When Hussam Abu Salameh received permission from the Israeli military to access the olive grove that has been in his family for generations, he decided to wait.
His land, located east of Jenin in the north of the occupied West Bank, is next to the separation wall, where he had previously been shot at by Israeli soldiers.
Since the wall was built by Israel in the early 2000s, farmers in Faqqua, a village surrounded by olive groves, cactus and almond orchards, were cut off from hundreds of dunums of agricultural fields and required to obtain military permits to access their own lands.
The Abu Salameh family had already lost 200 dunums in 1948, when the state of Israel was created, appropriating thousands of dunums of Faqqua’s farmlands.
“Even when they had already shot my mother and we were taking her to the car, they continued shooting at us”
Seeing that farmers in Faqqua were being allowed to pick olives in their lands near the wall after being denied access last year, Hussam thought it was safe to join them.
On 17 October, Hussam and his wife Hanan woke early for the harvest. They left their home at 7 am on their tractor, spread tarps under their olive trees, and started picking. Their son Fares joined them later in his car.
“We were told to stay away from the wall about 100 metres, and we did. But a patrol came and shot twice in the air as a warning, so we retreated about 250 metres,” recalls Hussam.
Not long after, a military truck reappeared and soldiers started shooting at Palestinians in their groves, despite the local council’s prior coordination with the Israeli army to allow farmers to pick olives near the wall that surrounds Faqqua from three sides.
“All my memories are with Hanan. She was always there, always with me… Without her, I can’t do anything”
“I took off my hat and started waving it to ask them to stop, but they continued firing live ammunition at us,” says Hussam. He took the olives his family had gathered to his tractor and was preparing to leave when he heard his wife calling out that she had been injured.
“We ran out to her and found that a bullet hit her in the chest. We carried her to my son’s car and called an ambulance,” says Hussam.
“[The soldiers] saw us harvesting olives for two hours before they attacked us,” says his son, Fares. “Even when they had already shot my mother and we were taking her to the car, they continued shooting at us.”
The family rushed to the nearest hospital in Jenin, but it was too late. Hanan Abu Salameh, a 59-year-old mother of seven and grandmother of 14, was pronounced dead upon arrival.
When we ask her husband to describe her, he hesitates. “Hanan was… she was everything,” he says, his voice breaking as tears begin to flow.
“All my memories are with Hanan. She was always there, always with me. She was my arm and my leg. Without her, I can’t do anything.”
Horror and grief
The killing of Hanan spread horror and grief through Faqqua. While the village has grown accustomed to army incursions, residents didn’t expect a family harvesting olives with military permission to be targeted so brutally.
“Everyone in the village knew Hanan and loved her,” says Ahmad al-Khatib, a neighbour and relative. “She loved people, loved to help people. It was a shock for everyone.”
The olive season in autumn used to be a time of joy, celebration and community, with families, friends and neighbours coming together to pick olives, drink tea and share food in orchards that have been passed down through generations.
But picking olives has become an increasingly dangerous activity. A sharp increase in restrictions imposed by the Israeli army has prevented Palestinians from reaching their ancestral lands.
While Israeli settlements expand, settlers regularly attack Palestinian farmers, steal their olives and agricultural equipment, and destroy their orchards.
Since October, the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs has documented 225 settler attacks during the olive harvest across the West Bank, with more than 2,500 trees burnt or sawed off.
As settler violence reaches record-high levels, UN experts warned Palestinians are facing “the most dangerous olive season ever.”
“Olives are our life”
Nearly half of all cultivated land in the occupied West Bank and Gaza is planted with olive trees, and around 100,000 Palestinian families are estimated to rely on these trees as a source of income.
“This land is a land of olives,” said Ahmad Ghazal, a 72-year-old farmer from Sebastiya, near Nablus.
He was harvesting olives from his grove when he was attacked by Israeli settlers from the nearby settlement of Shavei Shomron, built on lands confiscated from neighbouring Palestinian villages. The settlers attacked him with pepper spray and stole olives.
Since then, the Ghazal family has been unable to return to their groves.
“Olives are our life,” said Ahmad. He died a few days after the attack due to cardiovascular complications.
“My father spent his final days worrying about his land,” said Ahmad’s son, Rafiq Ghazal.
No hope for justice
Last year, Bilal Salah, a farmer from as-Sawiya, was shot dead by an Israeli settler while harvesting olives with his family. The settler who shot Bilal was detained and released a few days later.
The Israeli rights group Yesh Din found that fewer than one percent of complaints of violations by Israeli forces against Palestinians resulted in criminal indictments, while Israeli authorities closed 93 percent of investigations against settlers who attacked Palestinians without charging any suspects.
The Israeli army did not respond to requests for comment.
For the Abu Salameh family, there isn’t much hope there will be justice for Hanan. The killing of tens of thousands in Gaza by Israeli forces over the last year shows a complete disregard for Palestinian lives, they say.
“They want the land and want to expel us,” adds Hussam.
Human rights organisations and UN agencies documented how decades of impunity have led to unprecedented levels of devastation and abuse by Israeli forces.
A recent report by UN Special Rapporteur on the occupied Palestinian territory, Francesca Albanese, warned that the scorched-earth assault that has destroyed Gaza is now spreading to the West Bank. According to the report, the goal is the “full Israeli colonisation of Palestinian land while removing as many Palestinians as possible.”
The violence of Israeli forces and settlers and restrictions imposed on Palestinians during the olive harvest have devastated livelihoods.
Last year, more than 96,000 dunums of olive groves across the West Bank remained unharvested due to Israeli attacks and restrictions, resulting in the loss of 1,200 metric tons of olive oil, amounting to US$ $10 million.
But the olive harvest is not just a major source of income, it is also a powerful symbol of national identity. As a resilient tree with a long history of rootedness in the region, the olive tree represents Palestinian farmers’ deep connection to the land.
“These trees have stood here for centuries,” says Hussam, as he points to the olive trees in his backyard in Faqqua, next to a garden that Hanan tended.
“The sage and potatoes she planted are still here,” adds her son Fares.
Before we leave, Hussam gives us a handful of sage seeds and a small bottle of freshly pressed olive oil, from this season’s harvest that has cost his family so much.
“This is what Hanan used to do,” says their neighbour Ahmad. She would generously give away what she planted in her garden and the olive oil from her family’s groves.
Marta Vidal is an independent journalist focusing on social and environmental justice across the Mediterranean
