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The new story of Marcelo Birmajar: A Living Chess

The new story of Marcelo Birmajar: A Living Chess

In 2003 I spent a month and a half in Israel – where I am now – writing a film script hired by an Israeli producer. I was working on this project with a director, also Israeli, who was born in Argentina. was about comedy Marriage of Argentine Jews who immigrated to Israel in the context of the 2001 crisis,

The couple, who had survived such a great economic and social catastrophe of that year, eventually established themselves when they reached a certain job and housing stability in Israel. he asked himself If they really want to continue living togetherTogether, go through the second chance that destiny has given them.

He was about to turn 50, she was 45. They had two children; One Kishori, the other 22. According to the producer, some time should be set aside before fixing the marriage. I was opposed. My original thought was that they should be together. For a while the break up was a lull: They will never meet.

The producer insisted the opposite: the only opportunity for the couple was to take some time off. The director remained equidistant, as if waiting for the best idea, or the biggest stubbornness to win. in detailThe three of us agreed that the script is over with this pairing,

But that end may also be questioned whether what I call the “bomb”, a consideration in the background of the agreed central structure, wields sufficiently enormous power.

In any case, we did not agree. In the midst of that debate, I spent a weekend in Jerusalem, visiting friends and places. Of course the old town and the Kotel. I had driven a large number of kilometers and sat down to recover at a Yemeni bar, which was crossed from start to finish by a modern tram, in an alleyway perpendicular to central Jaffa Avenue.

The vehicle crosses Jerusalem from its most modern areas, passing through 19th-century Orthodox Jewish villages, until it reaches Yad Vashem, the Showa Memorial. It was the Jewish Renaissance in one go. I often wondered what was more incredible: the tragedy contained in that museum, or that the survivors built this country in which I was drinking Yemeni tea.

Unexpectedly I found out, on the other side of the street, in a street, a live chess game, It took me a while to understand the logic: the chips, like teams of two, made their decisions. There were no players on either side of the board. It interested me more, but from that distance I couldn’t follow the game comfortably.

I paid for my tea and left. White clearly had the upper hand. The participants, disguised as their respective roles – bishop, rook, knight, pawn, queen and king – whispered movements, exchanged glances, communicated to move. The eaten pieces popped out of the board and waited asidewith some embarrassment or dismay.

suddenly I heard an Argentinian accent, The rogue gave a signal to the bishop. Shortly after the white knight ate the black queen – who was actually black, regardless of clothing identifying both teams – and the next step was checkmate. Along with a few other observers, we applaud.

Somebody left money on an open board, and so did I. I contacted Argentina and introduced myself. He had been working in the venture for two years, which was paid for by a businessman and also provided street tips. There were contractual works for children, nursing homes and institutions. He asked me if I would go with him for a juice drink.

They moved in together with their now ex-wife, for sports or for work, whatever. They were so similar in so many things to the wedding in my script that I preferred to say nothing., When they were a couple, on the same team, she played against him on the board: he spoke badly of her, denied her, despised her initiative. They usually lost.

Since he decided to take the marital distance, his performance as white chess pieces had improved. She treated him with respect, considered his suggestions, went to concerts. they won. but The aura of romance between them was beginning to re-emerge, Although at that time he was in full courtship with an Ethiopian Jew, Kali Rani.

Margalit’s parents—the Black Queen, a descendant—were quite conservative, like all Ethiopian Jews, regarding the love between the Queen of Sheba and King Solomon, and demanded that my Argentine interlocutor To assume too much commitment to Hebrew customs, to allow you perspective. Kipah, Tefillin, Payes, Kosher and strict adherence to Shabbat, et al.

George didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, but they asked him too much. Margalit approached her, but she did not run away with him., I remembered that sketch by Olmedo and Marcos Zucker: A Small Sacrifice.

We said goodbye without exchanging hints or conclusions: I had to return to Tel Aviv before Shabbat began. At the return mic, I thought I’d stick to my view, but I couldn’t find any conclusive excuse to convince the producer.

Though we found a middle ground regarding the plot, the script was never executed. He went through different directors and choices but, Like so many love stories, it self-destructslike a message Impossible Goal,

Whatever it is, I have been in Tel Aviv for a week, this April 2022, to meet my nephews and perform at the Cervantes Institute with their story show. I will take a Mediterranean tour: today in Tel Aviv, and on May 15 in Cordoba.

But what was he counting? Oh yes, a few days ago I met George. I went out looking for an artisanal packaged iced ginger tea which is sold only in this city. I discovered this years ago in a chain store that was open 24 hours a day. Jet lag took me out of bed at three in the morning in search of that dream. Madman in the open in Tel Aviv.

The employee, or manager of the premises, was George. The twenty years that lay on him made me sad, like in tango, for me. We had so many colds on our foreheads that we both felt pity. It took us the same amount of time to get to know each other as it took me to get a paid ticket, I asked him how the story between his ex and Margalit on the love board ended.

He laughed, smiled and tears welled up in his eyes. He put his hand on my shoulder.

– I almost fulfilled all the requirements and before the wedding, Margalit secretly gave herself to me. We decided to quit chess after we got married. But then my ex keffer came looking for me in my modest apartment in Sabah. She had come to know that I was the man in her life, everything else was a mistake.

It had never stopped attracting me, and now this devotion has conquered me. At that time her beauty was shining. except, how long could i live as an orthodox jewHow much did he love Margalit? Feeling like human trash, I went out with my ex, not even giving a damn.

A few days after our great reunion, My ex confesses his pregnancy to me, to another, I refrained from condemning in any way. I just told him that it all ended there. Of course, we are still attached to our children. But I never touched him again, not even on a chessboard. I was left without white and without black,

Without thinking about it, I told him about my never-before-filmed script and reaffirmed my view that the characters in my story, if they want to be together, should not be separated. It sounded like a taunt, but it wasn’t. And George understood me.

“I don’t know,” he told me. Life is not as easy as a game of chess.


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Reena Sky