An Olive-Picking Weekend in Palestine

Palestinian farmer Abdel Hamid Sweity harvests olives from his trees in the West Bank village of Beit Awwa southwest of Hebron, near the Israeli separation barrier and the settlement of Sheqef (background), on Oct. 10, 2020. (AFP Photo)

In Palestine, the olive-picking season is one of the most significant cultural activities that brought communities together for generations. Under the shade of the olive tree, Palestinians gather to sing folkloric songs, prepare traditional fellahi (farmer) food, and pick as many olive trees as they can in one day.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve participated in the olive-picking season in Palestine. I was five years old during my earliest memory. Ms. Dalal, my KG teacher, invited us to her village of Biddu, 6 km northwest of Jerusalem. I vividly remember my excitement to discover olives, collect oaks in my pocket, and unintentionally fill up my shoes with soil.

As I grew up, I learned about a tradition connected to the olive harvest season, called Al-‘Una (العونة), meaning “Assistance”. When October nears, those who tend to many trees and lack the necessary human resource, call on members of the family or the wider community to help them during the season. Schools, universities, and even the government mandate days of leave for those who wish to participate in Al-‘Una.

In the West Bank, the seemingly never-ending Israeli military occupation and the ever-expanding Israeli settlement enterprise pose the biggest threats to the livelihood of Palestinian farmers who depend on olive trees for sustenance. The olive sector is worth between $160 and $191m according to PalTrade; mainly in the production of table olives, soap, and the finest extra virgin olive oil. Between 80,000 to 100,000 Palestinian families depend on olives as primary or secondary sources of income.

Since 1967, Israeli authorities had uprooted 800,000 olive trees; that is equivalent to 33x Central Parks according to an estimation by Visualizing Palestine. That caused an annual loss of $12.3M to the Palestinian economy. Today, settler violence causes the largest damage to the Palestinian olive sector.

Since the end of August 2021, Israeli settlers injured at least 22 Palestinians & ruined at least 1,800 Palestinian-owned trees. Therefore, I wanted to put my energy this year to participate in Al-‘una at Palestinian villages where farmers & trees are frequent targets to settler violence and vandalism.

Friday

Last Friday, I went with a group of friends to the village of Burin, south of Nablus. Burin is surrounded by a few of the notoriously violent settlements in the Nablus region. Those are Yitzhar to the south of Burin, Bracha to its north, and Giv’at Ya’kov on the hilltop northwest. All are modern built settlements, considered illegal under International Law, and lie within a few hundred meters surrounding the 855 years old village.

We were welcomed by Umm Musa who prepared tea upon our arrival. Some of us sat below the olive tree, and others started picking olives. However, less than half an hour later, we received call from friends who were on their way to join. They reporting encountering the immediate aftermath of a settler attack targeting a Palestinian woman and her child in Yasuf.

That was a 20 minute drive back on the same road we had arrived from. We reassured Umm Musa that we would be back shortly as we hastily took off. Upon arrival to Yasuf, I saw a car with smashed windows, rocks on the road, and the lone Palestinian woman who was already in tears.

Her name was Jumana Baker. She described how over a dozen Israeli settlers came down from the hill and attacked her. She was alone with a child. They pepper sprayed her face, threw the olives on the ground and stole ladders, tarps, and some of her personal belongings including a mobile phone and ID card.

Some of us then moved to confront the settlers who were still gathered on the hill a hundred meters away. Thats when four Israeli soldiers intervened to stop our approach. Realizing we outnumbered them, the soldiers moved to speak with the settlers and call on the police to intervene in a bid to show they control the situation.

The soldiers did not restrain or show force with any of the settlers, because their mandate permits force or violence only with Palestinians, not Israeli citizens. 30 minutes later, two Israeli police officers left with four settlers, presumably detained, promising they will “return Jumana’s belongings”. We do not have much faith in the police process, knowing it would be more of a show than actual accountability based on years of experience in the occupied West Bank.

Just then, Israeli officers from the civil administration arrived to notify us that our presence in the area was illegal due to it being a “closed military zone”. They informed us that olive picking would only be allowed when there is coordination with the military. They said Tuesday of that week was assigned for olive pickers in the Salfit & Nablus area, so that the Israeli military may provide “protection” form settler violence.

For us, it was an absurd situation. However, the Israeli officer was dead serious. In a way, it meant that Palestinian land owners could be open targets to settler violence when they’re on their land on any day. They demand that residents coordinate with the military so they would grant them only one day to collect their olives in safety. Ridiculous, I thought.

We left Yasuf after reassuring Jumana that we will be back the next day. Back in Burin, Umm Musa prepared different varieties of traditional food over the campfire as we picked her olive trees. We had one eye on the trees, and another on the hillside below Yitzhar, in case settlers show up. We completed well over 10 olive trees that evening, Umm Musa’s son would take the yield home on a tractor.

Before we drove home, we made a stop in Beita. There, we were told that olive pickers had been harassed and kicked off their land since the early hours of Friday morning. Israeli soldiers were stationed among the olive groves below the illegally established Evitar outpost. There was a constant stream of tear gas grenades being fired into the olive groves. Sound bombs were thrown sporadically throughout the hour, to remind farmers from Beita not to approach their olive groves in this area.

One of the Beita locals I was speaking to, Saqer, pointed my attention to the road we were standing on. He told me Israeli soldiers accompanied by a bulldozer came during the early hours of that morning and wrecked the whole road. Thus, it became inaccessible to all wheeled vehicles. This put more strain on the farmers who were suddenly unable to use cars or tractors to transport their yield of olives. The valley below us was large and had hundreds of olive trees. Saqer told me it would be days before Beita’s municipality manages to repair the road. It was an endless cycle of destroy & rebuild.

Saturday

On Saturday morning, we planned to go back to Burin. However, a phone call from a family in Yasuf altered our plans. We went back to Yasuf to support the farmers who feared for their safety. They saw crowds of Israeli settlers gathered on a hilltop 200 meters away, the same origin of those who attacked Jumana a day earlier.

Upon our arrival, we carried the tools and began collecting olives from the trees that the local family could not reach on their own.

Two Israeli soldiers kept insisting that we must leave the area, saying it is a “closed military zone”. However, we were in the company of the landowners, Ibrahim Hammoudeh and other members of his family. They insisted on the need to finish today because they’re unable to return on other days midweek. Their actual lives and careers cannot accommodate to the wishes of the Israeli civil administration (Occupation Authority).

As I picked the olives, I noted to Ibrahim that the fruit was relatively smaller compared to other olives in the area. He talked of how they are not allowed access to their land on most days of the year. The obstacles were settler violence and military closure orders. The landowners couldn’t tend to their trees that were lying within 500 meter radius from the settlement of Rehelim, established in 2002.

We managed to pick just around four trees before the two soldiers turned into a dozen. More soldiers arrived, including border police, regular police, and civil administration officers. They gave us 10 minutes to pack up all our equipment. They then proceeded to violently push all Palestinians out of their land, despite protest by the family members. On the street level, two police officers started handing out traffic violation tickets to each of our vehicles to pressure us to leave.

At noon, we arrived in Burin to work with a farmer who’s trees lied near Yitzhar settlement, a different hill from where Umm Musa’s trees were. He was grateful to have us join him as he feared he would be an easy target to settler violence had he been alone with his trees. We saw multiple dead trees around us, they all had been vandalized & burned dry. Our day was seemingly peaceful. We picked olives and left in the early evening.

As soon as we leave the area, I got a report that about a dozen settlers from an illegal outpost on the other Hill of Burin had come down to the village. They set fire near houses, burned olive trees, and threw stones at Palestinians. I watched the videos and felt dismayed. The location of the attack was within sight of where we had spent our evening picking olives. In the video, a soldier present in the area does not show any attempt to restrain the masked settlers or prevent them from hurling rocks at Palestinians. No arrests were made.

This is a reality Palestinian farmers are exposed to daily, its unpredictable and the occupation authority seem to allow it to happen by standing by idly. The frequency of settler attacks becomes at its worst during the olive harvest season.

During the olive-picking season this year, I am reminded by the fact we are always under attack. I am a Jerusalemite, I live in an occupied city. I witness and experience my fair share of injustice and violent suppression. Yet, every Palestinian has their own unique experience of life under occupation and apartheid. The story of the Palestinian farmer had been one of the most heartbreaking over the past seven decades. The cycle of suffering does not stop, from land confiscation, systematic persecution, to settler violence. However, Palestinian farmers are ones of the most steadfast Palestinians, and we always wish to be with them whenever they need our ‘una (assistance).