Scent and Splendor: The Way of the Citron

“And she’ll feed you tea and oranges that brought all the way from China”

— Leonard Cohen

Myrrh and frankincense, jade and ivory, silk tapestries and emerald-encrusted gold—history teaches us that humans and their institutions, religious or otherwise, often weave exotic imports into their very core. These objects serve as symbols of sacred splendor, testament to the power of the holy to bridge the distance and grasp the unattainable.

The citron (*Citrus medica*) belongs to the diverse Rutaceae family, centered primarily in Southeast Asia. One of the four foundational species of all cultivated citrus, the citron likely originated in the eastern Himalayan foothills of India and Burma, or perhaps the Guizhou-Yunnan plateau of southwestern China. Varieties are still sold in the markets of Yunnan and eastern India today. Most famous is the "Buddha’s Hand," a variety prized as an ornamental tree and a sacred offering at Buddhist and Taoist shrines throughout southern China.

On the other side of the vast continent, the citron eventually became a sacred fruit deeply woven into Jewish tradition. It is distinguished as one of the Four Species of the Sukkot holiday, alongside the palm branch, the willow, and the myrtle.

While the date palm is a staple of ancient Middle Eastern agriculture, and the willow and myrtle are native to the eastern Mediterranean, the citron is a stranger—a foreign import. Its presence is particularly striking given its lack of nutritional value, its demanding agricultural needs, and its distant origins.

How, then, did a fragrant but thick-skinned, pulp-poor fruit from the slopes of the Himalayas become a Jewish sacred object?

To find out, we must return to the place where everything begins and ends.

To Iran, of course.

We cannot say for certain when the first citrons were planted in the Middle East. Charred seeds from the second millennium BCE, found in Sumerian ruins in present-day Iraq, suggest that citrus was present quite early. However, the quality of these finds and their ambiguous dating make it difficult to confirm the specific species, or to know whether the trees were grown locally or the fruit was imported as a finished luxury good.

More definitive evidence emerges from later sites. A Persian garden discovered at Kibbutz Ramat Rachel near Jerusalem confirms that the citron was cultivated in the region by the late 5th century BCE. This magnificent garden, part of an administrative palace, featured a sophisticated irrigation system and exotic flora like the cedars of Lebanon. Botanists reconstructed the garden’s inventory by analyzing pollen grains trapped in the plaster of an ancient pool. The citron was clearly a high-status centerpiece; its pollen accounted for a third of the findings at the site.

Greek sources from the era of Alexander the Great’s wars against Persia refer to the citron as the "Assyrian apple" or the "Median apple" (the source of its Latin name). They describe its exquisite fragrance, its use as an antivenom, and its aromatic oil—a faithful description of the fruit we recognize today.

“In Persia and Media there is a fruit called the Persian apple... The tree has leaves like those of the arbutus, but with thorns like those of the pear, smooth and strong. The fruit is not eaten, but it is very fragrant, as are the leaves. If placed among clothes, it keeps away the moth. It is also a useful antidote to poison.”

— Theophrastus, *Enquiry into Plants*

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The pollen from Ramat Rachel and the accounts of Greek botanists confirm that while Sumerian cultivation remains a mystery, these trees were certainly bearing fruit in the orchards of Persia and Media—and even in the provincial palaces on the dusty fringes of the Arabian desert.

Given the scarcity of archaeobotanical data along the citron’s migration route, we must piece the story together through text and etymology. It is likely the citron was domesticated early in the Himalayan borderlands after a genetic mutation produced a fruit with reduced acidity.

From Southeast Asia, the plant traveled ancient trade routes to northern India, where it was called *turanga*. It then trickled through Afghan mountain passes into Iran, where it became *turunga* and later *atrunga*. Under this name, it was planted in Western Asian soil until it was welcomed into the embrace of Jewish tradition, becoming the *etrog* we know today.

Over time, particularly during the Roman period, the secrets of citron cultivation spread across the Mediterranean. Choice varieties were developed from Morocco to Italy, and from Corfu to Yemen. This sparked a sophisticated network of Mediterranean trade, fierce economic competition, and the complex halakhic debates that are a hallmark of Jewish tradition.

The citron is a classic case of a luxury good whose aesthetic appeal and relative durability allowed it to travel vast distances. It likely began its journey as a diplomatic gift from the Indian subcontinent to the city-states of Mesopotamia, long before the Persian elites mastered its cultivation in their own orchards.

Its rarity and medicinal reputation marked it as a symbol of wealth, while its lush foliage and sweet-scented flowers made it a staple of aristocratic gardens. Jewish culture—then one thread in a vibrant mosaic of Iranian, Gnostic, and Christian communities—adopted the citron as a symbol of majesty and holiness. The fruit was transformed into a ritual object, a fragrant tribute to the faith and the ancient trade routes that sustained it.

And let us say, Amen.

Happy Holiday.

In the photos:

• Standard citrons resembling the Yemenite variety alongside a Buddha’s Hand, Dali, Yunnan, 2017.
• The citron’s migration route from the Himalayas to the Middle East, likely via the Indian subcontinent.
• The archaeological remains of the Persian garden at Ramat Rachel.