The Lives of Palestinians in the West Bank Are a Triviality to the Israeli Army That Lords Over Them -
I almost gave up on writing this piece. What's the point of it, I asked myself. Another story, another incident – not even one of the most violent we've seen. Nonetheless, maybe because so many invisible things are happening, maybe because every time it's possible we are obligated to testify, maybe because such testimony doesn't interest any Israeli court, I'm writing it anyway.
A month ago, I saw in a store, which brings olive oil from Nablus in the northern West Bank, that there was already olive oil from the new season. How can it be, I asked, the harvest has only begun. The seller explained to me that the owners of the grove decided to harvest early before the right time. They know it damages the product and will yield less revenue, but they have no choice, he told me, they need the money, they have no way to buy food.
Last Saturday I went to another olive harvest. In the group of activists, they asked if someone was willing to harvest in an area where there is a fear of settler violence. I remained silent. I hoped there would be other volunteers, I knew I couldn't handle it. I don't know if there were volunteers for that harvest, I went to the harvest on the "seam line," where, as they explained to us, confrontations were not expected with either the settlers or the army – in spite of the murder of a Palestinian woman in her grove about two weeks ago.
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We arrived at the olive grove with the owner – her husband wasn't given an entry permit (to his own land). She hired two Palestinian workers and hoped that together with us – about 30 volunteers – it would be possible to finish the harvest in one day. She asked us to be as careful as possible to harvest as thoroughly as possible, and to gather everything that fell on the ground. Her livelihood depended on it.
The grove is located near a settlement. It's an old settlement, authorized, moderate, not an illegal outpost. Religious and nonreligious families have lived together there for many years. It's possible to call it a community. Ten minutes after the harvest started, the settlement's security people arrived. They asked us to keep away from the community's fence. We didn't make a big deal out of it – the good of the harvest and mostly that of the grove's owners was more important. It's better to harvest what is possible with permission than to lose it all. We moved away as we were told.
We spread out the tarpaulins again and began to work. After half an hour, two young soldiers arrived, embarrassed – the truth is, my heart went out to them. They told us there was now a new order: The Palestinians were allowed to be on their land only Monday through Thursday. It was a mistake that they approved it for us, but that's the new law and it's obligatory. So they asked the three Palestinians to accompany them.
What do you do? It's not the time for a discussion about human rights, you do what you can. The Palestinians instructed us where the borders of the grove were, where to leave the harvest, how to use the electric shakers for the trees, and they "accompanied the soldiers." It's possible to say quite a lot about the feeling of standing and watching this picture, in which they separate the land owner from her land – I also thought about my farmer father at the same time, whether he would have agreed to leave. About the picture in which they say Palestinians, no; Jews, yes, I don't want to say a word about it, the picture is enough. They accompanied and we continued on.
An olive tree in the West Bank.Credit: Tomer Appelbaum
After 10 minutes, two men who looked to be in their 40s arrived, one in a white shirt and dress shoes, the other dressed casually. People who looked like family men, far from being hilltop youths. They tried to clarify with us all sorts of things related to our awareness of certain laws. I didn't get closer, and I mostly heard their tone. We had come to work and needed to stop. But mostly, I continued to work because it was peaceful for me. In those moments I needed, almost existentially, this quiet. In the end, they left.
Almost another half hour went by and young soldiers arrived again. Very young. They told us they had a new order from the commanding general issued in the last hour, declaring the area a closed military zone. We needed to leave.
It's possible to split hairs here, who gave the order and why, and how much were the two men from the settlement who'd come to the grove earlier were involved. But what was clear to us was that there was no danger to the settlement from our olive harvest – after all, the Palestinians had already "accompanied" the soldiers earlier – and no unusual military activity was planned.
The settlers on the hill, who live in pleasant coexistence between the religious and nonreligious, didn't like that we were there. I don't know what they liked less – the possibility of their neighbors making a living, or our solidarity with their neighbors. The bottom line was that they were the "land owners," and that's exactly what they showed us. They commanded and the army implemented.
Instead of the army's response, I'm quoting from the information sheet to the commander, the clarification of the instructions concerning access to the agricultural lands and closing areas. I'm only copying the highlighted words in order: "Obligation and responsibility to safeguard the rights of the Palestinians living in the space;" "one of the basic rights is the right of a person to access their land;" and "the guiding principle is to allow access."
Yes, I'm not naïve, and completely realistic, and the army knows, too, that all of us are opening our eyes, and it cannot really keep its word – after all it is simply impossible to safeguard rights. Here is the next sentence from the information sheet for commanders: "Do not prevent access of residents to their lands, unless the area is closed by a signed military closure order in your hands."
On Saturday, at 12 P.M., the order was ready. We planned on working until 4 P.M. The Palestinians, if they could, would return only on Monday under the new order. But maybe the area would remain a closed military zone until the end of the olive harvest? I don't know why, but when we left, I thought about the hostages, too. Those whose lives are subject to the decision of those whose lives come before everything else. They are the lords, they rule on the ground, they have clandestine and open access to the army, and they have a viewpoint on the present and the future. All the rest is trivial, the lives of others are trivialities, too.
Yael Shenker teaches, researches and writes about culture and cinema.