Is it a military manoeuvre? No, it's olive harvest in Yanoun.
EA Lars Söderlund picking olives in Yanoun, 7 October 2008.
The District Coordination Office (DCO) in Yanoun.
A Landrover from the Israeli military District Coordination Office, the DCO, comes into the village of Yanoun. Three armed officers climb out of the car and look down the valley. They are pointing and giving directions and parameters. At the same time, troops are landing at the international airport near Tel Aviv. The last weeks have been filled with meetings for planning and discussions about strategy. Is a major military manoeuvre in progress?
No, it's olive harvest time. What is the Israeli DCO doing? They are travelling around the villages and telling farmers the dates that they are allowed to pick their olives in so-called "sensitive areas." The phrase refers to areas close to settlements or areas that the settlers want to claim as theirs. In these areas, it is the army that decides when it is time to pick the olives, not the farmers' preferences.
Since the time given for picking the olives in these sensitive areas is often too short, every extra hand that can be given is important to save the harvest; which is the basic income for many of the farmers. That is why troops of volunteers from all over the world come to Israel and Palestine: to pick olives together with the Israeli organisations that want to help with the harvest. One of "ecumenical" rabbis from different Jewish denominations who want to help the people in the societies that are vulnerable or threatened.
D-day is here. We are up early, together with the villagers, to be ready to begin picking. We have 10 days to harvest all the olives in the sensitive valley close to the settlement. At about eight o'clock, everybody is in place. Suddenly, a military jeep comes along the road. It turns onto the field and heads toward us. An officer opens the window of the car, puts his head out and screams at us:
"You have to leave this area before four o'clock this afternoon!"
Even the working hours are decided by the army.
I stay with one of the families together with my colleague to pick some olives. After a while my colleague and I decide to split up; she will stay with the family and I will walk further into the valley, closer to the settlement, to help the families picking in that area. I work my way slowly through the valley. I stay an hour here and an hour there, helping and becoming acquainted with various people.
About 1 km in to the valley, close to the settlement, I find some women on their own picking olives. I decide that this is the place to be. It has a good overview of the area and these are the people that seem to need my help the most. After about an hour, the DCO arrives in their Landrover. The driver spots me in a tree and hits the brakes.
"You are not allowed to be there!" he shouts through the window of the car.
I approach him and ask if it concerns the whole valley. He tells me that it is just that side of the road closest to the settlement that is a "no go" area for me. I have to move to the other side and abandon the women in their tree.
On the other side of the road, I bump in to a group from the Rabbis for Human Rights. I join them in their picking for a while. There I am, a Christian minister from a country in the north, together with a Jewish rabbi from Israel, picking olives for a Muslim family in Palestine. A moment of holiness fills my body. Perhaps it was meant to be like this in the Holy Land; that we help each other with our daily bread without considering race, religion or nationality.
It is now almost four in the afternoon; it is time to help the people out from the valley with their olives. I help them carrying the big sacks to the road and load them onto their trucks and cars. I follow the stream of transport out of the valley. The last truck in the line stops and picks me up to give me a ride back to the village. Just as we pass the entrance to the valley, I spot my colleague and the family she has been with during the day. I ask the driver to stop and I leave the convoy to join them. Their transport home has not arrived as planned and a time of anxious waiting starts. The family watches down the road to spot their tractor with the trailer that was supposed to come. The Ecumenical Accompaniers watch the hillsides to see if settlers are coming to harass or to steal the harvest. Every minute feels like an hour.
Then the tractor comes with its trailer. What a relief! We all load the trailer in a hurry. Up with the olive bags, up with the kids, and finally up with the rest of the family, and away with the transport. The kids stand on the trailer happily waving their hands, while the adults don't know how to express their gratitude toward us for our assistance and protection. Their faces glimmer with joy and thankfulness. There we are standing, my colleague and I, waving goodbye to the transport that is safely on its way home.
My arms are sore, my hands are bleeding, and I am just filled with joy!
