Final days

I've arrived home by now. I'm not sure what to say to sum up this trip as a whole - maybe the words will come later when my head has cleared. I've had a very powerful, altering and rich experience and hope that I remember every detail always.

I've learned that an international presence in Palestine is productive and important, but I've also been frustrated by the situation because Palestinians should be able to live their lives without the intervention of international or Israeli volunteers in everyday violence. And while I saw many positive things going on (ex. the village of 'Asira, meeting the son of my host family who was in prison during my trip last year, the work of photo and video projects for youth in Balata Refugee Camp, the fact that this is the first olive harvest in 6 years that someone hasn't been killed by violence), I noticed that the overall situation is much worse and desperate than before.

On my 2nd to last day picking olives I was in Qaryut again with the same family I had spent a week with (Salimon and Aziz who I wrote about in a previous post). In the morning the border police and army once again pulled their jeeps and trucks up to the settlement entry road and stood by, supposedly "protecting" us from confrontations with settlers. Within an hour 2 settler men showed up and one came down into the grove and yelled at us, "Go away, you're stealing! This is God's land! Go away!" The Palestinians continued to pick olives while the international and Israeli volunteers walked between them and him and said "No, you go away, you're tresspassing." His friend who had joined the soldiers and police up the hill called for him to come back, and he left. I watched them all talk and joke for a bit, before I returned to picking. Within 20 minutes the army decided that we were no longer allowed to pick olives so close to the settlement (we had picked closer in the days before), and forced us to leave. We negotiated for a bit and in that time were able to get a few more trees done, but eventually had to move further down the hill, out of their view. It's clear from our experience over the previous week that had the settlers not shown up to cause a problem, we wouldn't have had to leave. Here the army works for the illegal settlers, and their commitment to May's High Court ruling guarranteeing Palestinians the right to access their land and be free from violence, is merely minimal if at all enforced.





That evening, my first in Balata Camp, at the home of the family that hosted me last year, I layed awake listening to the dragging and crashing of an armored bulldozer driving back and forth directly in front of the house, wrecking the stairs and landings of the neighbors into the morning. The army has been in the camp every night lately, causing destruction and sometimes occupying homes and making arrests. Fayrouz, my friend and host sister, looked around nervously with her hands covering her ears, occasionally putting the blanket over her head. She is still traumatized from the army bulldozing her home in 2002 while she and her family were still inside. The sounds of bulldozers scare her and nobody in her family can sleep.

In the morning as I walked down the main street towards the market I counted a few new piles of rubble. I watched an elder man talk to himself and stare at his demolished stairs and I wish I had something consoling to say. But there isn't much to say to ease the anguish of knowing that you are living by someone else's rules and that at any time that someone could choose to exert their power even more, and end your home or life as you know it. Later that evening I visited the family of my friend Ruby, who's brother had been arrested that night without charges. While numerous soldiers pushed into her home and forced even the young children to line up and put their hands behind their heads, they searched the house and stole some gold jewelry that was being kept for a young girl.





I spent my last night by going to a DAM show in Ramallah, to celebrate their new CD. DAM is a Palestinian hip-hop group and you can learn more about them at their website. The crowd was more than halfway filled with teenagers and young children. I remembered what Ahmed from the Yaffa Cultural Center in Balata Camp told me days before, about how young people are hurting the most. He said they are becoming more violent, not listening to their parents, and they have nothing to do with themselves. I imagine that it must be a really positive and powerful thing to be able to see these guys perform their music with full Palestine pride, and to have an outlet for the troubles of everyday. I hope they all grow up to find ways to express theirselves and share their voices and experiences, through music, art, or anything.

I look forward to returning next year for the olive harvest, but I am reminded by these stories and my experience that what I'm really looking forward to is an olive harvest where internationals are not needed at all.

Keeling the spirit alive: villagers of 'Asira al Shamaliya take matters into their own hands

Olives, cleaned and ready for pressing in the next machine.

Kanaan Al-Jamal works in an olive factory in his village of ‘Asira al Shamaliya, and is part of a 10-person council that was recently formed to empower the local population by dealing internally with soldiers and other occupation-related problems. He is a hard-working and inspiring man who clearly loves his family, his village, and the land that they live on. He is also a strong organizer who’s passion for encouraging others to not just survive but to thrive, serves as a crucial and unique part of resistance to the occupation of Palestine.

On a rainy day with no farmers harvesting, I met Kanaan outside of the Al-Aqsa olive oil factory in ‘Asira, a large village of 12,000 that features some of the oldest trees in Palestine (some up to 2,500 years old!), for a tour and a glimpse into the workings of a village that decided they don’t need the help of internationals or Israelis to harvest. It was the most inspiring day I’ve spent in my 4 weeks here so far, and I won’t forget the determination and successes that I’ve been privileged to learn about. Many of the problems faced by residents of ‘Asira are related to the “security” of the military base on the mountain overlooking the village (the 2nd most significant one in the land), and restriction of movement due to hundreds of roadblocks.

We began by following the bagged olives from ‘Asira and nearby villages (those that can access the factory without passing through checkpoints) through the sorting, cleaning and pressing. The owner watched proudly as 4 internationals completed our harvesting experience by touring the factory and asking about the modern machinery, the process, and even tasting the freshly pressed oil. I was surprised to learn that the factory does not charge farmers money to press their olives, but instead keeps a bit of the oil to sell in exchange. I also learned that the factory runs on the fuel of burning mashed-up olive pits, providing economic and ecological benefits. Kanaan explained that it is impossible to count how many pounds are processed each day because the factory runs non-stop, but that when farmers see the results of their olives they are overjoyed.


The owner of the factory examines the finished product.

Kanaan described the problems that have affected the harvest for years in the village. Soldiers often chase families off their fields, and sometimes shoot tear gas into them and detain farmers. There have been hundreds of reports of this, resulting in many abandoned agricultural areas due to fear of violence from soldiers who claim they are protecting the military base. He painted a beautiful picture in our minds of what it is like to connect with your land and to spent time there with your family, teaching your children about their history and to love the trees because they sustain you and your way of life. He explained that when soldiers are violent they not only destroy the olives, but they smash and destroy everything – the farmers’ happiness about their hard work, their memories of great times spent in the fields, and the relationships they formed with their children that day – everything is destroyed.

He told us the story of a family that was stopped by soldiers at 5:30pm on their way home from the groves. They were happy, he said, as most are after a successful and safe day of work, thinking about the things they would be able to purchase with the money from the olives. The soldiers demanded to see what was in the bags on the back of the donkeys, and at first the women laughed because it was ridiculous to them to think there was anything but olives in them. Eventually a soldier took out a knife and slashed and dumped bag after bag of olives onto the ground, stepping on and smashing them. The women’s laughter turned to screams and crying, because there was nothing they could do. Kanaan said “I don’t know what kind of security measures these are when they smash olives.” The people of ‘Asira are strong and don’t give up, and in this story, like many others, the family returned back to the same land the next day to harvest again.

These frequent problems were the reason the village decided to form a new council, in which Hebrew-speakers came together to take matters into their own hands and confront soldiers who harass farmers. The council is currently made up of men, but they work closely with the 3 different women’s councils in the village. For one of their first tasks they spent 5 long days removing over 100 roadblocks in ‘Asira, so locals could move freely and once again drive tractors to their land. Kanaan described it as an empowering experience, in which many came out to support and watch, even those who were not doing the physical work.

But the acts of removing roadblocks and responding to problems with soldiers don’t convince farmers alone to return to their fields. The council and its amazing organizers like Kanaan, have worked hard to encourage villagers to live their lives as usual despite the years of setbacks and violence. They have made the decision that the people of ‘Asira will not coordinate with the army for permission to harvest their land, because doing so legitimizes the occupation. One tactic of the village that is endorsed by the council is to literally ignore the occupation forces. Kanaan explained that when he speaks to farmers he tells them that if soldiers say to leave, don’t leave. If they shoot tear gas or bullets, don’t leave. And the most important thing is to continue going to the land even when not harvesting, so the army is used to seeing people there who will continue to come back. They are also encouraged to bring food, make fires, and sing songs from “the old days”, to feel more connected to the land and not forget the importance of it.

And it has been successful. This year people were able to harvest land they hadn’t touched or visited in over 5 years, including some directly next to the military base. Kanaan and other committee members have successfully confronted soldiers, sometimes having conversations like “Do you need permission to go from one part of Tel Aviv to another? No, you’re free to go. This is our land, we’re in ‘Asira. So we don’t need permission to go to our land.” More often than not soldiers back off and/or the families continue to return anyway.

Returning to the land is important not just economically, but socially and politically. Kanaan said that it is a “fantastic thing to see people return back to normal life despite the occupation.” He described what a great feeling it is to be in the fields and hear elder women teach traditional songs to the children, and how important it is for the children to be in the company of the family and the land. He also explained that they learn and grow politically because when in the fields, the children are prone to asking questions about who planted the trees, how to take care of them, and why they can’t get to them all the time. His own children are concerned about being able to use their see-saw on the family’s land, and even at young ages make the connections between going through checkpoints and talking with soldiers to being able to play on this toy they love. Keeping this picture alive of families enjoying and taking care of their fields is crucial to Kanaan because he believes it "goes against army rules", explaining that the army is clearly out to destroy life, therefore enjoying it is resistance.

'Asira is currently planning an agricultural exhibition that will encourage locals and guests of other villages to utilize all of their land and not abandon it. It will feature camels, traditional songs and dance, food, olive picking and oil making, and more. The council is concerned that the sanctions on the Palestinian government that have left over a third of Palestinians without salaries, have resulted in too many people staying at home and not doing anything productive. They hope that the festival will not only encourage people to work their land often (like the roadblock removal encouraged many to access it again), but will also remind everyone how important this work has been throughout history.



Kanaan is a man who never forgets. He dreams of his village and people ignoring the occupation and getting on with their lives. He will organize until every farmer uses every inch of their fields, so there will be less reliance on Israeli food and products and a stronger, more sustainable 'Asira. I admire his commitment to "the old days", and as I watch his young son Majdi excitedly filter olives through a small press, I know that he will grow up fully understanding the history of his family and his role in it. This work of Kanaan, the council, and the villagers is an inspiring example to all Palestinians struggling under occupation. While there are internationals and Israelis available to help harvest or be present when needed, solving local problems with local people is such an important and crucial step in resisting the occupation, and should be supported as often as possible.

Photos from the invasion (and aftermath) in Ein Beit El Ma

The funeral of 26-year-old Baha' Salah Al-Khater.

An Invasion and Shaheed in El ‘Ein Refugee Camp

Today my morning began under siege in El 'Ein Camp ('Ein Beit El Ma) in Nablus, and ended sadly at the funeral of a 26-year-old.

As 10 of us international volunteers left at 6:30am to pick olives in 2 villages, we got a call that El 'Ein had been under siege since 2am, there was a shaheed (martyr), and at least one home surrounded by soldiers. We changed our plans when the health committee workers said they could meet us at the edge of the camp, and maybe we could help by entering under their escort and assisting to get people out.



When we exited the taxis we encountered 2 jeeps of soldiers who yelled and ordered us to get out and leave, and that we might get shot. We stuck as a group and walked past them, then proceeded down into the camp where we walked right past about 6 or 7 jeeps and armored personnel carriers on the main street, some with soldiers sleeping in the front seats. We stood between them and more jeeps and a bulldozer that were down the hill blocking another entrance to the camp, as the mosque announced and sung for the shaheed, and then the army announced a curfew.

We ducked into the narrow alleys following Nasser, a health committee worker, who brought us to various homes where he heard there might be sick people who want to get out, or places where we could get refuge to assess the situation as we heard banging and gunshots from the occupied homes. We knocked on the door of one home to retrieve a young boy and escort him to an ambulance, but the family did not answer and the neighbors told us there were soldiers in the house. In all, over 20 homes had been occupied, with many soldiers locking family members in one small room while they smashed the windows and created holes in the walls to shoot out of.





I sat for a bit in a home with the mother of 2 shaheeds while her son, a fighter who had been up all night trying to find a way out of the camp, put down his gun to hand us tea and oranges. When he coughed she pulled out cough syrup and instructed him to take it. While he sipped it from the cap I thought about the ways back home that people who try to defend their homes and families are demonized into terrorists, and meanwhile I was sitting with a mother weeping and praying for her son's safety, while he was drinking her cough syrup like a good son and serving us tea just like any caring and humane person would do. I wished that everyone I know could be there to witness this simple act between a concerned mother and her son.

We then went to a nearby home where an elder woman lived who had been sick for a long time, who we heard might need to leave to get medical attention. When we met her inside she was more concerned about the 3 young boys who were upstairs with the soldiers, who had barricaded the door to upstairs when they occupied the upper level of the home. An international woman knocked on the door and had a conversation with the soldiers, saying we wanted to see that the boys were ok because their family was worried about them. In response we were yelled at with threats of "Get the fuck out of here or we will explode this door and you will die! You have 30 seconds to leave or we will blow up the door! Get the fuck out or you will die!" My friend who had confronted them told me that the soldier who was yelling looked scared, and was clearly shaking. Another told us "Leave, get out of here, the boys are ok", but of course we didn't trust them and we remained.

Afew minutes later the 6 soldiers left that home, and we went upstairs with the family to see the boys and the destruction. They had smashed a hole in the wall to shoot out of, and pissed all over the bathroom floor. This was just the beginning of the awful home destruction I saw today, and I'm sad to say it wasn't the worst.





When we attempted to leave the house, the group of 10 was split deciding where to go, because gunshots and sound bomb explosions were close, and rocks were falling from roofs around our heads. We continued to duck into homes as some brave women of the camp led us in and out of alleys to try to access the first floors of homes that were occupied upstairs. At one point gunshots were fired by soldiers next door to us and I could see the dust flying where the bullets were hitting the wall above our heads. Some of us ran back into the house, and a few others wanted to leave to join more medical workers, but were stalled for a while because of shooting right outside the door.

Eventually we split into 2 groups – the other going back out to the edge of the camp to see if ambulances and medics needed accompaniment for injured people, and my group stayed inside with the family of the sick woman and the young boys. The internationals and the family sat around the walls of the sitting room, and for about 2 hours listened to intermittent gunfire and explosions outside. We also heard soldiers just outside destroying a wall that had a shaheed poster on it of Daoud, the son of the woman who's home we were in. She talked fondly of him and occasionally looked out the door to announce "Yes, the soldiers are still there."

Around 11am the soldiers left the camp and immediately we heard the bustling of children on the streets and in the alleys. We walked outside to see bullets and plastic pieces of sound grenades littering the streets. The 26-year-old shaheed, Baha' Salah Al-Khater, was carried through the alleys on a board held above the heads of his friends. He had been shot while crossing the street soon after the army entered the camp, and bled to death an hour later because the army would not allow medics to attend to him. This was the first time I've seen a dead body since I've been here, and it was sad and a little unnerving. Inshallah, it will be the last.





The other half of our large group came back to us, after escorting Al-Khater's family to see his body, which they reported was a very upsetting experience. As the group left, 2 of us stayed in the camp for another few hours to visit the homes that had been occupied and document the damage. If I posted every photo and told the story of every family I talked to (and had tea or coffee with) in those few hours, you might be reading this all day. I did learn that a 14-year-old girl had been shot in the leg by soldiers while she was sleeping in her home. When she screamed the soldiers threw a sound bomb through the window into her bedroom, leaving her younger sister temporarily deaf. I also saw a large hole that soldiers had made in one family's home with a sledgehammer, and then crawled through pussing a large heavy dresser onto the floor in the nieighbor's house. The dresser fell just moments after the women sleeping on the floor in that room heard the noise and quickly got out.

What sticks out in my mind the most and really illustrates the complete disregard of Palestinian lives by Israeli soldiers, are the couple-foot-wide holes made in homes like this, the small rooms that families showed me that their families were locked in for hours while soldiers shot out of their windows, shattered glass mixed with pieces of cement all over beds and sofas, a smashed family photo in a frame, an elder woman asking me "Why, why?" and young girls sweeping up the aftermath from the floor as I walked through their home with a camera. One family told me that 24 soldiers with large dogs took over their home, and another showed me where soldiers had taken the clothes out of every dresser and drawer and threw them into piles with glass and cement. Overall they had trashed over 20 homes, just as they treat the Palestinians in them like trash.





We ended up joining the funeral march as it passed us on the main street, and spent a while watching with the women of the camp as a beautiful song played from a taxi about a mother who didn't want her son to go out and fight. I didn't know the shaheed or his family, but as I watched them cry I felt oddly close to them and teary-eyed myself. In yet another home a family translated the television news update for us, which thanked the ejaneb (foreigners) who helped the people of Ein Beit El Ma Refugee Camp today. I felt sad, wishing that we had been able to do more, and not really sure what exactly we had done in the first place.

As we left the camp, a woman we had met at the funeral told us "We don't think you are friends of the Palestinians. We think you are Palestinian, because of the work that you do here." I don't know that I deserve such a sweet compliment, but I do know that I feel as protective of and concerned about the people who have welcomed me here and shared their difficult lives with me, as I do about my own neighborhood or community at home.

Dirt Mound Temporarily Becomes Law

On Wednesday I harvested in the village of Qaryot with another international and 2 Israelis, assisting 80-year-old Salimon, his brother Aziz, and his 27-year-old son Ahmed. We were greeted in the morning with a hearty "Buenos dias!" and warm smiles from the elder men. Both Salimon and Aziz have spent 20 years working in Brazil, and during that time were unable to come home to see their children grow up. Between them they have a very large family and over 1,000 trees in the area, which is sandwiched between a few relatively new settlements. One is called Gilad – an extremist outpost that is illegal even by Israel’s standards.



Salimon and Aziz are friendly men of few words. We spent the day communicating through a bit of Arabic and also Spanish and Portuguese, which both men and some of the volunteers happened to speak. Salimon, who’s hospitality is in true Palestinian style, watched us carefully and often re-lit the cigarettes he handed out, which must have gotten damp at some point. Aziz spent the day pruning the trees silently with his small saw, occasionally saying “Aaaiiii-wwaaa, tamam” (yes, exactly) and “Bueno” (good), when he cut a branch down and volunteers began to pick olives from it.



Earlier in the week settlers hiked down the hill to throw rocks at Palestinians harvesting in Qaryot, sending 1 man to the hospital with a head injury. Many families were afraid to return to finish picking, but the brothers who have land in the most dangerous area, were determined to finish. We began the morning picking close to the settlement road. Within 10 minutes we were approached by 3 soldiers and 3 border police, who told us that we needed to stop for the day. After asking to see a court order that stated so, we were offered no paper order or explanation except that “someone is coming with a map”. The brothers returned to picking and the volunteers attempted to join them. The soldiers demanded that we stop and not touch any olives until more of them arrived with answers to our questions.

Eventually more vehicles of soldiers, border police, and a military lawyer showed up who also could not answer our questions, and as we stood around waiting and wasting precious picking time, they pulled out a map and started arguing over what to do. The founder of an Israeli human rights group with experience in the area showed up after our phone calls, and negotiated with them over the apparent land dispute that began recently when settlers created a dirt mound roadblock in order to claim some of the land as their own. Even one soldier stated to the others “It’s obviously Palestinian land, let’s just let them stay”, but it was decided that we were only allowed to harvest on the other side of the roadblock for the day, closest to the village.



Following the lead of the elders, we agreed and moved to an area that was not disputed to continue picking, which felt frustrating since the trees are 100s of years old like the village, and the settlement is only about 20. Even though some of the soldiers and police disagreed with each other about who the land belongs to, the message this situation sends is pretty clear: that it is possible for a simple mound of dirt placed in the road by extremists can in fact throw legal borders into upheaval, effectively blocking the rightful owners from accessing and harvesting it.

The next day we met Salimon and Aziz again, and after a successful negotiation on behalf of the human rights group, we spent the day picking olives beyond the roadblock, on the disputed land directly next to the settlement road, this time with more volunteers due to the high risk of attack. Throughout the day about 2 SUVs and jeeps full of soldiers and police watched us from a short distance. They claimed it was for our protection, but were clearly facing us and watching with binoculars, not the settlement.



Eventually Aziz picked up his tarp and bucket and walked right over to the settlement entrance road, a couple feet from the fence of guard dogs and about 200 feet from the nearest home. This is the closest to a settlement that any family I’ve been with over the last week and a half has dared to work. I get the impression that Aziz is not scared of anything, even though he said that most of his children are afraid to come harvest the land with him. The soldiers and police pulled their vehicles up right next to us, but we ignored them and continued picking until the brothers decided they were finished with the area for the day.

We returned to the village piled onto a tractor with the large bags of olives. Aziz’s koffiyeh blew in the wind as he smiled and waved to greet neighboring farmers, as Salimon rode ahead on his donkey. Ahmad reported that we had picked a few hundred kilos of olives, and thanked us warmly for our presence. In the following days we will continue to have an international presence in Qaryot, until all of the olives are picked.

Harvesting post-attack in Azmut

On Saturday, during a settler convention at the Elon Moreh settlement that overlooks Azmut and a few other Palestinian villages, about 25 settlers came down the hill to the groves and threw rocks at families and internationals who were harvesting. I was not there, but feel free to read the report from folks who were (and see the photo of soliders standing by and doing nothing while settlers throw rocks).

I spent the next 2 days harvesting in that village. The DCO was called after the attack and granted the families access and protection to their land for the next week. The villagers are still shaken by it, and hurriedly trying to finish the harvest before the official coordination ends.

Our first task was to pick up the previous day's work from the mud, which had been dumped out by the settlers. It felt infuriating to have to re-pick olives for this reason.


Children of Azmut pick olives from the mud that were dumped by settlers.


One of the families I worked with, picking olives on dangerous land, in view of the settlement.


After the first day of "coordination" post-attack, women of Azmut walk home after a peaceful day of work.

Some photos from this week

Amer harvests from a 600 year old tree in the village of Tell.


My new friends in Tell!


Harvesting on the hill overlooking Huwarra village (overlooked by Yitzar settlement).


Huwarra checkpoint, south of Nablus.

Negotiating Daily Life: Land Access and Checkpoint Encounters

During this last week while I’ve been picking olives in the Nablus area with Palestinian families and occasionally encountering/confronting soldiers, I’ve been thinking a lot about the role of negotiation in daily life here in Palestine, and also about the role of internationals in that. I often find myself in situations where Palestinians ask for us to talk with soldiers in order to help them gain access to a place, but I’m concerned about how this sometimes could be seen as supporting the occupation. Here are some examples of situations I’ve been in recently.

Aside from going through checkpoints, one of my first contacts with soldiers this week was during my 3rd day of harvesting, in the village of Tel. The reason that the group of 4 internationals went there was because the farmers often have problems crossing the settler road that cuts between the village and most of the agricultural land. Although Palestinians have the right to access their land, this village had reported recent incidents of denied access.

In the morning we headed down the hill towards the road, a large and lively group of families and donkeys, and just as we began to cross a jeep of 4 soldiers pulled up and ordered everyone to stop. The 20-minute conversation between the soldiers and us internationals was something to the effect of them telling us they knew that the farmers had the right to cross the road, but insisted they needed to see the IDs of the 4 of us plus some young men. We tried to reason with them, asking that they let the farmers go ahead, but they wouldn’t budge.



It went on and on like this for a while. The soldiers took the huwwiyas (ID cards) of 2 young men, and claimed they had to check on them. Eventually the villagers decided to turn back and take another route to their land, through a drain pipe under the road. Some farmers explained that the soldiers often deny them the right to cross the street, telling them to instead go under it in this way. I don’t know what the point of this is other than to make life more difficult for Palestinians.

When we were told that we were cleared to go we informed the soldiers that we would stay with the 2 men who’s huwwiyas they had, until they were finished with them. They seemed surprised by this and immediately returned them to their owners, clearly not actually needing to check up on them.

In this case I wondered what might have happened if we weren’t there, and my question was answered the next day when our contact in Tel called to report an incident in which soldiers held some farmers who were not accompanied by internationals for over an hour, and dumped a few bags of picked olives onto the ground. I’ve learned this week mostly through the incidents in which we are not present, that the high court decision about farmers’ rights to access their land safely is only selectively enforced. At the same time, it never feels good to try to negotiate with soldiers for rights that Palestinians already legally have, even if it works at the time.

On Saturday evening on the way home from dinner we got a call that Sabatash (17) checkpoint on the outskirts of the city was closed and about 200 Palestinians were waiting in the rain and cold. Thinking we might be able to change the situation, we headed over there at 8:45pm. We arrived to a tense situation of about 12 packed taxis and busses in line and over 100 men in the street waiting, as the soldiers had blocked the checkpoint with razor wire and were just standing around. It was dark, raining and cold, and the watchtower was shining a spotlight all over the crowd. People who had been there since 2pm told us about an incident earlier in the day when a man was shot in the leg for verbally defending a woman who was touched by male soldiers after refusing to lift up her shirt (Read more about this incident in an article by Amira Haas). Nobody had been allowed through the checkpoint ever since.

The 8 of us walked up to the checkpoint, and a few crossed the razor wire against the soldiers’ orders to go back. We began talking with them, asking why they wouldn’t let anyone through, and trying to appeal to them by explaining that many had been waiting for over 5 hours in the cold and rain. It took a lot of talking and complaining and negotiating, but within 20 minutes the soldiers agreed to allow the women through, then the university students on busses, the trucks, and finally after 2 hours the shebab (young men).

While it’s clear that the presence of 8 American and European activists was a positive force in changing the situation (after nearly 7 hours of closure, they reopened it within 20 minutes of our arrival and confrontation), it does not remain in my mind as a success. As we left I felt uneasy, thinking about all the times we aren’t able to be there to make changes, and then reminding myself that relying on our presence as internationals in order to open checkpoints, grant land access and provide protection, also isn’t a solution to the problem. In fact, it makes me feel even more a part of this brutal occupation.



The next day we were called back to "Sabatash" and told it was once again closed. When we arrived it was moving, but slowly. We decided to leave but in the meantime realized that the soldiers were not going to let a group of women walk through - they demanded that only people in cars could go. This is a difficult place to get a taxi and it was cold out, so we tried once again to negotiate them through. A soldier told us he needed to stick by his orders, and couldn't in his conscience allow them through. Most of our responses to him went something like "But isn't it worse to have on your conscience that you made a group of women with small children stand in the cold?", and "How would you feel if someone made your mother or sister do this?". Eventually we suggested that the soldiers get a taxi so the women could go through, and they agreed. We left feeling infuriated that it took international activists relentlessly making suggestions and bothering them, to get the soldiers to actually do it. And once again our involvement made a small change in the situation, but not in the occupation or this all-to-common process.

If I am in a place where I am asked by Palestinians to try to make a difference, and my negotiating or confronting soldiers can make a situation even temporarily better, I of course feel obligated to do it. Meanwhile I struggle with my part in creating expectations that Palestinians (or internationals) must negotiate for rights that are either already there on paper, or should be. This is also not a sustainable solution, and I hope that we can all continue to use various tactics in order to directly challenge the occupation, even while trying to maintain a basic level of dignity here in daily life.

Settlers affect olive harvest in Huwarra

On Friday and Saturday I accompanied a family from Huwarra village in the Nablus municipality to harvest their olives on the hill under Yizhar settlement. Sabeh’s family has not been able to harvest their trees for at least 5 years, due to violence from Israeli settlers and problems from soldiers. I accompanied him and his son and daughters along with another ISM activist and on one day some Israeli volunteers as well. By the way they interact it is clear that Sabeh loves his children a lot and the family enjoys spending time together with their trees.

Because he has been unable to access this land for so long, Sabeh’s 13 to 50-year old trees are overgrown at the bottom and difficult to access without cutting off the scratchy, dead branches. Some look more like bushes than trees, and our hands and arms are all scratched up. The children asked why the trees were so ugly and if they could return to the grove every day as they used to, but at this point is it difficult for him to make it to the trees even once per week. We only rarely encountered large, healthy olives and so we discussed how the years of inaccessibility have harmed the overall results. This is an all too common problem in the Nablus region, with violence or denied access from settlers or soldiers negatively affecting the farmers’ yields.



The grove is situated on the hill under Yizhar settlement, in a vulnerable position near a tent that settlers use as an outpost, and only 150 meters from the nearest settler houses. The hill overlooks Huwarra village and the checkpoint south of Nablus that it is named after, as well as villages and settlements on surrounding hills. It is both a gorgeous and disturbing view.

On Friday during the lunch break we observed soldiers patrolling the top of the hill for at least an hour, and other figures standing around the tent, possible settlers. I walked with the other volunteers to a clearing and watched them for a while, ensuring that our presence was also noticed. I returned at night glad that we hadn’t had any problems and that the day had gone easily for everyone. A friend reminded me that this was probably the case because of our presence, but didn’t know if I could be so sure. The next day I realized that you never know for sure until something happens when you’re not there.

On Saturday the group moved a bit farther down the hill to harvest, not as close to the settlement. Partway through the day we encountered a couple of families rushing to leave. They had been working above us at the top of the hill, when a few settlers came at them with guns pointed, shouting to go away. They quickly left, but the family I was with decided to stay, although we all began to work twice as fast after that incident and glanced up the hill every few minutes.



Around 3pm it was announced from the Mosque that the water in the village of Huwarra has been shut off, due to a lack of funds to pay the water bill. The family we worked with noted this quickly and then continued to pick olives, like it was a common occurrence or not surprising to them.

By the end of the day we hadn’t forgotten about the armed settlers, but everyone laughed and joked as we neared the end of the picking. Aside from the threats to families working without international and Israeli volunteers, these 2 days of harvesting were a success, and this family’s ability to take care of their trees will allow for higher quality olives next year.

Olive harvest in Iraq Burin

On Tuesday, 5 international activists accompanied a Palestinian family in the village of Iraq Burin to their olive groves for a productive day, without problems. Iraq Burin is a small village in the Nablus region with a population of about 1,000, situated on a large hill. The 30 dunams of olive groves that belong to Abu Haytham and his family are a short walk and visible from their home, but the Israeli army has recently bulldozed a road through the land so the soldiers can easily access them. He reported that they often face problems from soldiers who come by to keep them from harvesting.



This year’s harvest in Palestine began officially after the 3-day celebration of Eid-al-Fitr (which signifies the end of Ramadan) and a few days of rain, which many cheered on as good for the olives. During the harvest, international activists and volunteers accompany and assist Palestinians whose groves are threatened by violence from Israeli settlers or denied access from soldiers. In the ISM (International Solidarity Movement) apartment in Nablus’s old city, we divide into affinity groups each evening in order to cover the most villages in the district the next day. Currently we (and Palestinian farmers) are experiencing a serious lack of people-power. Ideally about 20-25 volunteers could cover the Nablus district, and currently we have 10. Every day villages ask for us to come work with them, and the coordinators must make decisions based on need, meaning that we go to the places that are the most dangerous for Palestinians to harvest in.

According to the Israeli High Court of Justice’s ruling on July 26, 2006, regarding the right to access agricultural lands, Palestinian residents of the West Bank have a right to access their property, and military commanders (army or border police) are obligated to protect that right. Commanders are also obligated to protect farmers and their property from attack. This ruling came in response to a petition that addressed serious violations of these rights on behalf of the occupation forces and settlers. Palestinians do not need permits from the DCO (Distric Coordination Office – the civil branch of the occupation in the Occupied Territories) in order to harvest their land.



The day of harvesting in Iraq Burin proceeded without incident from the occupation forces. We volunteers, together with Abu Haytham and his family, had picked 300 kilos of olives by 2pm, and well over that by the time we stopped at 4pm. Abu Haytham sends all of his olives to press for oil, and explained that 4 kilos of olives can make 1 liter of oil. We picked today alongside the military road that soldiers use to drive by his land, and everyone was in high spirits. In true Palestinian style, we often stopped for tea and coffee breaks in the field, in which we learned more about this family.

Abu Haytham is the headmaster of a school in nearby Sarra, a larger village. He also teaches Arabic there, to students aged 6 to 12. Since the start of the school year, the first week of September, most teachers in the West Bank have been on strike to demand back pay and a return of their salaries, which stopped when the Hamas-led government was stripped of aid by the US and the European Union in the spring. Everywhere I’ve gone this past week I’ve meet children who are not in school (with the exception of some who go to private Christian schools, for example) and teenagers complaining that they are bored. Education is so important in Palestine, and for many young people, this break in their studies and abundance of free time is a problem. He explained that he went to the school yesterday to call teachers to come in, but nobody did.

Each time one of us climbed onto a thin or unsteady branch to reach the high-up olives, Abu Haytham told us to be careful in his own warm way, shouting “Hospital strike! Hospital strike!” joking that the hospitals may strike too, and if we injure ourselves we can’t get help.



He explained though, over a cup of tea (the 4th or 5th of the day) that all Palestinians are struggling together, regardless of political party. This was illustrated through the day aswe met 2 friends of Abu Haytham’s: one a Hamas member who rode by on a donkey to say hello, and another who stopped by from the neighboring village of Tel – a member of the security guard force for Abu Mazen (president Mahmoud Abbas) who is angry at Hamas because he has not been paid in months. He also explained that there are 3 families in Tel that need international support to harvest their land by settler roads, and so we agree to harvest in Tel tomorrow.

Abu Haytham was imprisoned once for 2 years, and his home is still riddled with bullet holes from an attack by 80 soldiers a few years ago, in which they destroyed everything in his house and arrested all of his sons, only to let them go the next day, explaining that they had no reason to do this and were sorry they made a mistake. He said that he is not afraid of the army though, and that he tells them often when they try to control access to his land that Palestinians love all people in the region. He mentioned this about 3 times today, adding that our various governments (all of us volunteers are from the US and Europe) believe that Palestinians are hateful killers. He insisted that this is not true, and as usual we explained that we know and understand, while promising to tell this to everyone who will listen at home and to bring even more volunteers back next year for the harvest.

Olive harvest 2006 begins

On Friday, a friend from Boston and I went to the village of Beit Duqqu to assist a Palestinian family with harvesting their olives. I am about to accompany farmers in the Nablus region for a few weeks to do this same work, but in areas where access to their olive groves is threatened. In this case the family we worked with did not need a permit to harvest their land, and did not risk attacks from settlers. Basically we were helping to provide some labor, and in the process getting to know about the situation of this very friendly family.

Laura, their 24-year old daughter and university student studying teaching, explained that her parents are both doctors by trade, and that their 5-year old grape vines and olive, apricot and pomegranate trees provide the family with enough food that they don't need to buy much.

Beit Duqqu is a beautiful village close the the border of the Ramallah and Jerusalem districts and it's land is currently being threatened by the wall. From the hill we worked on we could see buildings that are part of a brand new Israeli settlement. Laura explained that the land was recently stolen from a family in the village, some Palestinians were killed in the process, and then the new settlement construction began.



Here are photos from the day of harvesting.