A Christmas Fish
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."
##
