In Search of the “Jeem” – No. 7 by Dr. Mohammad Reza Zaeiri

✍️ By: Dr. Mohammad Reza ZAEIRI,
Cultural Counselor at the Embassy of the Islamic Republic of Iran.

Translated into English by: Dr. Hana Saada  

Dr. Mohammad Reza Zaeiri: A Distinguished Voice in Religious Media and Cultural Diplomacy

Dr. Mohammad Reza Zaeiri is a renowned academic specializing in religious media, Islamic philosophy, and interfaith (Islamic-Christian) dialogue. As a prolific author and eminent literary figure, he has penned over thirty works encompassing literature, translation, creative writing, and narrative arts—several of which have been translated into major foreign languages, including English and French.

With a distinguished media career spanning more than a quarter of a century, Dr. Zaeiri has established an enduring reputation in the journalistic world. He has founded numerous periodicals and magazines and served as editor-in-chief of several prominent newspapers, most notably Hamshahri (¹), the largest Persian-language daily in the world.

His influence extends well beyond journalism. A committed cultural figure, Dr. Zaeiri has made significant contributions to the fields of film and television production. He is also a leading figure in the publishing sector, having established an independent media house that has continuously issued a monthly magazine for the past 23 years.

His most recent intellectual endeavor, “In Search of the Jeem” (2), marks a new milestone in his ongoing creative exploration. This reflective series, published regularly in Al-Ayam News (Arabic) and jeune-independant.net (French), chronicles his current tenure as Iran’s Cultural Counselor in Algeria. In these writings, Dr. Zaeiri  (3) offers a deeply personal and poetic meditation on identity, belonging, and the enduring cultural bonds that unite Iran and Algeria.

Today, Dzair Tube is proud to present the English edition of this compelling series—meticulously translated from both the Arabic and French originals.

Oranges or Lemons? That Is the Question!

During our first days in Algeria, we stayed at the “Lalla Doudja” Hotel on Sidi Yahia Street in Algiers. I learned that the word “Lalla” is a title of honor used for women, while “Sidi” is reserved for venerable men—scholars, elders, or spiritual figures.

What struck me most was how unaware the hotel staff seemed of the profound impressions their kindness left upon us. Their gracious manners and refined behavior touched us deeply—something that perhaps goes unnoticed by locals in the flow of daily life, but is magnified in the eyes of the foreign traveler, who is attuned to every small detail.

I am certain the courteous young man who served us breakfast in the hotel café would never believe that we still remember his warmth today. Nor would the tall, slender gentleman in his fifties who worked in the restaurant imagine that, more than a year after leaving “Lalla Doudja,” I would find myself glancing up at the restaurant’s terrace whenever I passed along that street, hoping to catch sight of him and greet him from afar. Even my daughter would say: “Daddy, let’s look—maybe our friend is there so we can say hello!” To her, that man—whose name we never even learned—was the very first friend we made in Algeria.

How often we forget that the smallest gestures, offered in passing to strangers we may never meet again, can leave indelible marks upon the heart. Perhaps this is part of the deeper meaning of the Qur’anic verse in Surah Al-Kahf (18:49): “It omits nothing, small or great, without recording it.”

To this day, our memory overflows with such small details about beloved Algeria: a driver who took us from the airport, a woman working in a shop where we bought daily necessities, the young men in a fast-food restaurant who made us shawarma sandwiches and laughed with us as we struggled to grasp the Algerian dialect—so difficult for us, yet spoken with such warmth that we found ourselves drawn to it.

One particularly vivid memory dates back to a late August evening, when my family and I decided to go out for a fresh, cold juice. We found a small shop not far from “Lalla Doudja” and settled in. The shopkeeper approached us to take our order. Looking at the fridge, we were enticed by the bright, glowing color of the oranges and said, “We’d like lemon juice, please”—intending, of course, to order orange juice.

In Lebanon, after all, they call oranges “lemons” (laymoun), even though if you ask them the color, they will readily answer: orange! A curious contradiction. Meanwhile, in Algeria, we had learned that lemons are called “qarṣ” (qarss). Confident in this knowledge, we asked for “lemon juice” while actually wanting orange juice.

A few moments later, the shopkeeper returned—carrying three lemons, three small bottles of water, and some sugar!

We were stunned. Puzzled, we asked him to explain, though it was still difficult for us to follow the Algiers dialect. Eventually, we understood: we were expected to squeeze the lemons, add water and sugar, and make what in Iran we call “sharbat āb-limou”—essentially, lemonade, not juice at all!

The absurdity of the situation overwhelmed us with laughter. Ironically, we had experienced something similar in Lebanon—where we once asked for orange juice and were instead given lemon juice. But in Algeria, the opposite happened: our request for “lemon” yielded lemons, when what we had wanted all along was orange!

I have other amusing stories about fruits and vegetables across Iran and Algeria—stories I promise to share in the future. Perhaps you, too, will find them both delightful and a little surprising.

Endnotes

1. Hamshahri (in Persian: همشهری) is a major Iranian daily newspaper founded in 1990. The name means “fellow citizen” or “co-dweller” in Persian. It is the largest Persian-language newspaper in the world.

2. Jeem (ج) is the fifth letter of the Arabic alphabet and holds the phonetic value of the “j” sound in English. In this context, it symbolizes the moral and symbolic bridge between the author’s identity and his host country, Algeria.

3. Zaeiri (الزائري) is the author’s surname. When the letter “Jeem” (ج) is added, it becomes Jazaeiri (الجزائري), meaning “Algerian” in Arabic. This clever linguistic play underpins the philosophical theme of identity and belonging that permeates the text.