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Barry Newman

Let the Games End

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In a scene from the recently released Squid Game 2, which was intentionally meant to be non-sexually provocative, a well-dressed gentleman approaches a group of homeless men and women who sleep on park benches and feed themselves from what can be scavenged from trash bins and garbage cans. With a beguiling smile, he offers each of them, individually, a choice between a slice of freshly made bread and a many-zeroed scratch-off lottery ticket. All except one of them preferred the possible but unlikely chance of finding a way out of their misery to the very real opportunity for a bit of actual nourishment. Not surprisingly, none of those who selected the ticket won. Which, of course, is the message that the creative and production team behind Netflix’s Squid Game (2022) and Squid Game 2 (2025) are sharing with its viewers.

The two series, based in South Korea, depicts a dystopian, secreted away contest involving more than four hundred players, all of whom are experiencing severe financial hardship. The competition was created and funded by a group of very wealthy individuals who find betting on the lives of social underdogs to be entertaining.

The players have agreed to compete in a series of children’s games (red light green light, marbles, tug-of-war) for the chance of walking away with up to the equivalent of nearly forty-million dollars. There is, though, a rather troubling catch: those who do not manage to complete any of the games wind up dead.

Intermixed between the horrifying but artistically necessary violence, viewers are constantly reminded that the players have willingly volunteered to participate in this blood-soaked exercise and that they are provided, through a voting process, the opportunity to bring the competition to an end. The games, despite some dramatic interplay, wind up continuing, emphasizing that greed and desperation are powerfully driven forces.

From the safety and security of our homes, we are being asked to confront the potential corruption of a capitalist society in which there are no guardrails. And while the underlying social critique addresses South Korea specifically, the pervasive message – that the poor and economically disadvantaged have no true opportunity to be as respectfully treated as the rich even though a socially and politically democratic society has created an illusion of equality – may be relevant for Western society in general, including, of course, Israel.

Although backgrounds are provided for only a few of the four-hundred-and-fifty-six players together with the circumstances that brought about their despair and convinced them to participate in this life-and-death series of games, it is fair to assume that many of the other participants shared similar experiences. Enormous medical bills, for example, can easily force someone into personal bankruptcy. The lure of easy money through shady and unvetted investments not infrequently results in financial ruin. And the inability to resist the adrenalin rush of high stakes gambling will sooner or later force unpleasant confrontations with loan sharks and grey market lenders.

The games themselves are deceptively devious. Although they are based on the sorts of activities that young children typically enjoy in playgrounds, school yards, or birthday parties, the participants in some cases were forced to forge alliances and partnerships. Those who for one reason or another were unable to find safety as part of a group wound up being cruelly eliminated…quite literally. In other situations personal confrontation was required, and victory demanded that an opponent be removed…again, quite literally. Like voyeurs, viewers find themselves wondering just how cancerous financial devastation can be and confronting the fear that one faces when forced into an alley from which there is no escape. If bringing about this awareness is the principal objective behind the production of these two seasons, that they were both enormously successful goes without saying.

Despite the darkness that pervades throughout the sixteen episodes, the two series have been critically acclaimed throughout the world. Without in any way minimizing the quality of the acting, writing, and set designs – all of which are quite excellent – what remains with most viewers is the harrowing and haunting question: can such a contest – with both the potential rewards and consequences –be staged in their local environments? Is there in Israel, for example, a welfare system that safeguards against individuals reaching a point where they feel that they have absolutely nothing left to lose and are willing to gamble their lives in order to survive? I’d like to think that there are, but, quite frankly, I’m not sure.

Statistics vary, but there is no way to avoid concluding that at least twenty percent of the Israeli population lives in poverty, with single mothers, the elderly, and the Ultra-Orthodox and Arab communities most severely affected. The number of children forced to go to bed hungry or suffering from malnutrition, moreover, is alarmingly high. It is so farfetched to think that someone in dire straits might clutch at any chance to climb out of the hole they’re currently in?

And while our health system may very well be one of the finest in the world, there remain open and sometimes hidden cracks that can have crippling repercussions. Not all medications, for example, are included in the basket of products and procedures provided by the various kupot cholim (health maintenance organizations) and hardly a week goes by that a local newspaper supplement does not print a story about a family asking for donations to fund a unique treatment or specialized form of surgery that local medical services do not cover. An offer such as the ones the players in Squid Game received would be hard if not impossible to refuse.

It won’t be long, I suspect, before television executives throughout the world give thought to a local version of the South Korean hit, realizing that the underlying premise of the two productions are easily recognized internationally. But while it would undoubtedly be fun to see adults playing machanayim (encampments), shlosha makalot (three sticks), or dag miluach (salted fish), it would be preferable if the themes of financial desperation and the exploitation of the poor by the wealthy were not relevant here in Israel. But while we may not, here, have yet reached the level of disparity that spawned the two South Korean-focused Squid Games – with a third scheduled for later this year – the homeless and destitute are by no means unfamiliar sights on Israeli streets. It is altogether too easy to engage them into a game of hide-n-seek, and just keep them unfound.

About the Author
Born and raised on New York’s Lower East Side, Barry's family made aliya in 1985. He worked as a Technical Writer for most of his professional life (with a brief respite for a venture in catering) and currently provides ad hoc assistance to amutot in the preparation of requests for grants. And not inconsequently, he is a survivor of stage 4 bladder cancer, and though he doesn't wake up each day smelling the roses, he has an appreciation of what it means to be alive.
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