3 Years Ago My Family Harvested Olives, Not Knowing It Would Be the Last Time |
Struggle and Solidarity: Writing Toward Palestinian Liberation
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Every year, there were seasons and occasions that brought families together: holidays, Ramadan iftar meals, the end of the school year, and other gatherings. But for us, there was another season we looked forward to every year: olive-picking season.
Before the war, we always looked forward to the month of October. As the weather changed and the olives ripened, families prepared to spend long days in the fields. We would start before sunrise. It was still dark when we got ready to leave for our land.
My twin sister Alaa and I would go with our parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins. The night before, we would prepare the baskets and large pieces of cloth that we would spread under the trees. Someone would bring tea, while someone else would bring bread, olive oil, olives, and za’atar. Somehow, we always forgot something. For us, olive picking was part of the rhythm of our lives and family memories, a time we knew would return every year.
The last time my family picked olives together was October 6, 2023. That day, there was nothing to suggest that the season would be different. We went to our land as we did every year and spent long hours among the trees. Some of us collected olives, while others spread the cloths or gathered fruit from the ground. Then we put the harvest into bags. My grandfather was there with us, as he had been during previous seasons. We worked, talked, and ate together as the cloths slowly filled with olives. We did not think this day would become a memory. We thought the olive season would come again the following year. But the next day, the war began, and the olive season was no longer the same.
Olive picking was one of the few times each year when our extended family came together for a day. The work was tiring, but the day was filled with conversation and laughter. The men climbed the trees and used sticks to reach the branches, while the women spread cloths underneath and gathered the olives. During breaks, we sat under the trees, drank tea, and ate together.
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For Alaa and me, October had another meaning. It was our birthday month. On October 30, 2022, we celebrated our birthday on the land where we picked olives. Our mother made a cake, and we all sat together and spent the day there, surrounded by our family and the olive trees. It was a simple birthday, but having everyone together made it special. It was my last birthday on that land before the war.
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