Introduction (6)

Part 6: Rimonim, Chests of Rubies

Ever since a child, I have been taken by the sheer beauty of ripe pomegranates (انار). That dark-red, translucent, juicy flesh, called the “aril”, which belies the hardness of the white seed inside, shines so brightly, like a polished piece of jewelry, and it fills me with joy and an ethereal pleasure. It’s a constant delight to graciously hold one in the light, marvel at its perfection of color and texture, enjoy its soft touch, feel a rich man for a brief moment — before passing it on from the eyes to the teeth. It could taste punishingly sour, deliciously sweet, or somewhere in between, and the white seed would invariably taste bitter. Yet, it’s the enduring memory of that fleeting beauty which makes the experience linger, long after the taste has faded away. Fortunately, there’s more left in the chest to behold…