web analytics
August 4, 2015 / 19 Av, 5775
At a Glance
Sections
Sponsored Post


Wrapped

Twenties-041913

I didn’t need that much garlic. After all… how much garlic, exactly, could I put into the chicken without overdoing it?

But something made me leave the white, rounded head on the counter after cracking off a few bulbs, rather than putting it back in the fridge. Maybe I’d need more.

Of the three small cloves sitting there on the counter, it was naturally the plumpest that came to my hand first. It looked… so…Perfect. Delicious. Appealing.

I picked it up and almost subconsciously savored the subtle satisfaction that slid through me. There was a certain pleasure in holding the small, papery package. Bulging its rounded figure in the center, curving neatly to tapered ends. It felt so full. So complete, despite its smallness. So perfect.

The pleasure almost peaked with anticipation before I even broke the skin. Holding it carefully in my left hand, my right thumbnail slid under the skin of the delicate tail, deftly snapped it back, and- pop! It was open.

The perfection of that small action rippled through me in a wonder that will never cease. All you have to do is snap it and- perfect! It pops open magically, revealing the splendor of soft creamy flesh hidden within. The glossy meat peeped out, exciting me to reveal it all the way. Grasping the torn peel, I pulled sharply but carefully. A neat strip peeled away. Then another, then another, and then- that moment of magic when the whole wraparound garment slipped away with a beautiful feathery crack. And there, in all its glory, sat my clove of garlic. Incredibly, enticingly plump, a healthy shine that pulled my eyes like magnets, drawing them up to that artistically perfect slender end. Here I am, it seemed to say. You unsheathed me, and now I sit in all my shining glory. You can stand and stare forever. And I could. But it was not the glory of the thing itself that held me now. It was the snap! of a moment ago, making my fingers reach out for another clove, needing, wanting, to open it. I broke off the most enticingly plump clove and held it in my hand. The feathery heaviness bulged appealingly, hinting at luscious treasure within. Desire led my fingers to firmly grasp the tail, slide my nail in, a sharp twist, and- crack! And puuuulll… and there we go, the skin slid down smoothly to once again reveal the shine hidden within.

A pocket.

No, a package.

Little Garlic, how did you come to be so beautifully protected?

The only word that filled my mind was… perfect. The layers of paper, molded to its graceful curves. The outer shell, harder and firmer protection. And… and most of all, most of all, made perfect for me.

Wrapped perfectly for me, so that all I’d have to do is slide my thumbnail into that giftwrap, break the skin, twist, and the treasure was revealed.

Why do You wrap Your gifts for me, this way? Why?

I was tired, and not inclined to think of answers. But what filled my mind, as I reached for another clove-

My little sister, peeling a clove for the first time. Look Mommy, she says in wonder, it’s a package, perfectly wrapped, and it pops out perfectly when I open it!

And all that fills my mind, as I crack off cloves, and hold, and feel, and twist, and snap, and peel-

You wrap each one so carefully. So perfectly, so perfectly. The perfection is almost unbearable in its wonder. It shouts out to me, in a peaceful, flowing sort of way, that fills me up and keeps on flowing and will not stop. And I shout back, in a silent, peaceful, continuous way, because I cannot not-

Why, Tatty, why?

And I keep on breaking off cloves, even while knowing that I have way more garlic then I could possibly need. My hand keeps reaching, all by itself, unable to resist the lure of the snap and twist and strip and…

Treasure revealed.

So easy. Actually, I find that if you slice off the other end of the clove first, it pops open with even more magical ease. This has its own joy. But after reveling in that pleasure once or twice, I return to slitting and cracking with my thumb. The knife is simply… artificial. If man had no knife, he would still be able to pop open the beautiful garlic-gift. I want to experience (it) in its most basic, God-given form; to touch the gift with my fingers, as it was meant to be touched.

About the Author:


If you don't see your comment after publishing it, refresh the page.

Our comments section is intended for meaningful responses and debates in a civilized manner. We ask that you respect the fact that we are a religious Jewish website and avoid inappropriate language at all cost.

If you promote any foreign religions, gods or messiahs, lies about Israel, anti-Semitism, or advocate violence (except against terrorists), your permission to comment may be revoked.

No Responses to “Wrapped”

Comments are closed.

Current Top Story
Tourist injured by Muslim mob on Temple Mount on August 4, 2015
Arab Sources: Islamic Waqf Officials Arrested for Attacking, Robbing French Tourist on Temple Mount
Latest Sections Stories
South-Florida-logo

An impressive group of counselors and staff members are providing the boys and girls with a summer of fun and Torah learning and a lifetime of wonderful memories.

South-Florida-logo

Rabbi Sam Intrator recently led a summer program in Williams Island, located in Aventura. The event focused on how to find spiritual joy in Judaism. The rabbi cited biblical and Talmudic teachings, ancient Temple rituals, and the words of prayers to establish the role that love and positive thinking have in Torah values. Rabbi Intrator […]

South-Florida-logo

The Iranian deal was sealed on July 14, four and a half months after Netanyahu’s visit. The details of the agreement were shocking and worse than anyone had imagined.

There are so many toys available for newborn to age 5, but how do you choose?

In 1939, with life getting harder for Jews, she and several friends decided it was time to make aliyah, and applied at the Palestina Amt for permits.

I am not sure how many of you readers have had this experience, but I did and it truly tested the limits of my sanity!

Aside from my own 485-page tome on the subject, Red Army, I think Jamie Glazov did an excellent job at framing things in United in Hate: The Left’s Romance with Tyranny and Terror.

We studied his seforim together, we listened to famous cantorial masters and we spoke of his illustrious yichus, his pedigree, dating back to the famous commentator, Rashi.

Jews who were considered, but not ultimately selected, include Woody Allen, Saul Bellow, David Ben-Gurion, Marc Chagall, Anne Frank, and Barbra Streisand.

More Articles from Rayzel Reich
Twenties-010915

This past Friday it was finally almost official. It was going to happen. Be’ezras Hashem.

Teens-Twenties-logo

The sounds and scents of the kitchen are cozy, familiar, but loud in the silence.

We had just moved to Boro Park, fresh from the DP camps. The community was new and small, but we were settling in nicely. I knew how fortunate I was to have almost my whole family survive; most had so much less. Our family was a draw for many who needed that familiar feeling of home. One Shabbos afternoon I answered the door to find one such friend and a couple I did not recognize.

I didn’t need that much garlic. After all… how much garlic, exactly, could I put into the chicken without overdoing it?

But something made me leave the white, rounded head on the counter after cracking off a few bulbs, rather than putting it back in the fridge. Maybe I’d need more.

I stare, and I stare, trying to connect to those deep, seeing, eyes, to the wisdom and depth within that face. And all I can think, murmurs sliding in a circle through my mind – is, hadras panim… hadras panim… hadras panim…

“…will the kid say, ‘Oh, I’m walking into the strange house, just like Goldilocks?! Maybe the kid will think..”

Apparently I had walked into a family discussion of the pros and cons of reading fairy tales to children.

It was Moishele, and Itche, and me. We did everything together. We even made our own language, which only we understood. In shul they jokingly called us “the troika,” after the three bishops whose authority extended across Poland.

Miss Ida is our beloved teacher. Her brown hair is piled softly on her head. Her dress is of course old and worn, and she must not be very young, but to us, she is beautiful. She is not religious, but she is always kind, and she is always fair. We sit in class, all […]

Printed from: http://www.jewishpress.com/sections/magazine/teens-twenties/wrapped/2013/04/19/

Scan this QR code to visit this page online: