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The Wacky Cook is hoping for the lockdown to end soon and still not cooking. Here is another short story by Debbie Morgenstern.

Her Begin Story

Everyone living in Israel has a Menahem Begin story. Hers was as sudden as everyone else's and just as precious. She was working at the time as a volunteer in one of the major city hospitals of Tel Aviv. She worked with a partner, Esther; between them, they divided the hospital into two parts. She took one part, Esther the other. At that time, the hospital was still small enough to do that. The giant of today would need ten volunteers to do the same job. Maybe that's why the powers-that-be, in their great wisdom, got rid of the volunteers. But that's another story.

She and Esther would visit the patients twice in a morning. Very early, they brought a cheerful "Good morning! Anything I can do for you?" If there was anything, they did it, bought it, wrote it, whatever! An amazing number of people have nobody visiting them in a hospital; just a bright greeting makes those people feel better, or so they'd been told. Each morning, on the way to the hospital, they also bought the morning papers; patients ordered newspapers the previous day and she and Esther delivered them with a smile and a cheerful little chat. The next round consisted of the afternoon papers and taking orders for the following morning and more chats, more smiles, more cheer. They worked well together, met for coffee at mid-morning, swapped good stories, silly ones and crazy ones most of the time. People are very funny when they really are not trying to be. One morning as she entered the hospital, she felt there was something strange going on. People walked a bit faster, talked a bit more quietly, seemed to be more efficient. She marched into the office. "What's going on here today?" she wanted to know. "Oh, didn't you read this morning's paper?" she was asked. "It was also on the news on the radio; the Prime Minister was in the hospital."

"The Prime Minister? What Prime Minister?" she asked. She needed more coffee that morning. She was definitely not wide awake. "THE Prime Minister, dummy, Mr. Begin Himself," she was told, so she sat

She looked forward to her next day at the hospital, hoping that this time, the Israeli part of her would assert itself and push her into The Presence.... When she walked into the hospital there was the same feeling of expectancy around and even more so; she noticed more security around the intensive-care unit, keeping unnecessary people out and all the corridors clear. Again she stood undecided, looking into the Prime Minister's little glass cubicle; he was still in bed, lying very still. His eyes were closed, she noticed; not looking much better at all, she noticed. Walking around the unit, taking care of the other patients, she kept one eye on the corner room, trying to make up her mind what to do.

Suddenly she saw that his eyes were open, he was leaning on his elbows, and he was waving at her. She stopped dead in her tracks and looked around, but there was no one in sight. She looked again at the P.M. and there was no mistaking it this time. He was trying to attract her attention. Beckoning to her to come in. She was beside herself. The PRIME MINISTER of the STATE OF ISRAEL needed her help. It was too mind-boggling. Should she curtsey? Salute? Be brisk? Meek? How does one address a Prime Minister? Her mind went blank. You can DO IT, she admonished herself. Come ON. You are not stupid. Remember the TV show: Yes, Prime Minister? Just go in and do it! And so, backbone straight, smile in place, heart pounding so madly that she thought it was visible through her uniform, into the presence of the great man she marched and came to a full stop in front of his bed, looked into the famous face and mumbled something under her breath. "Young woman," he said to her, quite strongly. "I have to go to the toilet. Kindly find out if I can do so and if not, please bring me a bed-pan."

This was just too much! She was going to help THE Prime Minister of THE State of Israel to pee! Too much. Who would believe it?... Only in Israel. Her British reserve crumbling completely, afraid of what might come out of her mouth if she dared to speak, she rushed out of the room without thinking of what he asked her, grabbed the first bed-pan and turning to rush back, crashed into the formidable large bosom of the head nurse. "And where are you going with this thing?" that paragon demanded. "What's going on here?" the dragon wanted to know. "What are you doing with that bed-pan?"

"The Prime Minister needs the bed-pan," she managed quite breathlessly.

"He does, does he? Thank you, admonished that dreadful woman "you please go about your duties, and I will take care of this."

"But, but, I... think...want...."

"NOW, please!" and there was no mistaking that command. With another glance in the direction of the Prime Minister and a deep sigh, off she went and although she could never claim to have helped the Prime Minister of the State of Israel to pee, he had given her a perfectly wonderful "Begin story."

Send your questions to The Wacky Cook: email: debbiemorgenshtern@gmail.com      

Debbie Morgenstern is the author of "My Life in Israel" and other short stories.
"My Life in Israel" can be purchased by accessing this link: "My Life in Israel"