C
haim Reimer always felt strangely at ease in hospitals. There was a certain orderliness and method to the place — people walking purposefully machines beeping graphs registering progress.
But not under these circumstances.
The entire Levinsky family was there crowded around their father’s bed talking at once. It was Chaim thought the Levinskys being themselves. There were hugs and crying and drama and a young skinny doctor with red hair and a nervous manner trying valiantly to figure out who was in charge.
Rivky was doing food: opening bags unwrapping sandwiches and pouring drinks.
Gavriel by virtue of being a dentist was the self-appointed medical director. It was he and his mother who huddled with the emergency room doctor.
