The Frye Art Museum’s current special exhibit, “Empire,” includes Norbert Szirmai and János Révész’s 2002 documentary Fradi is Better. It’s a short film about fans of a Hungarian soccer team and their anti-Roma and anti-Semitic sentiments, which they express via impassioned cheers from a section of the stands that’s especially boisterous. The filmmakers interviewed a number of fans, some of whom are very open about their hatred for the Roma, whom they call “Gypsies.” Also interviewed: the president of the Ferencvárosi Torna Club soccer team (known to fans as “Fradi”) and the team’s goalkeeper. The former makes a racism-tinged statement about the Roma (the gist: If they can’t manage to assimilate, they must be good-for-nothings); the latter seems genuinely accepting, though his repeated insistence on his own open-mindedness comes to sound a bit like the P.C. company line.

Not as much attention is paid to the fans’ anti-Semitism and homophobia (which are often conflated in their cheers), even though one fan makes what looks like a “Heil Hitler” salute, and many others are heard denouncing Jews. The director does talk to a Hungarian expert on Jewish culture (not sure exactly what his credentials are, besides a beard and a yarmulke), who says he’d never go to a Fradi game because he might not make it out alive. Indeed, there’s a history of violence against Roma (and presumably Jews) at the games, and according to the team president, the organization is trying to eliminate the mayhem. Viewed within the context of “Empire,” which examines colonialism in art (and asks how one can treat the subject without re-inscribing colonialist patterns), Fradi is Better is chilling and illuminating, and well worth seeing—especially since the Frye is free. The exhibit is only up through Jan. 4, so if you’re interested you’d better get on the stick.

It’s early yet, so I can’t guarantee where this work day will lead…but I’m guessing it will be hard to top building my own squid.

I named him Avraham and apparently he likes hunting for cod. Thank you New Zealand science museum for bestowing this gift upon the Internets.

As we go about a cheerful Seattle Sunday making preparations for our Ravenna Kibbutz Last Night of Chanukah potluck and party, I can’t help this sinking feeling over the news from Gaza. The death toll is sickening—and what the Times doesn’t mention is that most of the “Hamas personnel” killed were probably low-ranking policemen who signed up for jobs in an embargo-strangled Gaza economy, not Islamist idealogues (like many of their brothers and sons will now become)—but besides that travesty, one less-noticed headline really depresses me: In protest of Gaza attacks, Syria halts indirect talks with Israel.

Say what you will about the negotiations with Syria. At least they had a long-term strategic purpose. They represented hope, however tenuous, for a transformed future. What is the long-term strategic purpose of bombing the hell out of Gaza? What are we to hope for? Regime change? Has regime change by force ever not backfired in the Middle East?

Of course unending rocket fire in Sderot and Netivot is unacceptable. I spent much of this month on the phone with my girlfriend at her parents’ house in Ashqelon, where sirens call them into bomb shelters in the dead of night and the hospital is now moving its operations underground. I am not sanguine about the rockets.

But there are adult and there are adolescent ways of responding to assault—which is another way of saying maturity means knowing when and how to Be Patient.

When I was fourteen, I awoke to find an extra-juicy zit on my nose. Instant hate, of course. Being in middle school is hard enough without a red bullseye on your face. So I took the bastard between my thumbnails and squished and scraped it into a pussy, bloody little ruin. It looked worse, but I felt avenged and figured at least the infection was gone—until the wound developed a new infection, Staphylococcus. No amount of repeat popping could kill that zit once it had staph in it, so I had to go to the doctor and take pills. Still I took aggressive revenge against it every morning, making the antibiotics’ job more difficult and ultimately leaving a scar that I carry on my nose to this day.

Two morals, for two different situations: The first situation is one where natural forces, given time, stand a good chance of working things out. The average zit is no match for a healthy immune system, so leave it alone! The second situation is more serious, where it’s so bad you can’t just do nothing. The moral here is to choose your remedy carefully, and then let it run its course fully before throwing others after it. If I had just taken the antibiotics and turned my mind to some other embarrassing part of my teenage appearance, I probably wouldn’t have this scar. But giving a remedy time requires patience, and I was not patient. I was fourteen.

The chosen remedy in Gaza was, rightly or wrongly, isolation. It was having some effect. The Gazan economy was frozen, people were desperate, and Egypt was motivated to be somewhat helpful, fearing a flood of refugees. The rockets hadn’t stopped, but they had slowed. Would they eventually have stopped? Would mounting domestic frustration and bankruptcy eventually have toppled the Hamas government? We’ll never know. Now Israeli bombers drop blood and chaos on the streets so every Gazan can see unambiguously who is to blame, and will rally behind Hamas without a second thought. All the volatile peace talks will evaporate completely and a new generation of anti-Israel ideologues and militants will be fortified by the 300 dead. Scars will be long-lasting.

I am not a rabbi any more than I am a foreign policy expert. I can only grasp military strategy in broad strokes, and likewise I think I’ll leave analysis of the conflict through manifold Scriptural references to activist rabbis like Arthur Waskow and his counterparts on the right. My Chanukah-Gaza drash is very simple: being Jewish is all about playing the long game.

After a rousing Chanukah singalong at one of the kibbutz‘s Shabbat tables, a friend told me I was wrong, “Maoz Tzur” is not the Jewish holiday carol, it’s the Jewish “Star-Spangled Banner”: all about military might, plus it has that high middle section nobody can sing. But I still think if you just start low enough that high part is fine, and in context the Chanukah story is not about fighting power, it’s about staying power. Why else are we still singing about escaping Pharaoh, or Assyria or Rome for that matter? Is the “Maoz Tzur” takeaway that G-d made us really badass before so he’ll make us really badass now? Or is it that history is kinder to those who genuinely believe in what they’re doing, than to those who opt for political, or military, expedience?

I asked an Israeli friend who supports the Gaza bombardment, how will this stop attacks against Israeli civilians? She replied that bombing Gaza must stop the rockets, because diplomacy didn’t. It’s illogical, but the frustration could not have been better stated. Pursuing diplomacy in the Middle East is like watching paint dry—with a legion of fire ants in your underwear. Who wouldn’t want to drop bombs if he had them?

But the Jewish trump card never was, and never will be brute strength. It’s persistence. So let’s get back to playing the long game. I think we’re better at it.

Tonight, for the eighth and final night of Hanukkah, I share with you my new favorite Jewish web cartoon. It’s produced by myjewishlearning.com and is called “The Adventures of Todd and God.” According to myjewishlearning.com, God is actually a magical genie who appears when you polish your menorah. God also has a gold tooth. In the Hanukkah episode, we learn that if you light your menorah the right way, God will bless you with gifts of Cuban cigars, facial hair and strange pets. Hooray!

Is Dec. 26th a really important Jewish holiday that I don’t know about?

...because I’m the only person on our floor who came into work today.

It’s cold and there are wolves.

In related news, if you type “lonely” into google image search, one of the first items that comes up is this picture under the heading “lonely kitten.” Too be honest, it doesn’t look all that lonely to me, but who am I to judge?