. We are a species of short memory. Yet the pandemic has implanted deeper than most events, and there is definitely a sense that it is just a matter of time before we deal with something similar again. Let’s hope we learned something, though I am not holding my breath.     

I am not stupid enough to wade into the century’s long debate looking to answer the question, “What is Art?”. Philosophers and critics that have tried to address this are legion. Everyone from Emmanual Kant and Friederich Nietzsche through to post-modernist Jacques Derrida and the great 21^st century sage Homer Simpson (“That’s the great thing about art, everyone can have their opinion about why it sucks”) have tried to capture the essence of art. Why we create it. Why we view it.

Even if I wanted to undertake something so futile, I am the wrong person to do so. My knowledge of art is the proverbial mile wide and inch deep. Like a precocious 9^th grader, I can tell a Van Gogh from a Rembrandt and can probably bloviate as well as the next fellow as to the meaning of Dali’s melting watch. But the rush of concepts flowing above my head anytime I go into an art museum would be strong enough to knock Frida Kahlo over.

For all of that, I wonder why the paintings and sculptures I see are there and others are not. The people who make these choices certainly have criteria, but how much of it is based on reputation? In his novel Ferdydurke, Witold Gombrowicz asks, “[Are] we merely paying official homage…? Mankind…has need of myths; and it picks one out or the other of its numerous creative artists…and lo and behold! It elevates him above his fellows…. [I]f we set about exalting some other creative artist…I am sure we could make a similarly great genius out of him”.  

This question colors my own reaction to a “masterpiece”. Am I in awe of the Mona Lisa because it captures something enigmatic in humanity, or because it is cordoned off in the Louvre? Is Picasso’s Guernica really a powerful statement about the inhumanity of modern warfare, or have I just been conditioned to view it like that?

And yet, I can’t deny my response to certain artists. During a recent visit to the Barnes, I found myself continually being drawn to paintings by Charles Demuth and Jules Pascin. I couldn’t have identified them before that day. Still, it was their paintings that caught and held my attention. Was it just my mood? Was it their skill? I really cannot say.

A similar thing happened at a recent photography exhibit at the Soho Photo Gallery, where my friend Garen DiBartolomeo had a piece displayed. There were about 100 photos, and all were of great quality. Yet some really jumped out at me, while others left me cold. Was my reaction indicative of anything other than my personal preferences? Would it have been different if one of the photos was an Adams?

This is all a long way of getting to a concept I recently encountered in “At the Existentialist Café” by Sarah Bakewell. This book is “Philosophy Lite” (I hope I don’t get sued by Miller), which is my speed. According to Bakewell, Martin Heidegger (both impossible to read and an unrepentant Nazi) joined the long list addressing the nature of art. Per Heidegger, poets and artists let things come out and show themselves, which he termed Unverborgenheit (you gotta love the German language) or unconcealment (not much better in English).

Heidegger went so far as to say that enabling things to unhide themselves is a distinctively human contribution. Being somewhat poetic himself, Heidegger compared human activity, and especially art, to creating a clearing in a forest glade into which a deer can step forward to be seen. “We help things to emerge into the light by being conscious of them … which means we pay respectful attention and allow them to show themselves as they are rather than bending them to our will.” (You can tell that this is a quote from Bakewell, not Heidegger, because it’s comprehensible).

I find this a helpful way to think about the impact of art. Is the artist depicting something in a way that forces me, as viewer, to engage with whatever is represented? The most brilliant, or notorious, example, depending on how you look at it, is Duchamp’s “Fountain”, a urinal, first displayed in 1917. Duchamp did not provide any explanation as to his intent. Many rejected it out of hand as having nothing to do with art, while others developed elaborate theories about the “sculpture’s” meaning. Regardless, in 2004 British art world professionals anointed “Fountain” as the most influential artwork of the 20^th Century.

 Third on the list was Andy Warhol’s “Marilyn Diptych”. It’s hard not to look at Warhol’s silk screens, Brillo boxes and soup cans and wonder whether he was just putting us on, giggling at our naivete. Yet, if you go to see them at the wonderful Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh, it’s impossible not to be struck by the need to re-engage with these recognizable images. Like Duchamp, Warhol leaves the interpretation to the viewer, but allows these familiar icons to emerge in such a way that they cannot be easily dismissed.

Abstract art stretches this concept, often to its breaking point. I like many abstract pieces, but if they are letting something show itself, I generally miss it. Yet, with a little explanation you can usually discover the intent of the artist, or how that intent has been interpreted, and find a deeper connection than more representational art. Still, my guess is that it is this type of art more than any other that Homer was referencing.

The other truth about art is that it is impossible to talk about it without sounding like a pretentious jerk. Reading what I wrote above, I cringe, not because I think it’s silly, but because it seems so snooty. I am not sure why this is. I’ve written plenty of gibberish over the last few years and rarely blanched. Yet, it’s all I can do not to delete this entry.

But I will let it stand for what it is. A reaction to something I read about a topic that I find interesting. Nothing deep. Nothing to change how people view art. But, hopefully, at least something I can use next time I stand before a Modigliani or Basquiat (shoot, there I go again). Really, there is not much more I can ask.

I had an illuminating travel experience recently. I had been driving all day. I dropped my niece off in Amherst, then my son and his girlfriend in Boston and was heading back toward Philadelphia. It was an ugly night, with light rain falling, and I was getting tired. Stopping goes against every grain in my nature, but even I realized how ridiculous carrying on would be.

Unfortunately, the highway I was on was not helpful. Most of the major thoroughfares I’ve driven identify hotels and food before each exit, so you know whether it makes sense to get off. This one did not. The exits had no indication what lay off the highway. Would you get onto another highway? Would it put you in the middle of nowhere? There was no way to tell, and that indecision fed my inclination to keep going as long as I could.

I should have pulled off into a rest area and searched out hotels nearby, or simply tried an exit that looked somewhat promising, even if I couldn’t be sure what I’d find. Instead, I squinted into the gloom at each egress, looking for some sign of respite. Inevitably, when I did see something, it was already too late.

Finally, I knew I could go no more. I spied a less than promising group of hotels right off an exit and decided enough was enough. These were not chain hotels, but independent operations. Think updated versions of the Bates Motel without the creepy proprietor, or at least without one I could see. I decided to take my chances.

The “lobby” featured a young man snoozing behind a thick slab of plexiglass, like something out of a bad gangster on the run movie. Yet, I didn’t see any untoward characters lurking about, or drug deals being transacted, so I decided to take my chances. Frankly, I was so beat, I didn’t have much choice.

My hackles went up a bit when the clerk sent me to the back of the hotel, even though there were seemingly plenty of rooms right out front. My biggest shock, however, was when I opened the door to my room and was hit with the stale smell of cigarette smoke. It had been so long since I had been in a hotel that even allowed smoking, it never even occurred to me to ask for a non-smoking room.

I had three options. First, I could go back to the lobby, get a refund and hit the road again, but I just didn’t have the energy. I could go to the lobby and see if they had non-smoking rooms, but by this time I had sized up the hotel enough to realize that was a waste of time. Or I could turn up the blower, try to clear the air as much as possible, and make the best of it.

Choosing option three was not pure laziness. After all, even though I had never smoked (except for a brief fling when I first got to college) I had been surrounded by smoke for the first 30 years of my life. I had a sister that smoked. I had roommates that smoked. How bad could one night be?

In fact, it wasn’t that bad. The blowing air never removed the smell of smoke, but it dissipated it at least somewhat. I slept soundly enough and didn’t wake up hacking. I knew that I would have to wash my clothes when I got home, but that was a lot better than peering through the rain on the highway.

This episode made me realize that the absence of indoor cigarette smoke is one of the biggest changes to my personal environment over my lifetime. I look back on those first 30 years and realize not only how prevalent tobacco smoke was, but how natural it seemed. It was only after it was gone that I realized how obnoxious the smoke had been. At the time, it was just the way it was.

I am sure anyone from my generation has memories of eating at a restaurant and having the people at the next table over light up for their after-dinner smoke just as your entrée arrived. Or requesting a non-smoking seat on a flight, only to find yourself in the first row before the smoking section. And forget about bars. Every saloon had an ever-present haze floating above the festivities.

The reality is that I only saw the tail end of the hey-day of smoking. Watch any television shows from the late 1050’s and early 1960’s and you’ll see all the characters light up sooner or later. Whether it be Perry Mason from my favorite middle of the night can’t sleep entertainment, or Andy Griffith. They all smoked. Heck, even Lucy and Desi were cigarette spokespersons.

And while I hate to admit it, smoking was cool. Tough guys like Humprhrey Bogart, and their foils, like Lauren Bacall, constantly smoked, and looked great doing so. The Marlboro Man silhouetted against a western sky was not only an unforgettable image, it was an icon of American manhood. It bespoke independence, strength, fortitude. (I think many American men still see themselves that way, as silly as that seems).

The backlash had begun before I became of age. Warning labels on cigarette packs were mandated by 1965. Congress banned tobacco ads on TV and radio in 1970. Throughout the 1970’s and 80’s cities and states implemented limited bans on smoking in certain public places, such as government buildings and healthcare facilities. The movement picked up throughout the 1980’s, with a total ban on smoking indoors coming in most places by the early 2000’s.

While I welcomed the ban when it occurred, I didn’t see it as a big deal. After all, I had lived ensconced in secondhand smoke my entire adult life. Even for me, it was hard to imagine a smokeless bar.

It was surprising how quickly after the ban indoor smoke became intolerable. In no time at all, the mere whiff of tobacco would set off internal alarms. Any prolonged exposure was unthinkable. Once I was no longer surrounded by smoke it became a bogeyman to be avoided at all costs.  

Being thrown once again into an atmosphere where tobacco smoke lingered brought back these memories. An assumed norm had been violated. But it was an assumed norm that hadn’t always been the norm. So, next time I go into my favorite bar I’m going to lean back and take a deep breath (ok, not too deep) and exclaim Fresh Air! Fresh Air! Fresh Air!

*Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment, p.635, Modern Library

Recently I have been exposed to Hallmark Channel Christmas movies. I say exposed to, not watched. They have been on in the background while I have done other things. However, my exposure was enough to gain a significant appreciation for these feats of cinematic wonder. There is more going on here than meets the eye.

I am sure that most of you know that the Hallmark Channel is the premier purveyor of Christmas content. Hallmark’s “Countdown to Christmas” began on October 20 and runs through December 21. This year’s festive bonanza includes 31 film premiers and nine original “Miracles of Christmas” movies and mysteries. You get more  streaming content on “Hallmark Movies Now”, with such features as never-before-seen scenes from previous holiday hits, like 2022’s “Three Wise Men and a Baby” (the Director’s cut?).

I know that some traditionalists will gripe about a countdown to Christmas starting before Thanksgiving. But give Hallmark credit. They not only could care less what you think, they are rubbing it in your faces by starting the countdown in mid-October. As Ovid once said, “The bold adventurer succeeds the best.”

The fact that Hallmark has come up with so many new films in the midst of strikes by both writers and actors must be viewed as a holiday miracle in and of itself. I know certain cynics will respond that the plot lines and on-screen talent in these movies are so similar that all Hallmark needed was one scab writer locked in a shabby hotel room and a directory for the Model Alliance to pull this off. But I don’t think that’s giving Hallmark enough credit. For us peons the Christmas countdown may start in mid-October, but for them it commences year after year on December 26.

In fact, they do use more than one writer. I know, I checked it out (unless the one writer they have is using pseudonyms like the blacklisted Hollywood Ten, which is possible). These annual movies are a huge employment boon for Hollywood talent. To get them all done Hallmark employs hundreds of directors, camera operators, editors, make-up artists, gaffers, grips and best boys. And while I doubt if they’re the best paying jobs in the business, I am pretty sure that there is no truth to the rumor that these movie magic worker bees are being paid minimum wage and a buy one, get one free coupon for seasonal greeting cards.

Let’s not forget the musicians and musical composers. It does seem that there was only one score composed for use in all these films, but the composer who wrote that score is doing just fine. Plus, a host of violinists are needed to bring this misty-eyed music to life. There is also the inevitable penultimate scene when it appears that the would-be lovers are not going to unite despite their mutual infatuation, and a melancholy acoustic folk song or two is inserted to bring the pathos home. Let’s face it, these troubadours aren’t finding many other outlets for their plaintive musings.

Then there are the on-screen thespians. Granted, only certain types need apply. For men, casting is clearly done at gyms all over Los Angeles. If you don’t have bulging pecs and a Fabio face with the hair to match, you’re out of luck. The women are all attractive, but in a wholesome, small town girl kind of way. No Jessica Rabbit’s for these films. Even the mononymous named “Rikki” (think Cher), in the classic “Catch a Christmas Star” is more Molly Ringwald than Madonna.

Of course, it takes more than romantic leads to make a Christmas movie. You need the wise old Grandma or Grandpa to impart shrewd words of advice like “Follow your heart dear”, or “Don’t eat the fruitcake”. And there is the inevitable obnoxious precocious kid sister or brother to propel the action and provide comic relief through a well-aimed but prescient barb. Mix in a cuddly puppy or two and you are sure to have unbridled enchantment.

Hallmark movies also have much to teach. For example, apparently minor royalty is alive and well in Europe. There appear to be enough rich princes and princesses to fulfill the dreams of a slew of provincial boys and girls. How else can you explain “A Royal Queens Christmas”, “A Royal Christmas”, “A Royal Runaway Romance”, “A Royal Winter” and let’s not forget “A Royal Corgi Christmas”. Apparently, all these young royals are bored with their jet setting lifestyle and just want to settle down in a quaint American town with a wholesome milk fed lad or lass. Who knew.

You can also see the world through Hallmark. Whether it’s “A Merry Scottish Christmas”, “Joyeux Noel”, My Norwegian Holiday”, “A Heidelberg Holiday” or, my hometown favorite, “Miracle in Bethlehem, Pa.”, you will experience Christmas throughout the globe. Not to worry. No matter where Hallmark takes you everyone speaks English, even the French, with or without British accent. In fact, the same is true of the plethora of minor royalty as well. Plus, all these diverse people and places have pretty much the same good old American holiday traditions (unless you count that Scottish Christmas Haggis). How convenient can you get.

There is also plenty of diversity. Among the 164 Christmas movies streaming on the Hallmark Channel, at least 3 or 4 star Black actors, 2 or 3 celebrate those eight crazy days of Hanukkah, and there are even gays couples thrown in here or there. There are also crime thrillers (“Mystery on Mistletoe Lane”), reunited families (“My Southern Family Christmas”), and cats rather than dogs (“The Nine Kittens of Christmas”). A true plethora of human, and animal, experience.

But what really makes Hallmark movies special is their ability to wring tears from even a cold-hearted Scrooge. I dare you to stay dry-eyed when tabloid Journalist Charlotte learns that the reclusive Count she fell for in “A Not so Royal Christmas” is really a gardener, or when, despite his lying ways, they reunite, and he is made a real Count by the King of Sorhagen. Not even a small-hearted Grinch could avoid misting up during “A Prince for Christmas” when upstate New York diner waitress Emma realizes that the “David” she is smitten with is really the engaged Prince Duncan of Balemont, or when Duncan rejects his arranged marriage to settle with Emma.

I could go on and on, but I’ve already wasted too much time writing this. “Undercover Holiday” is coming on soon, followed by “#XMAS”, and I need to get to the store to restock on tissues. They’re not for me, of course. Remember, I don’t actually watch these films. Still, somebody might need them. Just saying.          

I have been thinking a lot about the Pope lately. More specifically, I have been thinking about his death.

I find it odd to be thinking about the Pope. After all, I am not Catholic. Nor have I ever given the reigning Pope much thought before. In my lifetime there was Pope John, then Pope John Paul, then Pope John Paul George (Sorry. A blatant theft of an Eddie Izzard joke I couldn’t resist). Basically, they all blended together, and seemed to have little to say about the world I lived in or the issues confronting that world.

But Pope Francis has been different. He has thrown himself in where angels have previously feared to tread. Most recently, he went to Dubai for an international conference on climate change despite a mild flu and lung inflammation. He didn’t need to go. He’s 87. He could have just issued a supportive statement, and no one would have thought less of him. But he sees climate issues as within his purview, and serious enough that the extra weight of his physical presence was necessary.

Of course, this is not the first time that Pope Francis has waded into waters that many consider treacherous. While the Pope has not overturned the Church’s stance on marriage within the Church, he has endorsed civil unions for same sex couples. He also continues to emphasize that homosexuality is not a sin in and of itself, different than any other sex outside of marriage. He has also made clear that to the extent homosexual sex outside of marriage is a sin, it is no worse than any other sin. In fact, it’s clear that he views other sins, such as lack of charity to others, as much, much worse.

He has also significantly expanded the permissible role of women in the Church. Women still cannot be ordained as priests, but they can administer communion and serve at the altar. He also appointed women to Vatican posts previously held only by men, including a high position in the bishop’s synod, which helps decide Catholic rules.   

Obviously, I would like to see Pope Francis go even farther on these and other issues, but his willingness to address such matters with compassion and in a spirit of inclusion is refreshing. He has stretched the Catholic Church in ways I never thought possible. In doing so he has largely rewritten and broadened the discussion around the role of the Church. At last the Church seems like it is engaging with the world as it is, not as it may wish it were.

This refocus has not been without controversy. Traditionalist elements within the Catholic Church hierarchy bristle at these changes, as do many of the lay people. Critics have been vocal, including Bishops and Cardinals. Many do not want to see the Church back down from what they see as the moral high ground. Others see issues such as climate change as outside of the appropriate Papal scope.

There is irony here. Presidential candidate John F. Kennedy was attacked for being a Catholic on grounds that he would be beholden to put the pronouncements of the Pope over his constitutional oath. It was a silly argument, but it did reflect a view of Papal authority that saw a Pope’s positions as more than more than mere suggestions.

You also hear very little these days about Papal infallibility. Frankly, that has always been a fraught topic. It was not a tenet of the Church until the mid-1800’s. Even then it only applied in very limited circumstances. Yet, it had a cache beyond its actual application, and seemed to permeate everything a Pope did. My sense is that this cache has disappeared as more people got nervous about this Pope’s predilections. Now it seems like many view the Pope’s authority as to be heeded only if they agree with it.

And that is why I have been thinking about the Pope’s death. He is 87, and not in great health. His successor will be chosen by the College of Cardinals (Go Big Red!!!). It is impossible for me to gauge the temperature of that group, but I have no doubt that many of its members would like to pull back on the social activism of Francis, and are inclined to elect a more priggish, supercilious Church representative.

World trends suggest that this is a real possibility. Netherlands, of all places, looks like it will have a far-right Prime Minister. Argentina just elected a self-styled anarcho-capitalist to shape its government. Closer to home, it’s far from certain that the United States won’t head in that same direction in 2024.

Many Catholics have embraced the worldwide culture wars. Others have welcomed aggressive stances around immigration. They would no doubt applaud a Pope that reminds them less often about the need for love in dealing with homosexuals, refugees and migrants. It would be much more convenient if the Pope limited his outreach to more traditional evangelism.

My sense is that the Pope’s stance on homosexuality is especially troubling to much of his flock. This issue remains a touchstone for many, though heaven knows why. These people would like a Pope that reinforces their view that homosexuals belong in the seventh level of Dante’s hell. His willingness to elevate their own sins above the supposed abomination of homosexuality does not sit well.

The conclave of Cardinals will have to decide the future of the Church amid this general worldwide turmoil, and the matching turmoil within the Church itself. Some candidates will undoubtedly present themselves as a tonic to the relatively activist Church of Francis. They will claim that they, and not the progressives, are in keeping with the mood of the faithful. I have no doubt that the internal debates will be brutal.

At the end of the day, I won’t have much of a stake in the inevitable white smoke of a new Papal coronation. Still, the loss of a strong moral voice when we need such voices would be disheartening. Maybe Francis isn’t my Pope, or the Pope I would choose, but at least he is a visible and vocal advocate for inclusion, benevolence, and love, and we can use all that type of advocacy we can get. So, Francis, as another moral paragon once said, “Live Long and Prosper”.        

Karl Ove Knausgaard is a very incisive author. His “My Struggle” novels turn his keen eye inward to examine his own life with sometimes excruciating honesty. His four books of essays, named after the four seasons in which they were written, continue that introspection, but also provide commentary on the world around him, without sacrificing any of the candor that makes his work stand out.

In his book “Autumn” Knausgaard is inspired by the impending birth of a daughter to set out his observations on a plethora of subjects, each essay only a few pages long. In one essay, considering abandoned rural churches in modern Norway, Knausgaard expresses his seemingly inexplicable sadness at the loss of small community life they represent. He has no connection to these churches or the life they once embodied, yet he feels nostalgia for the demise.

Knausgaard identifies this longing for an unknown past as a “shadow sickness”, dampening joy for what we have. He contrasts this to a “longing for that which still doesn’t exist, the future….” But he recognizes that the pull of the past is so much stronger because “utopia has vanished from our time, so that longing can only be directed backwards, where all its force accumulates”.

This is an amazing insight into our modern condition. The concept of an achievable utopia has been a large part of human social DNA since the enlightenment. However, within the last 70 years such a concept has seemed not only unlikely, but almost silly. We can no longer believe that human perfection is achievable, or even that the pursuit of such perfection is desirable.

It’s easy to forget how prevalent serious consideration of a heaven on earth, whether religious or secular, was throughout the 19^th Century and the first half of the 20^th Century. Utopian societies abounded. Owenists, Fourierists, Oneida Perfectionists, Mormons, Amana Inspirationalists, and New Icarians all founded utopian communities in America between 1820 and 1870. The Shakers were one of the oldest and longest lasting of these experiments in the achievement of peace and harmony.

Most of these societies were separatist, looking to create utopia on a small scale. However, the Social Gospel movement, started by Walter Rauschenbusch, had a much broader goal. He called on Christians to emulate the Kingdom of God, arguing that this Kingdom “is not a matter of getting individuals to heaven, but of transforming the life on earth into the harmony of heaven.” He and his followers wanted to establish a world where justice would govern relationships between individuals, regardless of ethnicity or religious belief.

The great secular utopian experiment was Communism. In our modern cynicism we are tempted to dismiss communists as nothing more than power hungry despots, but that is a mistake. Those that led the communist parties of the early 20^th Century truly believed that they held the key to implementing a world of total equality. As late as 1939 the British philosopher and novelist to be, Iris Murdoch, could write without hesitation, “I thank God that I have the party to direct and discipline my previously vague and ineffective idealism. I feel now that I am doing some good, and that life has a purpose and that the history of civilization is not just an interesting series of unconnected muddles, but a comprehensive development towards the highest stage of society, the Soviet world state”.

Hitler was utopian as well. To some extent this accounts for his allure to so many otherwise rational people. His philosophy of the world, which he imposed on the receptive German people, posited that if you could deal with non-Aryans either by eliminating them completely (the Jews), or making them slaves (the Slavs), you could create a 1000-year age of peace and prosperity. Of course, his utopian view only worked for the Aryans, but to him and his followers, that was beside the point.

The modern rejection of utopianism can be tied directly to Communism and Naziism. As the scope of Stalin’s crimes against his own people and those of Eastern Europe were brought into the open, it was clear that the Soviet authorities believed that the only way the “highest stage of society” could be achieved was through mass incarceration, rigid control of thought and creativity and a regular purging of those who did not fit the mold of the “Soviet world state”. The cost of trying to achieve this utopia could not offset the promise of its supposed realization.

With Hitler the costs of pursuing a utopia were even more stark. The horrors of the Holocaust and the general savagery of the German occupation of Europe made their ideal of an Aryan utopia repellent. Like the Communist experiment, the Nazi’s utopian dreams came at an unacceptable cost to humanity and drove a stake through the heart of any movement to implement heaven here on earth.

This loss of belief that any system, religious or secular, can create a perfect society is irreversible. I cannot conceive of a movement that can garner mass support with a pledge of global unity, peace, and harmony. The skepticism and cynicism run too deep. Considering the result of prior efforts, that is probably not a bad thing.

While utopianism may be dead, the desire for a better future is not. Unfortunately, as Knausgaard noted, that desire is often channeled into a nostalgic longing for the past that is both unrealistic and unrealizable. We long for a return to a never-existent golden age. It is part of the attraction of MAGA as a slogan and ideal.

The loss of a possibility of societal pefection also accounts for the continuing strength of fundamentalism. There is a thread of nihilism in the belief that the only solace mankind will find is in an afterlife. It can make what happens here not only secondary, but immaterial. Why worry about climate change when the ultimate award awaits on another plane of existence?      

Most of us do, of course, still look to improve the world we live in. We have not given up the hope that the future can be better than the present. We may not believe in the perfectibility of humankind, but we do believe that we can substantially improve life in the here and now.

Those hopes for the future are challenged daily by the realities of the present. Whether it’s the rise of militant white nationalism, the creeping calamity of environmental disaster, or the never-ending slaughter in the Middle East, it is difficult to hold onto any optimism for a better future. And yet we must.  

I do not think that the death of utopianism is a bad thing. People can justify almost anything if they “know” it will lead to a perfect world. However, if we lose a faith in the future generally, and succumb to the “shadow sickness” of a false nostalgia, we are truly f*#@ed.      

The other night as part of my Criterion Challenge (another post for another time) I watched the 1931 movie “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde”. As I said in my Letterbox review, even though some of the acting and direction was dated, it was a very effective adaptation of this well-known story. The Hyde character was truly repulsive. You could relate to the fear he engendered in everyone he encountered.

What made the movie especially interesting was that as vile as Hyde was, he was clearly a part of Jekyll, whose name for some reason was pronounced “Gee-kill”. He reflected and exaggerated Jekyll’s arrogance. He was Jekyll’s barely contained lust come to life. This was not a brainless monster, or some general creep. This was a side of Jekyll himself unleashed.

The sophistication of this story led me to consider the incredible array of excellent horror films that came out in the early 1930’s. Even film buffs don’t watch a lot of films from the era. Talking pictures were new. While there are notable exceptions, most of the films from 1930 through 1933 are stilted, unimaginative and forgotten. Then there are the horror films, which created images and icons that continue to radiate through popular culture today. These films are still shown in theaters and on TV to appreciative audiences.

The best known of these early talking films are Frankenstein (1931), Dracula (1931), The Mummy (1932), The Invisible Man (1932) and King Kong (1933). Each of these films has been remade again and again, but it is the original conception of the titular characters that stick with us. (I know, I know. Frankenstein was the Doctor and not the monster, but does anyone think of it that way?). No matter the quality of the remake, or the superior effects employed, we cling to those original depictions.

Most of these films come from well-known source materials. Shelley’s Frankenstein, Stoker’s Dracula and Well’s Invisible Man are still great reads. Yet, it is impossible to do so without conjuring up the images from the films as you do so. As Count Dracula greets Renfield in his Transylvanian castle you hear the sonorous voice of Bela Lugosi, whether you want to or not. When the scientist Griffin checks into the inn at Sussex, the mind’s eye calls up Claude Raines wrapped in bandages hiding his face behind a floppy hat and sunglasses.

 Frankenstein is the ultimate example of this phenomenon. According to IMDB, there have been over 30 Frankenstein movies made since the 1931 version. And yet, when my elementary school son wanted to be the monster for Halloween, we got him a mask that was modeled on that original monster. When Gene Wilder and Mel Brooks set out to make “Young Frankenstein” 40 years after the original, they could feel comfortable that their audience would know the source of the satire.

These films not only presented characters that became iconic, but they are also smart and often thoughtful. They came out before imposition of the Hays Code in 1934, and so the filmmakers had a bit more latitude than films that followed, and they took advantage. I doubt if the naked lust of the 1931 Dr. Jekyll would have made it through code standards. While the 1941 remake starring Spencer Tracey wisely retained many of the elements of the 1931 version, Hyde was not as clearly driven by Jekyll’s sexual needs.

All of this still begs the question as to why there should have been this outpouring of such films at that time. Some of it can be attributed to Carl Laemmle, Jr., son of the founder of Universal Pictures, who produced many of these masterpieces. Laemmle used his position as the boss’s son to overcome skeptics who saw such movies as second-rate filler. He hired creative people to helm the projects and provided ample funding to help them bring their visions to life. The result was massive hits that made Universal synonymous with horror.

Still, that does not explain why these films resonated as they did, and do, with the public. Did these monsters and mad scientists somehow reflect the general unease as the effects of the Great Depression continued to spread? Were they a reflection of the anger and frustration with the lords of industry who claimed the power through the stock market to create an everlasting trough of wealth?

Or maybe it was more basic. We like to be scared, and the filmmakers of the early 30’s found that the addition of sound allowed them to enhance the atmospherics that help create an aura of dread. In doing so, they defined the genre. It’s not as if silent films were devoid of horror, but they lacked that final ingredient to truly generate sweaty palms and the pounding of the heart.

I tend towards this last explanation. I cannot imagine Frankenstein without the gathering storm and buzz of the Doctor’s equipment. What would Dracula be without the beating of bat wings? There is nothing to match the demonic cackling of the Invisible Man or the ominous sound of the Mummy’s shuffling gait or the mighty roar of Kong.

I know that this does not explain why the images from these films became so iconic. That may have to be laid at the feet of the filmmakers themselves who did not see their creations as throw away fodder for the masses. They were able to imbue what could have been stock monsters with personality, depth, and heart. At times, you even found yourself rooting for them to prevail.

Whatever the reason, I relish the chance to see these films again this time of year. Sometimes I even get the chance to view them on the big screen, and that only enhances the fun. So, my advice is to pop some popcorn, turn down the lights and put on one of these classics. No matter how many times you’ve seen them before, it is time well spent.    

If you have not seen the recent movie “Golda”, starring Helen Mirren, now would be a good time to do so. If you have, you must be suffering from a bit of déjà vu as you contemplate the October 7 Hamas incursion into Israel. While history does not repeat itself, sometimes it sends forth echoes of the past that are hard to ignore.

“Golda” centered on the Yom Kippur war between Israel, Egypt and Syria. On October 6, 1973, Egypt and Syria launched an invasion of Israel, catching the Israeli intelligence services and military by surprise. The Israelis initially were thrown into disarray, but quickly recovered and turned the war into a triumph that led eventually to the Israel/Egypt peace accords of 1978 and 1979.

I doubt if things will go that smoothly this time around. It is going to be much more difficult to defeat an amorphous movement like Hamas than it was to counter nation states like Syria and Egypt. Despite the early success of the Arab armies in 1973, they presented a definable foe that could be outmaneuvered and overpowered. Plus, when the war turned in its favor, Israel had a counterpart in Anwar Sadat who it could negotiate with to end hostilities.

Hamas, on the other hand, has a more diffused leadership that presents no clear focus for negotiation. Plus, it does not have a conventional army that can be destroyed. Its fighters will disperse back into the general population of the Gaza Strip ready to take up arms when it is again deemed advantageous. In doing so they hold the civilian population of the Strip as a human shield decrying Israeli atrocities when Israel bombs the cities where the fighters reside, hoping to win international sympathy and support.

Plus, there are pertinent questions about the Israeli leadership. Despite the formation of a unity government, it is hard to envision Benjamin Netanyahu putting aside the reforms of the Israeli judiciary and the aggressive expanse into the West Bank that divide the Israeli people. He seems much too focused on his own political fortunes to be the type of leader that can rally the entire nation.

That being said, anyone who has paid any attention to Israel over its 75-year history is unlikely to bet against them. Israel has been confronted with existential threats since the day that it declared itself a nation. Each of those threats was countered with determination and resiliency.

Israeli response to attack has rarely been pretty. Israel has been prepared to employ seemingly ruthless methods to secure its future. While the Israeli government certainly cares what the international community thinks of its tactics, it is not going to hold back just because it may face criticism. It will do what it feels necessary and let the chips fall where they may. As much as we may think that Israel depends on outside support, especially from the United States, they are clearly willing to stand alone if need be.

There is a reason for this. Israel is in a no-win situation. Criticism of an Israeli response to Hamas started before they even had a chance to take in and evaluate the incursion. Even worse, there are voices that blame Israel for the actions of Hamas, as if Hamas would be a nice, quiet set of quiescent frat boys if Israel would just stop provoking them. This is, of course, nonsense, but it doesn’t stop this distorted narrative from being loudly promulgated.

Hamas has counted on this. They expect to be able to don the mantle of the victim despite their killing and kidnapping of Israeli citizens. They know that prominent people will support them regardless of what they do, as much from a hatred of Israel than from any love of Hamas. It is a cold, calculating, cynical strategy, and Israel recognizes it as such. They are unlikely to be swayed by those voices calling for restraint.

The sad truth is that the willingness of Hamas to sacrifice its own people may let them achieve its goals no matter what Israel does. Hamas knows that it cannot destroy Israel. However, they can increase Israeli isolation in the Middle East. Many people believe that the timing of Hamas’s actions is tied to the Abraham Accords, and a seeming stabilization of the relationship between Israel and certain Arab states, including Saudi Arabia. The inevitable Israeli response to Hamas will make it extremely difficult for these nations to maintain ties to Israel, and that is exactly what Hamas wants.

The reverberations for Israeli politics could also be significant, though how that plays out is far from certain. Netanyahu and his right-wing allies will no doubt be blamed for the failure of the intelligence community to anticipate the Hamas incursion. They will be accused, and maybe rightly so, of ignoring the threat of Hamas in their quest to populate the West Bank with as many settlements as possible.

On the other hand, there may be increased support for a more hardline approach to the Palestinian population. That is the typical reaction to attack, especially when the attack targets civilians the way this one did. Once the dust settles Netanyahu may not be in a position to demand a harsher policy in relation to Palestinians wherever they live – the Gaza Strip, the West Bank, southern Lebanon – but someone will do so, and they may well meet a receptive audience.

The future of Hamas is also very much up in the air. Israel knows who the Hamas leaders are, and they will pursue them doggedly. They will seek to break the back of Hamas and leave them rudderless so that there is no possibility of another similar attack. And, as noted above, Israel is willing to go to any extent necessary to achieve that goal.   

I still firmly believe that violence breeds violence and that once that violence is unleashed it is hard to control. Just look at the war in Ukraine. The difficulty here is that chaos is exactly what Hamas wants. It might get that, but there is a very good chance that it is more chaos than it can handle.

United States President after United States President has sought peace in the Middle East. While some progress has been made in normalizing relations between Israel and certain states, that goal is no closer today than it was in 1973. There are just too many factions in that part of the world for whom peace is unthinkable, and too many others that are willing to arm them to the teeth so they can pursue their bloody agenda. We don’t know where this latest chapter in this horrific saga will lead, but we can safely guess that it won’t be the last chapter to be written.