Feast of the What? (The Clock in the Window)

As anyone who has attended Evensong at St Stephen’s knows, I often get dressed up for special choral occasions. (It’s a choir thing.) This includes Christmas Eve, for which I don a wonderful elf hat (originally made for me by one of the trebles), and New Year’s Day, for which I wear … a clock.

A clock?

By way of explanation, let me offer you the following story.

Back in the days when the Tsar ruled All the Russias, a man was travelling from one place to another. When he realized that his watch wasn’t working, he decided to stop at the next village to get it repaired.

Back in those days, many people were illiterate, especially peasants. So the storekeepers along the High Street would place objects in their storefront windows which identified their trade. The butcher, of course, would display cuts of meat, and the baker would have loaves of bread. A pair of shoes identified the cobbler; a hat, the milliner; and a shirt or a jacket, the tailor. The traveller walked along the High Street until he came to a shop with a clock in the window.

Entering the shop, the traveller greeted the proprietor, and asked if he could fix the watch. “I’m sorry,” the proprietor answered, “but I can’t fix your watch.”

“Why not? Just because I’m from out of town, you won’t fix my watch? I assure you, I can pay for it.”

“No, no, that’s not it,” replied the proprietor. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t fix your watch: I said I couldn’t.”

“You can’t? Why not?”

“Because I’m not a watchmaker.”

“But you have a clock in your window.” The traveller was perplexed. “If you aren’t a watchkmaker, what are you?”

“I’m a mohel.”

“A mohel‽” Now the traveller was truly perplexed. “If you’re a mohel, why do you have a clock in your window?”

“Nu,” replied the mohel balefully, “If you were me, what would you put in the window?”

Get it? I hope so, because jokes aren’t as funny when they have to be explained.

Perhaps I should explain that the mohel (pronounced “moil”, to rhyme with “foil”) is the fellow who actually wields the knife at a bris—a circumcision, even though the rabbi presides at the service. (As Leo Rosten points out, “The rabbi gets the fees, but the mohel gets the tips.”)

And perhaps I should also point out that Jesus came from a very well–connected Jewish family. His father was of the House of David, and his uncle on his mother’s side was High Priest at the Temple in Jerusalem. So of course, when he was eight days old, his family his family had him circumcised according to the Law of Moses. The squeamish revisers of the Kalendar have taken to calling today the Feast of the Holy Name (because it’s also the day the child is given his name), but the more ancient title of the eighth day of Christmas is the Feast of the Circumcision. (“New Year’s Day” is a secular title.)

And so that’s why I wear a clock on New Year’s Day.