Marcelo Birmajer’s new story: A living chess

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

The couple, who survived such a major economic and social catastrophe that year, were finally established when they reached a certain job and housing stability in Israel. They asked themselves if they really want to continue the associationtogether went through that kind of second chance that destiny offered them.

He was close to 50, he was 45. They had two children; a teenager, the other 22. According to the producer, the wedding should take some time apart before deciding. I am opposed. My original idea was for them to stay together. The parting moment is a small statement: they will not meet.

The producer insisted on the opposite: the only chance for that couple would be to take some time. The director remained consistent, as if waiting for the best idea, or the biggest stubbornness, to succeed. according to the circumstancesThe three of us agreed that the script would end with the couple.

But even that conclusion can be questioned whether what I call the “bomb”, an idea on the side of the agreed central structure, provided sufficiently vast power.

In any case, we do not agree. In the midst of that debate, I spent a weekend in Jerusalem, visiting friends and places. Of course the old city and the Kotel. I walked so many kilometers and sat down to catch up at a Yemeni bar, in an alley perpendicular to central Jaffa avenue, crossed from start to finish by a modern tram.

That vehicle crosses Jerusalem from its most modern sectors, passing through 19th-century Orthodox Jewish villages, until it reaches Yad Vashem, the Shoah Memorial. This is the Jewish renaissance on a journey. I often wonder what is more incredible: the tragedy contained in that museum, or that the survivors built this country where I eat Yemeni tea.

Unexpectedly I discovered, on the other side of the avenue, in an alley, a living game of chess. It took me a while to understand the logic: the chips themselves, like the two teams, make their decisions. There are no players on either side of the board. I became even more interested, but from that distance I was not comfortable following the game.

I paid for my tea and walked away. White is clearly on top. The participants, disguised in their respective roles – bishops, rooks, knights, pawns, queens and kings – whispered in motions, exchanged glances, talked to move. The eaten pieces left the board and waited to one sidewith some embarrassment or disappointment.

Suddenly I heard an argentine accent. The rook gave an indication to the bishop. Shortly after the white knight ate the black queen – who was actually black, regardless of the clothes that identified the two teams – and the next step was checkmate. Along with a few other observers, we applauded.

Someone left money on an open board, and I did the same. I approached Argentine and introduced myself. They worked on that work, paid for by a businessman and street tips, for two years. There are contract duties, for children, nursing homes and institutions. He asked me if I would go with him to drink juice.

They went in together, at play or work, whatever it was, with his ex -wife. They have so much in common with marriage in my script that I prefer not to say anything.. As they were married, on the same team, he played against her on the board: he spoke ill of her, he contradicted her, despised her initiatives. They usually lose.

Since he decided to take a marital distance, their performance as white chess pieces has improved. She treats him with respect, considers his suggestions, moves on to the concert. They won. But the mixture of romance between them began to emerge again. Although at that time he was in full courtship with the black queen, an Ethiopian Jewess.

Margalit’s parents — the black queen, a descendant, like all Ethiopian Jews, of the love between the Queen of Sheba and King Solomon — were very conservative, and they asked to be my Argentine to speak. to accept a greater commitment to Hebrew rituals, to give you permission to approach. Kippah, tefillin, peyes, strict adherence to kosher and Shabbat, et al.

George didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t help but think about him, but they asked her too many questions. Margalit wrote to him, but he did not run away with her. I remember that sketch by Olmedo and Marcos Zuker: a small sacrifice.

We said goodbye without exchanging signs or conclusions: I had to go back to Tel Aviv before Shabbat started. On the return mic, I thought I was sticking to my idea, but I couldn’t find a specific alibi to convince the producer.

Although about the plot we saw middle ground, the script was not fulfilled. He went through various directors and alternatives but, like so many love stories, self-destructivesuch as the message of Mission impossible.

In any case, I will be in Tel Aviv for a week, this April 2022, to visit my nephews and perform at the Cervantes Institute with my story show. I will be doing a Mediterranean tour: today in Tel Aviv, and on May 15 in Córdoba.

But what does he count? Oh yes, a few days ago I met Jorge. I went out to look for artisanal packaged iced ginger tea, which is only sold in this city. I discovered this a few years ago in a chain store that is open 24 hours a day. Jet lag took me out of bed and in search of that dream at three in the morning. A madman in Tel Aviv.

The employee, or manager, of the place, is Jorge. The twenty years that have passed through him have saddened me, as in nod, for me. There was so much winter on our foreheads that we both felt sorry for each other. It took us a while to get to know each other as long as they gave me the payment ticket. I asked her how the story of her ex and Margalit ended on the love board.

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

– I fulfilled almost all the requirements and, before the wedding, Margalit secretly gave herself to me. We decided to stop living chess after getting married. But then my ex came looking for me at my modest apartment in Kfar Saba. He discovered that I was the man of his life, everything else was a mistake.

It never ceased to fascinate me, and now this devotion has won me over. Her beauty shone in that moment. Besides, how long can i live as an orthodox jewAs much as he loves Margalit? Feeling human trash, I walked out with my ex, not even giving a damn.

A few days after our great reunion, my ex admitted her pregnancy to me, from others. I refrained from making any blame. I just told him that’s where it all ends. Of course, we were still with our children. But I never moved him, not even on the chessboard. I was left without white and without black.

Without thinking about it, I told him about my never-filmed script and confirmed my idea that the characters in my story, if they want to stay together, shouldn’t be separated. It sounds like a tautology, but it’s not. And Jorge understood me.

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

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