18/7/97

The PM Takes a Vacation

It just isn’t done.  Can you imagine Ben-Gurion on a cruise?

Or Golda at some Club Med?

    "You look tired, dear."
    "Tough day at the office."  
    "You want a nice hot bath?"
    "I suppose."  
    The wife sighs. "Dear, I think it's time you took a vacation. Get away for maybe a couple of weeks. Everybody does it, you know."
    "But I'm the prime minister. And there's this peace process I don't know what to do with. How can I loll in some fancy hotel while 5.9 million people wait for me to get on with my work? No. It's impossible."
    The prime minister's wife is not so quick to give up. "Hey, I have an idea. Why don't we all go together? You know, the whole gang."
    "You mean, the cabinet?"
    "Sure! We could get a group rate somewhere. It would be great fun!"
    Now the prime minister sighs. "Nah. I don't think so..."
    His wife digs in. "Give me one good reason."
    "No prime minister of Israel has ever gone on vacation. Can you imagine B-G on a cruise? Or Golda at some Club Med? Did Begin even get so much as a suntan in all the time he was prime minister? The last time Peres took a vacation was before I was born."
    "So? You'll be the first. You'll start a trend."
    "Sure," the prime minister snorts. "I can just imagine what Peres will have to say about that. I'll drop a point in the polls for every day I spend on the beach. And besides," he says, "Remember what happened to Gorbachev when he took a vacation?"
    "You're not saying Peres would overthrow you in a coup..."
    "No. But Levy might."
    She pauses thoughtfully. "Then we'd better invite the Levys to come with."
    A bad idea is sounding even worse. "No," he announces, putting his foot down. "And that's absolutely final."
    Though of course, it's not.

THE FOLLOWING morning, for the first time in 2,000 years -- and maybe more -- the prime minister of a Jewish state picks up the phone and enquires about a vacation. He is not enthusiastic.
    "Tip Top Travel. Can I help you?"
    "Yes, I'd like --"
    "One moment, please."
    The prime minister is put on hold. He has never been put on hold before, so he's not really sure what it is. He makes a mental note to mention this in his memoirs.
   After listening to a tape of "Jingle Bells" for a minute or so, the Israeli leader is about to hang up and try again. Presently, the voice returns.
    "Yes, sir, you were saying..."
    "I --"
    "One moment, please."
    "Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way..."
    CLICK!
    He really didn't think arranging a vacation would be so aggravating. One more try, he vows.
    "Feldman Tours. Can I help you?"
    "Yeah. Don't play me music. I want to talk to someone about --"
    "A vacation?"
    The pee-em is bowled over. "How'd you know?"
    "Well, it's not as if you're calling the Knesset, right? Ha, ha."
    The national leader rolls his eyes. He thinks to himself: this is my  public? "Look," he says, "I have to get back to work. Can we arrange something?"
    Feldman, of Feldman Tours, gets down to business. "First thing we should do is open a personal file. What is your name please?"
    The prime minister tells him.
    "Very funny. What's your real name?"
    "But that's it. Honest."
    "Boy, you must be great at parties. Your occupation?"
    "I'm a prime minister."
    Feldman drops the phone. "But -- but the prime minister never takes a vacation. Never!"
    "I'm beginning to understand why."
    Feldman soldiers on with his questionnaire. "Uh -- how do you intend to pay: cash, credit card, vouchers..."
    "Tax money, actually."
    "Then I suppose you won't need a discount." (Feldman doesn't really know what to say.)
    "You can give me one if you like. You're the taxpayer, so you're the one who benefits."
    "I assume you'll want a return ticket."
    "I won the election, didn't I?"
    "I know. It was in the newspaper. Do you have in mind a destination?"
    "Somewhere nice."
    "Well, that narrows it down. How about America?"
    "Been there."
    "Europe maybe?"
    "Done that."
    "How about one of those Arab countries -- Jordan, Qatar, Oman. We can go there now, you know."
    “So I've heard. No, I'm trying to take a rest from Arabs and Israelis."
    "Well, that counts out this planet," says Feldman. "Look, sir, I can't even guarantee the floor of the Pacific will be free of Middle Eastern tourists. Research has shown that at any given time there are 5.9 million Israeli tourists in any given country. Except Libya. Want to visit Libya?"
    "I could have you arrested for saying that."
    Feldman chokes. Sitting in jail for the rest of his natural life, he realizes, would be very bad for business.
    "Let me ask you this," the pee-em says. "If all the Israelis are out of the country touring the world, then who's in Israel?"
    "Why, tourists, of course."
    "So if I want a break from Israelis, I should go to --"
    "By gum, I suppose..."
    "I might as well stay home," he grumbles.
    But Feldman is enthusiastic. "Lots to see and do, you know. And you won't have to change money, you don't need a visa, and you could save on a flight and get there on half a tank of gas. Besides," says the quick-thinking travel agent, "think of public opinion, when they all get back from abroad and hear that their leader found some nice Zionist getaway."
    "So be it," the politician decides executively.
    "Eilat's nice," says Feldman. His other line is ringing, but he's not about to answer it, even if it's NASA looking to fly a man to Mars. Some customers you just don't want to tick off.
    "Nah. Too hot."
    "The Golan's nice this time of year."
    "Sure. The minute I check in, Levy will give it back to Syria, with me in it. You got anything a little closer?"
    Feldman runs down his list. "Netanya, Herzliya, Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, Ashke--"
    "Stop! That's it!"
    "Ashkelon?"
    "No, Jerusalem! It's perfect. I can get away from it all without going away; nobody will find me because who would suspect I'm taking a vacation around the corner? And if I forget the camera at home, or my swimming trunks, so what?"
    Feldman is aghast. Wait till the other travel agents hear he got the prime minister as a client -- and wait till they hear where he went.
    "I could put you up in a nice hotel on the other side of town -- pool, TV, the works. How about it, huh?"
    "Too far."
    Feldman has had it. "But it's 15 minutes away, two minutes by helicopter. Look, maybe you should reconsider. Take a real vacation. I can get you a nice room in Fiji with a view."
    But the national leader has made a decision. "No. I want a view of the Knesset. I want to sit in my room and look through my binoculars and see exactly what's going on there when everyone thinks I'm in Fiji. And that's absolutely final."
    Though of course, it's not.
    "We're going WHERE?!" his wife bellows when she sees the travel brochure.
    She is steaming mad. "How you ever became prime minister I'll never know," she says, as she picks up the phone.
    "Feldman Tours? Give me Feldman. And fast."
    "Sorry, Ma'am, he'll have to call you back. He just left for a sudden vacation. Fiji, I think he said. He's expected back after the elections. Would you like to leave a message?"