The Night the Rabbi Stole a Christmas Tree

‘Twas the twilight before Christmas. As I walked past the display of yuletide and Chanukah decorations in the lobby of my Chicago condo, Byron, one of the deskmen, came up to me with a very un-Christmas-like frown. He had planned to purchase a Christmas tree on his way home. But someone on the late shift had called in sick, leaving him stuck at his post until midnight. Would I be willing and able to pick one up for him?

Although I’d been active in inter-faith work for many years, I’d never before been asked to purchase a Christmas tree. Perhaps Byron figured, not without reason, that the only rabbi living in a building of several hundred residents would be one the least likely to have plans for Christmas Eve. But in fact, I did. My wife and I were planning to follow the recent but already hallowed Jewish Christmas Eve tradition of meeting friends for a movie and Chinese dinner.

But not wanting to abandon Byron, a very nice man, I suggested that he keep seeking a volunteer. If he hadn’t found one by the time we returned, I would be pleased to help. It would be pretty late. But if any merchant stayed open late on Christmas Eve, it would be the one selling Christmas trees, the most seasonal of commodities.