Gil Mildar
As the song says, a Latin American with no money in his pocket.

It is foolish to compare pains, but…

The most significant pain is always my own. No matter how many seas of tears exist, the tragedy that consumes me is the most excruciating. Ah, how easy it is to minimize others’ suffering, to wrap their misfortunes in cellophane and discard them in the trash of indifference. The neighbor mourns the loss of a child. I have lost a piece of my soul. The woman on the corner laments her departed husband. I agonize in the solitude of a cold bed.

With every step, I drag invisible chains, weights that only I feel. The world may turn, and life may follow its inevitable course, but the pain that embraces me is irreplaceable. It is mine, and mine alone, like an invisible tattoo that marks my skin and spirit. And in this theater of horrors, where everyone cries for their share of suffering, I am the protagonist of my personal tragedy. And let no one dare to disagree.

However, it is foolish to compare pains. Each suffering is unique and incomparable in its intensity and impact. Pain is like a personal shadow, molding to the contours of each person’s soul. There is no universal scale of suffering. It is necessary to understand that the anguish of others is as accurate as our own, even if we do not fully comprehend it.

True virtue lies in acceptance, in the ability to recognize that behind each face is a story of struggles and scars. Even our enemies, those who hurt and challenge us, carry their pains. Empathy is not a weakness but a silent strength that unites us as human beings.

Ultimately, we are all characters in a collective drama where serenity is the only path to finding peace amidst the chaos. Accepting others’ pain without judgment is the key to a more just and humane world.

Yet, one pain cannot be compared, for it is not in the hands of the hostages to choose it. It is in our hands to end this suffering. The hostages held by Hamas must be brought back home. Their pain, and the pain of their families, cries out for resolution. Let us not rest until they are free and reunited with their loved ones. Only then, once we have ended their suffering, should we turn to tend to our pain.

About the Author
As a Brazilian, Jewish, and humanist writer, I embody a rich cultural blend that influences my worldview and actions. Six years ago, I made the significant decision to move to Israel, a journey that not only connects me to my ancestral roots but also positions me as an active participant in an ongoing dialogue between the past, present, and future. My Latin American heritage and life in Israel have instilled a deep commitment to diversity, inclusion, and justice. Through my writing, I delve into themes of authoritarianism, memory, and resistance, aiming not just to reflect on history but to actively contribute to the shaping of a more just and equitable future. My work is an invitation for reflection and action, aspiring to advance human dignity above all.
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