The goldfish, all seven of them, were new to the family with this past winter’s Purim festival. They were an integral part of that celebration of the richness and variety of life, and they were living in a comfortable suburban situation in a large, well-kept tank in a teenage boy’s bedroom.
Then, well, they were gone. The family had been called away, and now, returning home, they found their fish were no more. Kaput. Dead. Belly-up.
The teenage boy was truly saddened and wanted a proper tank-side funeral. All survivors in the family were in complete sympathy, candles were fetched and lit in the darkened bedroom where their seven dead companions floated. The boy’s ten-year-old sister averred that she wished to be the first to speak.
All right, the psychologist mother and her son agreed, then speak.
“Well, first of all,” the girl said solemnly, “I think it should be said that they were good listeners…”