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Thursday, December 24, 2015




 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."
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