Israeli Settlers Harvest Olives on Palestinian Land as Farmers Face Violence and the Loss of a Long-Standing Tradition

Ramallah, occupied West Bank – Video shared in Israeli settler groups shows two men striking an olive tree hard with long wooden sticks. They laugh and congratulate each other as they try to knock the olives to the ground. They call the result "pure olive oil."

But according to Palestinian activist Bashar Qaryouti, these two men own neither the land, the trees, nor the olives.

They are Israeli settlers who established an illegal settlement outpost on private land in the village of Qaryut, in the northern occupied West Bank, and entered this olive grove, about 200 metres from Palestinian homes.

"No one has come near here for about three years, thank God," one of the two men in the video says in Hebrew.

Local Palestinians know the man's name, and he does not try to hide it. He is Avichai Suissa, an Israeli settler sanctioned by the European Union, Britain – and previously the United States – who runs a farm at the outpost. The outpost was established more than a year and a half ago, and videos like this help Suissa raise funds for it.

On his campaign page, he says the goal is to rebuild and expand the farm, which was previously dismantled by the Israeli army, to prevent it from falling "into the hands of the enemy."

"We are gradually moving into this area," Suissa says in the video.

But the land belongs to Palestinians – residents of Qaryut – who have been unable to access it since the war in Gaza began in October 2023. "A few months ago, farmers tried to plough their land, but the army stopped them," Qaryouti said.

The worst year

"After we complained, the army declared the area a closed military zone a few days ago, so the settlers are moving to other land, to other olive groves, to steal," Qaryouti explained.

Suissa and others are part of a growing settler movement that has stepped up its campaign against the olive harvest. That campaign, part of a wave of settler attacks on Palestinians in the West Bank, has turned the October olive harvest into a time of fear and danger.

Many Palestinians in the occupied West Bank describe this year as the worst for settler attacks, and the harvest has only just begun.

On Wednesday, armed Israeli settlers on tractors attacked land between the villages of Ramin and Burqa, in the northern occupied West Bank. They opened fire on farmers on their way to their orchards.

Ali Bazzari, a 44-year-old farmer, was killed. His family says his only "crime" was trying to pick olives.

Witnesses said the Israeli army prevented ambulances from reaching the wounded. Palestinians had to carry the injured over the mountains to reach a hospital.

The Israeli human rights group Yesh Din says it recorded 109 incidents of violence directly linked to the harvest across 75 Palestinian communities between 27 September and 6 October, an average of 11 per day.

A long-standing tradition

Israeli settlers are increasingly trying to adopt the rituals of the olive harvest while pushing out the Palestinians who have preserved those traditions for generations.

Several new farms have been set up in the occupied West Bank. One farm shared video of olive pressing. Others invite Israelis to "join" the experience.

Palestinians say the viral videos show contempt for the true owners of land seized by settlers, and are a clear attempt to appropriate the harvest, imitate its rituals and claim them as their own.

Those rituals – such as communal picking, singing and eating together at the farm – stem from a deep connection to the land.

The olive harvest can be the most gruelling time of year for Palestinians, with heavy labour and long hours under the sun, but it is also a season of reward. Olive farmers traditionally gather their families, with neighbours and friends volunteering to help one another harvest, in a cultural tradition known as "ouneh."

The season also has its lighter side, with debates over which plot produces the best oil, who should fetch the highest price, and who can pick the most olives without letting a single fruit fall to the ground.

Older generations pass on lessons of history, such as the best time to harvest and how to care for the trees – knowledge inherited about the climate, the farming and the land itself.

"They planted so that we could eat. We plant so that they [will] eat," goes a well-known Arab proverb. It underscores the continuity of this heritage, and the responsibility owed to future generations.

The last harvest?

These trees, which are supposed to be protected, tended and handed down, are being taken away – not only by settlers but also by soldiers.

Hazem Sanaf, 61, stood on a nearby hill in the village of Beit Rima and watched an Israeli bulldozer tear up his land in late September, after he received an Israeli military order. The bulldozer destroyed and uprooted more than 400 trees belonging to Hazem and his neighbours, some of them decades old, and his only source of income.

"They just want to take our olive trees," he said, his eyes showing the pain.

Hazem is not alone. Many Israeli military orders requiring the uprooting of olive trees have been issued across the occupied West Bank. Some have been carried out, others are waiting their turn.

In the past, the Israeli army has cited the need to clear trees to prevent security threats or ambushes of soldiers. But Palestinians say this reflects a pattern of dispossession and impoverishment.

According to the Palestinian Anti-Colonialism and Wall Commission (CRRC), Israeli settlers and soldiers have destroyed about 50,000 trees this year alone.

Fuad Daraghmeh, from the village of al-Lubban Asharqiya near Ramallah, carried a thick broken trunk.

"I took care of it for 30 years," he said, walking home. He did not say what he planned to do with the trunk, but others said their trees had been uprooted before, and they had tended them back to life.

Others resignedly said goodbye to their trees. They sat beside bulldozed trees with small hand tools, picking the last fruits of a harvest they believe will be their last.

Palestinians have watched videos of settlers harvesting their olive trees, including the one shared by Suissa.

Beyond the pain, one remark keeps recurring: the way Suissa strikes the tree is not how a tree should be treated, and not how olives are harvested.

"People who have tended their land for decades know that," a Palestinian activist, who did not want to be named for security reasons, said.