Mahmoud al-Mabhouh's assassination and the Dubai police's alertness led to the Israeli public's criticism of the Mossad. But beyond the question of whether the Mossad, which foreign sources hold responsible for the act, is indeed "an outdated agency that acts with worrisome amateurism" (Nehemia Shtrasler, February 19), the speed with which we publish want ads for a Mossad head is interesting in itself.

In Israeli society heroes always enter through the front door, like those who reinstated the Mossad's glory days in this case. But they often exit through the back. Meir Dagan is not alone in his decline in popularity.

Less than two weeks ago, for example, an article about soccer coach Avram Grant was published in the Hebrew edition of Haaretz with the title "How did Avram Grant become the sad joke of English soccer?"

But when in 2008 Grant beat Liverpool on the eve of Holocaust Remembrance Day with a black band on his arm and elevated Chelsea to the Champions League final, we didn't see him as a joke. In fact, were quite moved.

The satirical television program "Eretz Nehederet" ("A Wonderful Country") is another example of the Israeli tendency to build up just to tear down. The show used to be called "the best satire in Israel," but at the beginning of this season it was slammed for its "weak script [and] ridiculous and stereotypical figures." Eretz Nehederet, too, was kicked into the crowded backyard.

But the backdoor of the Israeli public's sympathy is a revolving one. Being crowned and then beheaded doesn't mean you won't be king again. On the contrary, we want you back, just a little humiliated.

That's the whole point, and it has a name - making a comeback. The only way to recapture your place in the public's heart is by making a comeback. And we interpret everyone's return to our narrow field of vision as a comeback, whether it's a band, an actress, a businessman or a political leader who never really left.

Several prime ministers and leaders have caught on to this and learned to sit quietly until called back, knowing they will always look better through the softened lens of the second round.

In this sense Dagan's, Grant's and Eretz Nehederet's comebacks are a foregone conclusion, but only if they hold on and resist our impatience for the ups and downs of every political, artistic or serious professional career.

Not everyone is up to it. The price we pay for our bloodthirstiness is first of all the loss of our human assets. Some go into exile, while others become silent, looking for shelter, like Nissim Aloni, who never staged a play in Israel after "Eddy King," and Ephraim Kishon, who left Israel for an audience more forgiving toward those who dare to succeed. Kishon was granted the dubious honor of making a comeback in Israel only posthumously.

Seeing our heroes kicked to the curb may be pleasurable for a moment, but the sharp transitions between adoration and contempt impair our ability to accumulate and produce any tradition or system of passing on cultural, political and managerial expertise.

Public impatience and long-term memory loss prevent us from progressing as a society, a state and a culture. One review said "Eretz Nehederet's" problem was its "jumping on the bandwagon of its past glory." This is ironic, considering the fact that the only real glory an Israeli hero can hope for is past glory.