A BIG FAT SICILIAN REHAB

My neighbor, Giovanni fell off a stepstool, hurt his knees and cracked his shoulder. The ambulance took him to the hospital. Luckily, nothing was broken, except his pride, but the doctor insisted that he check into a rehabilitation facility for physical therapy.  His wife, Maria suffers from low vision, and is no longer able to drive. The timing of this incident couldn’t have been worse. He fell on   Friday before the beginning of Passover, and then--- Easter Sunday was to follow.

Giovanni’s health insurance provided a few rehab selections, but most of them required a stay in the hospital before admittance. So, since Giovanni had not been hospitalized, he was checked into a highly recommended Jewish rehab facility near their home.

On Saturday morning when the nurse asked Giovanni what he wanted for breakfast, he gestured with his good arm (as only an Italian can) and bellowed with his expressive Sicilian voice, “Eggs and toast, please.” “You can have the eggs, said the nurse, but no toast! It’s Passover, I’ll bring you matzo.” Giovanni, the life-long Catholic was going to have his first “bread of affliction,” which kind of resembles communion wafers without the wine chaser. However, prune juice is a healthy substitute.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Exodus story here’s a quick rundown. When the enslaved Jews escaped their Egyptian taskmasters, there was no time to leaven their bread. To this day Jews all over the world, when celebrating Passover, are stuck with a week of flat bread called matzo.

On Easter Sunday, I drove Maria to the rehab facility, so she and Giovanni could spend the holiday together. Giovanni had told her on the phone about the matzo ball (dumpling) soup, and a kind of matzo pancake with syrup. Her response was, “I guess that means, no ham for Easter.” 

When we walked toward his room, all the way down the hall, we could hear the hockey game on television. Maria shouted, “Turn off the TV! Why have you been playing it so loud?” “Because,” he answered, “the Evangelicals in the next room have been carrying on for hours. I have gotten more Evangelical religion than any one Catholic should have to endure while eating his matzo ball soup.”

Giovanni said, “I don’t know what I have been eating, but thank God for my friends.” I had brought him chocolate truffles, and another friend had smuggled in a pastrami sandwich, and stood guard at the door while Giovanni inhaled it. He then garnered enough strength to lead a wheelchair-rider-revolution about lack of salt and peppershakers in the cafeteria.

A shy, young nurse hesitantly came into the room, and quickly stuck a thermometer into Giovanni’s mouth. She asked, Maria, “Does he shout around the house? He sure yells at all of us.” He of the loud voice, removed the thermometer, and boomed, “I’ve been shouting at her for 63 years.” And, Maria, with a twinkle in her eyes replied, “And that’s why I never wear my hearing aids. Wait until the physical therapist arrives tomorrow. You ain’t heard nothing yet!”

They threw him out after two days.

Esther Blumenfeld  (“It’s not easy being green”) Kermit