Mazal: Believe, Live, and Love
- Marcel Courteau
- Dec 27, 2024
- 8 min read
Updated: Dec 28, 2024
Picasso's Málaga, the city where the deepest red is the blood of Guernica, seemed to paint the sunsets under the golden glow of the Mediterranean. At the heart of its history and art, the Picasso Museum shone brightly that evening, transformed into the stage for the International Conference on Economics and Finance. Beneath its stone vaults, financial experts from around the world gathered, committed to debating how to build wealth through diversified investment portfolios.
The most anticipated figure of the night was American economist David Rossemberg, whose fame had made his name synonymous with brilliance and controversy. His analysis promised to be the highlight of the day, the beacon illuminating the expectations filling the room. But as time went on and one speaker followed another, a shadow of uncertainty began to grow. Rossemberg had not appeared. He wasn’t answering calls. No one knew where he was.
Then, an unexpected sound pierced the air, capturing everyone’s attention. From some corner of the museum, the melancholic notes of a violin began to flow, recreating the melody of Fiddler on the Roof. The famous song's words echoed in the collective consciousness: “If I were a rich man...” A refrain that not only accompanied but seemed to challenge the aspirations and contradictions filling the room. In that moment, Málaga ceased to be merely a melting pot of figures and strategies and became a stage where art and economics danced to a rhythm as old as human desire.
Jacob Mendel, the event’s organizer, felt the tension in the air. Rossemberg’s absence threatened to turn a prestigious evening into a fiasco. But Jacob knew that critical moments demand bold decisions. Then he saw him: among the audience, his friend Elías Somer, the renowned American journalist and lecturer. Widowed for five years, Elías was known not only for his ability to dissect complex financial mechanisms but also for his humanistic and philosophical approach, which added depth to every word he spoke.
In an instant that seemed guided by true Mazal—the confluence of the right place, the right time, and the right action—Jacob knew what to do. He approached Elías, confident that he could save the night. He explained the situation and asked him to close the event.
Elías, who had come to the conference to listen to and perhaps challenge Rossemberg, agreed under one condition: to speak with complete freedom. Jacob, aware that opportunity and risk go hand in hand, raised no objections. He knew this was one of those rare moments where place, time, and action converge, weaving an unexpected path to the sublime.
When Elías took the stage, the audience held its breath. The words about to be spoken carried the weight of uncertainty but also the potential to redeem the evening. With a packed auditorium, Elías stood on stage dressed simply, wearing a baseball cap facing forward—an accessory that seemed out of place with his reflective tone but symbolized his comfort and ease. His speech wasn’t the typical technical analysis the attendees had anticipated but a much deeper reflection.
“The true success of an investor,” Elías said, “does not lie in anxiety over results or an obsession with control. To succeed, we must rigorously adhere to principles that do not fail: invest only what you can afford to lose without compromising your basic needs, diversify your gains, keep a vigilant eye, and stick strictly to the plan. But most importantly, accept that success is never entirely in your hands. It’s much like high-level sports. Beyond winning, the essential goal is to achieve spiritual tranquility, grounded in the certainty that you have done everything necessary with complete honesty toward yourself. And if something goes wrong, it doesn’t matter. We can start over. Being poor is not the end. The end is death.”
His words resonated in the auditorium. In the front row was Lea, her long brown curls framing her face, a divorced financial analyst living with her teenage daughter. An expert in stock markets, Lea was accustomed to the pressure of seeking perfect wealth—a pursuit that had defined much of her life. Yet Elías’s words unsettled her. She had heard all kinds of strategies, hedge funds, bonds, investments—but never someone who spoke with such calm about the possibility of loss and the importance of focusing on the present.
As Elías spoke, a childhood song that had been played earlier in the auditorium began to fade from her mind: “Oh Lord, you made many, many poor people. I realize it’s no shame to be poor, but it’s no great honor either!” The idea of chasing wealth at all costs had shaped her life, but now she was questioning that mindset.
When Elías finished, the attendees queued to greet him. Some sought to congratulate him; others to debate his ideas. Lea waited until the very end. When it was finally her turn, she approached with a mix of seriousness and shyness. “I loved your speech,” she said, “but there’s something I have to tell you.” Elías looked at her curiously. “Next time you give a talk, could you not wear that cap? Or at least wear it reversed... I couldn’t see your eyes.”
The comment, unexpected, made him laugh nervously, as if to dismiss it, but he couldn’t hide that it had struck a chord. In that moment, he felt a connection that transcended words. It was as if, by asking for something so simple, Lea had opened a door to something deeper.
That night, as Elías strolled through the port, he recalled his grandmother Miriam’s words, who had taught him the meaning of Mazal Tov: the right place, the right time, and the right action. “If you find harmony among the three,” Miriam used to say, “the universe will conspire in your favor and reward you wherever you are.”
The next day, Lea and Elias crossed paths at a conference talk. This time, Elias wore his cap backward, leaving his eyes visible. When their gazes met, they knew the conversation was far from over.
Elías and Lea sat at a table in the hotel restaurant, the noise of the conference fading into the distance. The warm light of Málaga cast soft shadows on their faces. He removed his cap and looked at Lea’s endless curls with a mix of curiosity and seriousness. Finally, he broke the silence with a direct question:
“What does being poor mean to you?”
Lea paused for a moment, her thoughts weighing heavily. Then, with a measured but intense tone, she began to speak:
“Being poor, Elías, is having nothing. It’s waking up every day and feeling like the world has forgotten you. It’s going to bed hungry, with cold in your bones and no hope that tomorrow will be any different. I grew up in a home where need was everything. I lost more than I can remember—people, moments, dignity. It’s a pain that doesn’t go away, but in my case, it became a strength. I swore I’d escape it, that I’d never return to that consuming poverty that leaves you empty.”
Elías listened attentively, not interrupting, letting each of Lea’s words find their place in the air between them. When she finished, he took a sip from his glass as if organizing his thoughts. Finally, he responded calmly:
“I understand what you’re saying, Lea. And I deeply respect what you’ve been through. But, for me, true poverty isn’t about money or what you have. True poverty is having no one.”
Lea looked at him, surprised by the simplicity and depth of his words.
“What do you mean?”
Elías offered a faint, almost melancholic smile.
“Think about it. The people who are there for you, who answer the phone when you’re in trouble, who call you back because they care... those people are your greatest wealth. Whoever has friends, whoever has people by their side, can never truly be poor.”
Lea stayed silent, letting Elías’s words sink in deeply. She knew, deep down, there was truth in what he said. Her drive to leave behind material poverty had often led her to overlook what really mattered: human connections, the people who remain when everything else is gone.
Elías continued, his voice firm yet serene:
“Have you seen It’s a Wonderful Life? In that film, James Stewart’s character, just when he’s at the brink of despair, discovers something powerful. He realizes he’s not alone, that he has a lot of people willing to help him. And that, Lea, is what saves him. Real wealth isn’t in what we accumulate, but in who stands with us.”
Lea looked up, her eyes shimmering with a mix of emotions. Then, with a sincerity she hadn’t shown until now, she softly said:
“Maybe you’re right, Elías. Maybe I’d never thought about it that way.”
After a moment of silence, Elías added another question:
“And why is it so important to look into someone’s eyes?”
Lea, quickly answered herself, a faint smile on her lips:
“Because the eyes are everything, Elías. In my profession, what I see in someone’s eyes is my most important tool. When you’re negotiating an investment or presenting a portfolio, what you see in the other person’s eyes tells you more than any words. There are glances that confirm, that doubt, that wander, or that search. It’s something I’ve learned to rely on almost unconsciously, because eyes are the windows to our intentions.”
Elías nodded, as if something in her words resonated deeply within him.
“And what did you see in mine?”
Lea hesitated, absentmindedly tracing the rim of her glass.
“I don’t know... Yesterday, during the conference, I couldn’t see them. Your cap was in the way, and I felt like something was missing. Looking someone in the eyes is the only way to fully understand what they’re saying.”
Elías took another sip of his wine and gazed at her directly.
“And now that I’m not wearing the cap, Lea... What do you see?”
She held his gaze for a few seconds that seemed to stretch into eternity.
Then, with a calm but emotional voice, she answered:
“I see a deep pain, Elías. One that has shaped you, made you stronger and more human. But I also see tenderness, one that inspires trust... and something else. A spark that seems to say there’s still so much left to discover.”
Elías lowered his gaze for a moment, almost as if his eyes had been exposed in their vulnerability.
“You know,” he said with a melancholic smile,
“I’m one of those who believe that if you only trust what you see, you’ll never find anything.
You only find when you hope in what you believe.”
Lea stayed silent, letting Elías’s words settle into the air between them. She raised her glass, closing her eyes this time, and added:
“No matter what?”
Elías, with a knowing smile, gently clinked his glass against hers, letting the connection between their gazes say what words could not.
Then he added:
“To the true treasures, Lea.”
The Málaga night, full of promises and beginnings, seemed wrapped in the possibility that perhaps love is always there, waiting for us. For Lea and Elías, all it took was belief.
It wasn’t just about investments or fortunes anymore. It was about learning to live, to lose, and to find in a world where the most valuable thing is the present moment.
They walked together along the pier, the sea air enveloping them in a quiet intimacy. The lights of Málaga reflected off the water, and Elías, while looking at Lea, recalled the words of Fernando Pessoa: "Exist, then I live again, and even if it is only an external illusion in which I lose myself, I want nothing more nor do I ask for more—I just give my heart."
In that moment, he understood that, as with investing and life, you only find what you choose to believe in.
Love, like opportunities, is always there, waiting.
All it takes is taking the step at the precise coordinates.
Mazal Tov!
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