A Christmas Fish
a short Christmas story
By William Raser
"Hey mom, what's a Christmas
fish?"
Miriam Collins stopped mixing the
cookie dough, wiped her hands on her apron and turned to see her eight-year-old
son looking up at her with that familiar quizzical expression.
"A
what?"
"A Christmas fish," Jimmy
repeated, "I heard Mr. Steinman talking about the tradition of giving
people a Christmas fish."
"Now what would Mr. Steinman
know about Christmas?" Miriam said
to her son. Of course, she herself had no idea what a Christmas fish might
be. "Mr. Steinman is Jewish and
doesn't celebrate Christmas," she said in a tone that indicated the matter
was settled.
"But I was in his store with my
pal Artie," Jimmy insisted, "and I heard his grandpop talk about
giving friends a Christmas fish."
Although Millersville was a small
midwestern town, it had a large enough Jewish community to warrant a Kosher
butcher, a function Mr. Jacob Steinman had performed from the time he immigrated
to America as a young man.
"I really never heard of a
Christmas fish, Jimmy, now run out and play," Miriam said shooing him out
the door. "And keep your mittens on."
Miriam Collins was now
perplexed. She hated it when she could
not give Jimmy an answer for something, and she knew he would persist with her
and everyone else until he had one. And
she really had no time to waste over Mr. Steinman's Christmas fish. The holiday
was tomorrow and she still had her baking and other preparations to finish for
the big family dinner. Miriam crossed
the kitchen and picked up the phone. In
matters of Christmas there was only one person to call.
"Millersville Lutheran Church,
Gladys speaking, how can I help you?"
"It's Miriam, Gladys, can I
speak to Pastor Gunderson?"
"Miriam, are you baking your
spice cookies again this year? They were
so..."
"Could I please talk to the pastor?" Miriam interrupted, impatient and
in no mood to talk about spice cookies.
"Well, of course," Gladys
sniffed in her most indignant tone.
The phone clicked and the pastor
came on the line.
"Pastor Gunderson," Miriam
began, "I know this will sound rather silly, but could you tell me what a
Christmas fish is?"
"Well, uh, it..." Gunderson hesitated. "I
really don't know of any reference to a Christmas fish. The early Christians, of course, used a fish
as their symbol, and there are quite a few references to fish, fishing and
fishermen in the Bible, but I can't recall any mention of a specific fish pertaining to Christmas. Why do you ask, Miriam?"
"Well, my son Jimmy overheard
Mr. Steinman talking about giving people a Christmas fish and I didn't know how
to tell him what it is. I thought you would know."
Pastor Gunderson coughed slightly,
rubbed his ample double chin, and felt slightly offended that his theological
credentials were being questioned.
"I'll certainly research the
matter and will get back to you, Miriam."
"Thank you Pastor
Gunderson."
It was close to lunch time, so the
clergyman put on his coat and began to leave.
As he passed through his secretary's office, he paused. "Gladys, I may be a little late coming
from lunch. I'm going to stop at the Presbyterian and Catholic churches to
confer with my colleagues about something."
Gladys was in the habit of not
always hanging up the phone when she transferred calls to the pastor which is
why she inadvertently overheard many conversations. Checking to be sure the pastor had left,
Gladys dialed a number.
"Hello Janice. It's Gladys.
Well, here's something interesting for you. You know that Jewish butcher. Yes, Mr. Steinman. Well, he's telling all the little children in
town that there's such a thing as a Christmas fish. Yes.
Can you imagine? He's telling
them they absolutely must give people a Christmas fish."
That beautiful day-before-Christmas
had spread itself gloriously over Millersville.
A cloudless, crystal blue sky shimmered off the pure white snow that had
fallen the night before. Ovens
throughout the town gave forth the rich aromas of cookies and cakes and
pies. Last minute shoppers with rosy
cheeks and mittens and mufflers, hurried in and out of the stores on Main St. Another perfect Christmas was about to
descend on Millersville. Perfect except
for one thing. No one could figure out
what a Christmas fish was.
After Gladys's phone call the word about
the mysterious Christmas fish had spread quickly through the town.
During the afternoon, the Lutheran,
Catholic and Presbyterian church offices were beseiged with calls and all the
pastors instructed their secretaries to assure parishioners that their
spiritual leaders were carefully researching the matter.
Reverend Everett, the Presbyterian
minister, had suggested they might just call Mr. Steinman, whom they all knew,
and ask him. But on second thought, the
pastors decided it was not appropriate for three Christian clergymen to ask a
Jewish butcher, Jacob Steinman, to explain something pertaining to their own
holiest of days.
By nightfall every family in town
was pondering how Mr. Steinman, the Jewish butcher, could know all about the
traditional Christmas fish and they did not.
It was almost as if a feeling of collective spiritual inadequacy had
spread over the town.
Christmas day came as scheduled to
Millersville. Bright, beautiful, clear
and cold. The pastors all preached of
joy and peace and love but made no mention of Christmas fishes. As they shook hands with their pastors at the
door, parishioners decided to limit their conversations to exchanges of
"Merry Christmas" and avoided bringing up the question that was
foremost in everyone's mind
A dancing yellow, red and blue fire
spread its warmth over the family gathered in the Collins home. Grandmom and Grandpop, Uncle Albert and Aunt
Bertha were there. Jimmy had received
all the toys he had wanted, and he knew he would have his favorite pumpkin pie
for dessert after the abundant meal his mother was preparing. But he was still bothered.
"Grandpop, why can't anybody
tell me what a Christmas fish is?"
"You know, Jimmy, the only
person who can answer that question is Mr. Steinman. We've got a little time before we eat. I know Jacob very well, and he doesn't close
on Christmas, so why don't we just go over and ask him?"
Jimmy and his grandfather bundled
into their heavy clothes and walked downtown.
As they turned the corner at the entrance to Mr. Steinman's butcher
shop, they were startled as they colided with three men -- Pastor Gunderson,
Father Thomas and Rev. Everett.
"I guess we're all here for the
same reason," Grandpop Collins said with a smile. After an awkward pause, the pastors
acknowledged they were, and they all entered the butcher shop.
Mr. Steinman, a short, rather large,
jovial man, clapped his hands and smiled broadly as his visitors entered the
shop.
"Jacob, we wanted to talk to
you about Christmas fishes," said Grandpop Collins.
"Ah yah," Jacob Steinman
said, his round, reddish face bursting into an even wider grin. "I vas
going to do da same ting vit you."
Despite his 30 years in the United
States, Jacob had never lost his thick accent.
"To all of you, my Christian
friends, may you haf joy and happiness for your holiday and da New Year. Dis, for you, my friends, is my Christmas
vish."
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