This piece is part of our Wit­ness­ing series, which shares pieces from Israeli authors and authors in Israel, as well as the expe­ri­ences of Jew­ish writ­ers around the globe in the after­math of Octo­ber 7th.

It is crit­i­cal to under­stand his­to­ry not just through the books that will be writ­ten lat­er, but also through the first-hand tes­ti­monies and real-time account­ing of events as they occur. At Jew­ish Book Coun­cil, we under­stand the val­ue of these writ­ten tes­ti­mo­ni­als and of shar­ing these indi­vid­ual expe­ri­ences. It’s more impor­tant now than ever to give space to these voic­es and narratives.

Com­pli­cat­ed Fruit

for Tzivia


I.

Pow­er­walk­ing up the street, 

afraid a neigh­bor might shoot 

us a dirty look or worse, 

my friend and I 

pick up the pace, 

low­er our voices 

and change the word Israel 

to Pineap­ple.


II.

The Pineap­ple is a com­pli­cat­ed fruit

shaped not unlike a hand grenade.


III.

When I lay a Pineap­ple on its side

across the chop­ping block

its prick­ly skin pierces my palm

and draws a drop of blood. Still

I hold it steady and use a sharp

swift knife to split the fruit in two.


IV.

A child sit­ting beside me 

at a Bar Mitz­vah party

fork in hand, unsure how

to attack her dessert, asks,

Why can’t they just serve

Pineap­ple upside down cake

right side up?”


V.

Many peo­ple pre­fer crushed

Pineap­ple served straight from the can

despite the bit­ter metal­lic taste

it leaves in the mouth.


VI.

Pineap­ple, both tart and sweet 

can make the tongue tingle 

and burn. The cure for this 

is to swish then spit a bit 

of salt water preferably

scooped with both hands

from the Dead Sea.


VII.

My potluck specialty:

cole slaw with a secret

ingre­di­ent that no one

has ever guessed

is Pineap­ple.


VIII.

Below the leafy crown

a tough core runs

through the Pineapple.

A piece of stringy meat

gets caught

between my teeth.

The hard­er I try

to dig it out

the hard­er it digs in.


The views and opin­ions expressed above are those of the author, based on their obser­va­tions and experiences.

Sup­port the work of Jew­ish Book Coun­cil and become a mem­ber today.

Lesléa New­man has cre­at­ed 85 books for read­ers of all ages includ­ing the mem­oirs-in-verse, I Car­ry My Moth­er and I Wish My Father; the nov­el-in-verse, Octo­ber Mourn­ing: A Song for Matthew Shep­ard; the short sto­ry col­lec­tion, A Let­ter to Har­vey Milk, and the children’s books, The Bab­ka Sis­ters; Wel­com­ing Eli­jah: A Passover Tale With A Tail; Ket­zel, The Cat Who Com­posed; and Joy­ful Song: A Nam­ing Sto­ry. Her lit­er­ary award include two Nation­al Jew­ish Book Awards, the Syd­ney Tay­lor Body-of-Work Award, a Nation­al Endow­ment for the Arts Poet­ry Fel­low­ship, and the Mass­a­chu­setts Book Award. From 2008 — 2010, she served as the poet lau­re­ate of Northamp­ton, MA.