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Awoken suddenly by loud voices entering their tent, Musleh and his family found themselves confronted by five masked gunmen and one man dressed in army fatigues. It was one in the morning.
Musleh, his wife, and their young children had set up an encampment for the duration of the olive harvest on their land just east of Lower Yanoun. For the sake of convenience, they were living amongst their olive trees that needed to be harvested and pruned, rather than traveling back and forth daily from their permanent home in Aqraba. Working at a steady pace for the last month, Musleh and his wife bore the load of the labor while their children attended school during the day. Musleh projected that they needed ten more days to finish the picking.
With their identities obscured and large weapons in hand, Musleh was invariably at the mercy of these Hebrew speaking men. Told they did not have the right to be on this land any longer, Musleh's family was given three days to vacate the area. Otherwise, their lives would be in jeopardy.
This kind of night terror perpetrated by settlers from the outpost of Itemar settlement has not happened since the international presence was established in Yanoun. At one thirty that same morning, the International House in Upper Yanoun was targeted by those same masked gunmen, who made their presence known with a series of rocks thrown at the windows. Petrified by the unknown intentions of the settlers, the Ecumenical Accompaniers stayed low to the ground and waited out their night visitors.
Israeli police and military officials were contacted, the threats were not taken seriously and no immediate action to protect the family or to punish the settlers was taken.
Resolute to complete the olive harvest, with both their lives and livelihood now under threat, Musleh and his family continued to hastily pick and collect their olives for the next three days. Accompanied and aided by other local Palestinians, several Ecumenical Accompaniers and international volunteers, and a couple dozen Israeli activists, all of their trees were picked in time and without further incident. But, perhaps according to plan, the groundwork for instilling fear once again in the villagers of Yanoun has been laid.
"Come, eat and drink tea with us." The sun had just set on one of the final days of Ramadan, and throughout the quiet village of Yanoun families were gathering to break the day's fast with a shared meal. A large platter of rice and nuts, cauliflower, eggplant, and chicken was placed on the floor in the center of the room, surrounded by bowls of yogurt and soup, fresh radishes and onions, olives and ample bread. Everyone took a seat on the floor mats, Um Hani, the mother of the house, gracefully found her place and welcomed all to the meal. Drinks were poured and the evening's feast began quickly, everyone anxious to eat after fasting since sunrise.
Conversation, sweets, and tea followed. The children dashed in and out of the room, their laughter breaking up the more serious discussion of politics amongst the men. The women sat in a close circle around a tray of freshly picked olives, separating out the best for pickling, discarding the twigs and leaves, and leaving the rest for the olive press. Some green and others a deep purple, small signs of what is to fill their days to come. With the end of Ramadan, the olive harvest begins in Yanoun.
Yanoun is a small Palestinian village of 100 people, a predominately self-sufficient farming community nestled in the hills of the West Bank near Nablus. Olive trees fill the landscape; a rich brown soil at their base provides contrast to the green of their leaves and the blue of the sky. Grandmothers and grandfathers, mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, cousins and children all share this space- a strong family network that builds its future by passing on its traditions. The voices of sheep, bread baking in an underground oven, the sudden flight of a flock of birds, freshly brewed tea with sage, the cracking of almond shells- all sounds and smells that characterize this rural retreat.
The supposed tranquility of this place is severely interrupted by the presence of Israeli settlers who are living and working in an illegal outpost of Itamar Settlement located just above the houses of Yanoun. Their roads, buildings, and floodlights create a horseshoe shaped barrier atop the hills of Yanoun, leaving the villagers a single road out. In 2002, after five years of unrelenting harassment and attacks on the villagers, the settlers descended once again into Yanoun threatening the lives of the people and prompting the exodus of all residents. In the months and years that have followed the people of Yanoun have returned with the accompaniment of internationals and leftist Israelis. Since 2003 the Ecumenical Accompaniment Program in Palestine and Israel (EAPPI) has been fulfilling this mandate to maintain an international presence alongside the people, in order that they are able to continue living on their land into the future.
As the olive harvest begins possession, entitlement, ownership, and access to land are at the heart of the villager's daily routine. Despite dunams of land, certain groves, or even specific olive trees being in the family for generations- what determines whether or not these Palestinians will have access to their olives is the will of the settlers.
A deep metal tray brimming with rising bread dough in hand, Najiha emerges from her home, her youngest daughter, Taghred, by her side. She disappears around the corner for a moment, returning with a bowl of flour, ground from wheat grown in their fields at the foot of the village.
Just ten steps down from her front door lies a crude construction that houses her underground oven of hot rocks. With a stick she pushes aside the mound of ashes covering the oven's lid, this thick blanket of gray and red-hot has kept warm the rocks inside in preparation for the morning's bread baking. She takes a ball of dough, flattening it on a second tray, lifts it, and between her hands works it in the air, stretching it into a large round shape. With the oven's lid removed, she flips the pizza shaped dough onto the hot rocks, and replaces the lid.
While the first taboun bakes Najiha's husband, Kemal, arrives, a pot of freshly brewed black tea with sage in one hand and a plate of homemade sheep cheese in the other. Najiha places the chunks of cheese inside the oven at the edge of the baking bread and after some minutes hands her husband the cheese- browned on all sides and the warm taboun- its texture chewy where thick and crisp where thin. Breakfast is served.
Gathered around the outdoor oven on this Friday morning, a quiet start to a day off from school and work, a day meant to be shared with family. This morning's bread baking ritual began the night before as Najiha's eldest daughter prepared the dough, a straightforward combination of whole wheat flour, water, yeast, and salt kneaded for nearly thirty minutes and requiring obvious arm strength. Daily the women make seven or eight rounds of taboun, preferred by all to the comparatively pricey and tasteless white pita bread made in town.
As Najiha finishes baking her bread, Kemal's sister arrives ready with dough to make taboun for her family. The bread continues to bake, the women talk, coffee is poured, Kemal sings a song, his hum sustained, lingering in the air. With a glance into the distance, just above the smoke rising from his cigarette, Kemal's eyes settle on the Israeli outpost lining the ridge overlooking Yanoun. A momentary reminder that the villagers are not alone, a puff from his cigarette, and Kemal sings on.
As Najiha finishes baking her bread, Kemal's sister arrives ready with dough to make taboun for her family. The bread continues to bake, the women talk, coffee is poured, Kemal sings a song, his hum sustained, lingering in the air. With a glance into the distance, just above the smoke rising from his cigarette, Kemal's eyes settle on the Israeli outpost lining the ridge overlooking Yanoun. A momentary reminder that the villagers are not alone, a puff from his cigarette, and Kemal sings on.