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

The Lesson

In 1981, I was sixteen years old and had one very clear mission in life: to kiss a girl. I don’t remember her name—which, honestly, makes no difference at all. The important thing was the kiss. And I had a plan. Not just any plan, but a foolproof one: take her to see a horror movie. Anyone who knows me knows I hate horror movies. I’m actually scared of them. But, in my head, the logic was simple: she would get scared, and I, being the gentleman I am, would put my arm around her. The kiss would be a natural consequence. Pure emotional math.

The movie of the day was The Exorcist II. It came out in 1977, but due to some bureaucratic—or dictatorial—mystery, it was only authorized in Brazil in 1981. Go figure. The chosen location? Cine Capitólio, in Porto Alegre’s Historic Center. The place had seen better days: worn-out red seats, carpets that smelled like stale popcorn, and creaking noises with every move. But for me, none of that mattered. I wasn’t there to take in the decaying atmosphere—I was there to kiss.

We arrived early, because back then there was no such thing as reserved seating. It was first come, first served. And, of course, I wanted the best spot, right in the middle, where the screen and sound would support my plan. But there was one detail I didn’t foresee: the girl wouldn’t stop talking. She talked as if oxygen wasn’t a necessity. Thanks to my ADHD, I had already zoned out, mentally rehearsing: scare, arm around her, judo move… kiss.

The cinema went dark, the ads started, and she kept talking. It was like she had developed the ability to breathe between commas. At some point, a guy in front of us—who had an arm the size of my leg—turned around. With the calm that only people who spend their days lifting concrete blocks develop, he said, “Could you shut up? The movie is about to start!”

And that’s when my plan began to crumble. Without blinking, she responded, “I’ll talk as much as I want. If you have a problem, take it up with my boyfriend!” And she pointed at me. And all I could think was: Dear God, I just wanted a French kiss!

I barely knew her name, and suddenly, I was promoted to “official boyfriend,” ready to sacrifice myself without even a kiss. The giant in front of me stared at me as if he was deciding whether to crush me with his arm or his foot. I took a deep breath and said, with the greatest calm I could muster, “Honey, he’s right. Let’s watch the movie.”

It was as if I had triggered the apocalypse. She called me every name in the book and stormed out of the theater. There I was, left with two options: run after her, try to reconcile, and maybe get a make-up kiss… or stay and watch the movie, since I had already paid for the ticket.

I went with the obvious choice. I watched the movie to the end. Then, I bought a hot dog on my way out and went home. No kiss, but with all my teeth still in place. Which, at sixteen, in Brazil, back then, was already a victory.

Today, so many years later, I see that things don’t change that much. Plans don’t always work out, and sometimes, what seems simple turns into a monumental mess. What goes for kisses also goes for the Middle East.

Everyone has a magical solution for Israel. As if solving the conflict was as easy as picking the best seat in the cinema. Most solutions involve some kind of masterstroke—or judo move. “Just invade this, bomb that, and everything will work out!” As if the problem was just finding the right moment to put your arm around the girl.

My suggestion? Let’s focus on the basics. Free the hostages, keep the north of the country from turning into an action movie set with slow-motion explosions. And please, let’s avoid picking a fight with Iran. We can barely handle Gaza, a piece of land that never really belonged to us. Trying to take on more problems feels a lot like that kiss that never happened—and never will.

Sometimes, the smartest thing to do is abandon the plan, grab a hot dog, and go home. Without the kiss, but still alive. Especially if your kids aren’t on vacation in Miami.

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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