Oy. We flinch when we see expressions of white power in the throes of a declining hegemony. We kvell over our own latter day ghetto uprisings. Why? Maybe because tribal pride is only charming in inverse relationship to the perceived damage it can inflict. So after centuries of persecuted minority status, we feel like the ultimate underdog who finally scores and celebrates with a little dance in the end zone. Even our UR-rebel heroes don't begrudge us this. But like a reverse anorexic, we still see a skeletal camp survivor in the collective mirror. Having endured so much for so long, and for having simply endured for so long, we feel pretty entitled to our land and our justifications about taking it back. But returning home after about 2000 years does create legitimate questions. Imagine, less personally and less sentimentally, if Penelope had married one of her suitors, and ten generations later, Odyesseus's distant relation returned to Ithaca to claim the crown? Is there no statute of limitations for the chosen people? And is there no irony in the fact that our claim is guaranteed by the very people who are responsible for our victim status against another group abused and colonized by the same? The 4:1 ratio of Palestinian to Isreali deaths flies in the face of our moral highground: how we love our kids more and fight with one arm tied behind our back outta respect for western values. It would be much easier to reject these painful questions. Though it may feel good to root uncritically for the home team, we abandon our identity as an ethical people by doing so. That is not to say that the Iraqi nuclear site bombing was wrong or right but probably merits discussion. In the ability to reflect self-critically, and not just sitting on a box once a year, perhaps we display the biggest tribal hearts of all?