Christmas Story 2

Christmas Story 1995

Yitzhak and I had been working together for three years as sheep herding partners for the Lone Star Ranch.

He had been born in Russia but remembered little of that time in his life. He had been raised in one of the burrows of New York City. His Jewish-Orthodox views were well implanted.

I guess you could say he was devout in the practice of his religion, at least as devout as a person living in the Western United States as a sheepherder could be.

One thing about the Law of Moses, it makes a man into a hard worker, and it worked out pretty well, I would work all day Saturday and he would work Sundays. At the end of the herding season we would usually stay busy with feeding and helping the other hands maintain the ranch.

By the time December came along I was looking forward to the break the old man Henderson gave us for Christmas.

This year was to be different from the other years though. On December 23, Henderson came into the bunkhouse, “Davis, Rabin, come with me.” He took us to the pasture where we kept the sheep.

“Boys,” he said, “Doctor Davidson was here this morning and he ran a test on the sheep. He said that they have intestinal worms. It could be serious. He says he can treat them, but he can’t be over here enough. So he’s offered to put them in the clinic pasture ‘til spring, and get them all taken care of. So I need you boys to herd them over to Bethingham, to doctor Davidson’s place.”

“When?” I asked.

“Tomorrow morning.”

“That’s Christmas eve.”

“Doc says the sooner the better, these sheep are our livelihood.”

I looked at Yitzhak. He was staring at the ground. “It will be hard for the sheep.”

“I know. Just take ‘em slow and easy and they’ll be all right.”

The next day Yitzhak and I were on our way. Yitzhak was more of a shepherd than I was. He had names for almost all of the sheep. Instead of pushing them along, like I did. He usually just walked along and they would follow him.

We decided to get to Bethingham as quickly as possible so we chose an old trapper’s trail. The quicker we get them there the more sheep we would save. So we left early.

By about five miles out of town, snow was falling; the clouds had rolled in and sat right on top of us. By six o’clock the snowfall had turned to blizzard. Blinded by the snow and not wanting to lose any of the sheep, we decided we had better find a place to camp. Yitzhak picked up Yoshebel one of last year’s lambs, and called the other sheep to follow him.

We found a glen, blocked by the wind on one side by a sheer cliff. This would provide enough shelter until morning. I counted the black sheep, five. “They’re all here!” I cried to Yitzhak. Yitzhak’s face told me something was wrong.

“No,” he said, “Jeshua is missing, we must find Jeshua.”

“Well, he’s probably down, lying in a thicket somewhere. We’ll find him in the morning.”

“I’m going to find him, you may stay or you may come.”

It was hard keeping up with him. He was practically running through two feet of snow.

After two hours of searching and calling, Jeshua was nowhere to be found. I convinced Yitzhak that we should probably start the search again in the morning and began back toward the camp. The storm had settled down a bit and through the darkness I could see light. Yitzhak said he could hear music.

“Let’s go see what it is,” I said.

“Yes, perhaps Jeshua is there.”

As we approached the little church, we were met by three men wearing white coats. They said, “Don’t be afraid. We bring good news. Your sheep is fine. Why don’t you go in and warm up?” I didn’t think to ask how they knew we were looking for a sheep.

As we walked into the church it became clear that the little parish was holding a Christmas pageant, complete with a nativity scene—the kind of nativity scene with real people. They even had a little lamb.

“Jeshua,” Yitzhak whispered.

He began to walk closer until he reached the place where Jeshua was laying. He crouched down next to Jeshua and ran his fingers through the sheep’s thick wool.

Yitzhak’s attention suddenly changed as he looked to see where Jeshua’s eyes were held. Then, he saw.

It was the babe wrapped in white cloth and laying in a makeshift manger. Yitzhak began to weep as he realized there was more to this baby than just a legend of yore, more than a different Sabbath, more than a Christian watchword.
He beheld the long awaited messiah. He didn’t know how but he knew it. It was Jesus, Wonderful, Counselor, the Mighty God.

Yitzhak sat in this modern nativity and took his rightful place as the shepherd.

The choir sang, “Wise men seek him still.”
“And so do shepherds,” I whispered.