Israel's Olive War aims to uproot more than just trees
The olive tree is no longer just a source of sustenance for West Bank Palestinians, but a silent witness to their profound struggle between permanence and erasure
Lina Jaradat
Israel's Olive War aims to uproot more than just trees
The olive harvest in the West Bank has long been a seasonal ritual that anchors rural livelihoods and cultural continuity for thousands of Palestinian families. And while Israeli settler attacks on olive trees are not something new, this year has witnessed an alarming escalation of violence, both in scope and in scale.
What was once a period of abundance has now turned into a dangerous gambit, as Palestinian farmers are afforded almost no protection. No longer a pastoral tradition, the olive harvest is now an existential struggle.
Beneath the surface lies a suffocating crisis, as three main sources of Palestinian income have been severely disrupted: public sector salaries have been delayed or suspended, tens of thousands of labourers have been denied entry to their workplaces inside Israel, and commercial activity between the occupied West Bank and Israeli cities has dropped sharply. Within this context, the annual production of olive oil has become the last financial lifeline for many families, yet even this is in the sights of Israeli settlers and soldiers, in what some now call ‘the Olive War’.
This year’s harvest coincides with a fragile ceasefire in Gaza, yet the reverberations have been most deeply felt in the West Bank. Human rights organisations and local activists have documented an unprecedented rise in settler attacks on dozens of Palestinian villages near illegal Israeli settlements. Farmers have been prevented from reaching their groves, assaulted while harvesting, and subjected to crop theft, arson, destruction of agricultural equipment and, in some cases, live gunfire as reported in Tubas Governorate in the northern West Bank.
Alongside settler attacks, the Israeli military has closed roads, conducted raids, and imposed restrictions that sharply reduce the time that Palestinians have for harvesting and transporting olives to presses. The resulting delays have caused significant losses, denying hundreds of farming families access to their land. In many cases, the Israeli army has instead prevented Palestinian farmers from accessing their groves.
Muayyad Shaaban, head of the Palestinian Commission Against the Wall and Settlements, said Israeli forces and settlers had carried out 340 attacks on olive harvesters since early October, with 92 incidents involving movement restrictions and intimidation, plus 59 cases of physical assault. Shaaban described this olive harvesting season as the most perilous in decades, adding that the army and settlers were exploiting wartime protocols to escalate their aggression, with settler militias now armed and shielded from accountability.
He also drew attention to the systematic declaration of ‘closed military zones’ on agricultural land, which he said was designed to create a climate of fear and gradually depopulate Palestinian rural areas. According to Shaaban, 125 attacks this season have targeted olive-cultivated areas, with incidents of uprooting, vandalism and bulldozing.
This year's Palestinian olive harvest has experienced the highest level of settler violence in five years
The United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs
Increasing violence
The United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs confirmed that this year's Palestinian olive harvest has experienced the highest level of settler violence in five years. Settlers from newly created outposts have imposed access restrictions on agricultural fields across numerous locations. In the West Bank, around 650,000 Israeli settlers live in 147 settlements and 271 outposts.
A settler group known as Hilltop Youth has become notorious for orchestrating violent assaults against Palestinians, including the torching of Palestinian homes, vehicles, mosques and agricultural groves. They have also destroyed solar panels, water pipes, and farming tools, and assaulted Palestinian farmers. In some instances, Palestinians have been shot.
One incident recorded on video illustrates the brutality. A masked settler armed with a club studded with metal spikes is shown attacking an elderly Palestinian woman, Afaf Abu Alia. The attack took place on 19 October near Turmus Ayya, east of Ramallah. The assailant also attacked two international volunteers, breaking the arm of one.
Abu Alia, from the village of Al Mughayyir, told Al Majalla that they arrived at the grove around 8am and began harvesting. "We had no idea settlers were hiding among the trees," she said. "They ambushed us. One of them struck me with a club embedded with nails on my hands and my head. In that moment, I was certain I would die. I fell to the ground and lost consciousness. I woke up in the hospital." She spent four days, and the psychological trauma remains acute.
For many Palestinians, the Olive War represents a new form of silent warfare that blends economic pressure with territorial control. It signals what appears to be a shift in Israeli policy in the West Bank. Palestinians interpret this shift as a move from military oversight to systematic impoverishment, weakening Palestinians' rural life and destabilising the relationship between farmers and their land. The aim, they think, is to make agricultural life increasingly unsustainable.
Systematic campaign
Fayyad Fayyad, head of the Palestinian Olive Council, told Al Majalla that Israeli authorities were deliberately trying to eradicate Palestinians' olive trees, and that since 1967, Israel has destroyed nearly a million olive trees in the West Bank. Between 2010 and September 2025, he said more than 250,000 trees were uprooted, and that since October 2023, a further 56,000 had been lost.
One of the most devastating episodes occurred in August when Israeli forces and settlers uprooted 10,000 olive trees in a single day in Al Mughayyir. The village's cultivated area fell from 25,000 dunums (most of it planted with olives) to fewer than 1,000 dunums after extensive land seizures. "The scale of settler attacks on olive trees and farmers has quadrupled this year," Fayyad said.
"In addition to destroying trees and equipment, the attackers now steal harvested crops, agricultural vehicles and even the animals used to transport olives from groves to homes or presses." He added that olive oil production would fall from 22,500 tonnes to 7,000 tonnes following Israeli restrictions and violence.
Palestinian Agriculture Minister Rizq Salimiya has described this season as the worst in 60 years, with the impact felt not just in the West Bank. During the two-year war in Gaza, the Israeli army deliberately targeted olive groves, Fayyad said. Of the one million trees that once flourished in the Gaza Strip, only 100,000 remain, with 35 of Gaza's 40 olive presses also destroyed.
A Palestinian man drags a branch of an olive tree, which was uprooted by Israeli bulldozers before the olive season, in the Suruj area near Jenin in the Israeli-occupied West Bank, on 11 September 2025.
Settler assaults on olive groves and on the farmers who cultivate them have created a deep fear, especially among the elderly, women, and children. They know that the journey to their groves is now a dangerous undertaking, yet the symbolic importance of the olive tree compels many Palestinians to turn the harvest into an act of civil resistance. Each tin of oil produced and stored becomes a vote for presence and a quiet affirmation of rootedness.
In this sense, olive oil is more than an economic asset; its production challenges the coercive systems that Israeli occupation imposes on the daily lives of tens of thousands of Palestinians. In Area C, which is fully controlled by Israel and constitutes 60% of the West Bank, a farmer's physical presence on his land is no longer simply agricultural; it is political. Any absence caused by fear or military closure creates an opportunity for settler groups to fence off the land or cut new dirt roads.
Restrictions on access during the olive season are part of a wider strategy to reshape land tenure and agricultural practices, particularly near bypass roads and expanding outposts. Harvesting in many areas now requires careful coordination, including advance teams, lookouts, assigned roles, and constant vigilance. In towns near newly established outposts, those leaving for the groves need to consider who will watch out for soldiers or settlers. Harvesting has gone from a communal ritual to a tactical operation.
Economically, olives serve as a form of savings. They provide liquidity, help secure food supplies for households, and create reserves for winter expenses and school fees. When harvest days are lost due to violence or closures, the consequences are severe. Workers must still be paid, even when yields are down.
Pressing is delayed, which increases the acidity level in the olives. In regions such as Beit Jala, near Bethlehem, and Deir Dibwan, near Ramallah, where the oil is especially prized, every hour counts. A family that could typically expect up to 40 tins of olive oil may end this season with no more than 25. The shortfall can determine whether they can pay the rent or meet tuition fees.
Settler militias now monitor Palestinian social media accounts to track harvest activities in Area C. Events that involve international volunteers are particularly targeted. On 23 October, Hilltop Youth issued online calls to disrupt a planned harvest in Birzeit and Atara, north of Ramallah, where European consuls and foreign activists were due to attend. Drones are sometimes used to monitor, intimidate, or harass harvesters, as documented recently near Nablus.
An Israeli soldier stands guard as Palestinians walk to enter their land to harvest olives during the annual olive-picking season, near Nablus in the Israeli-occupied West Bank, on 4 November 2025.
Lack of protection
Under the Fourth Geneva Convention, the occupying power is responsible for safeguarding civilians and their property. This includes ensuring safe access to agricultural land and prosecuting acts of settler violence. Yet Palestinian farmers say Israeli authorities do not act on their complaints, which are dismissed owing to what Israeli officials describe as 'insufficient evidence'.
The growing frequency and severity of settler violence have intensified pressure on Palestinian security forces and the Palestinian leadership in Ramallah to protect farmers and secure their livelihoods, yet there has been a complete lack of action. This has led to widespread frustration. For many, it is a cause of embarrassment.
This year's olive harvest in the West Bank is no simple seasonal custom; it is a test of Palestinian resilience against a complex system of dispossession, intimidation, and economic pressure. The cumulative effect of fear and coercion contributes to the gradual depopulation of rural areas.
The olive tree is no longer just a source of sustenance, but a silent witness to a profound struggle between permanence and erasure. In this vein, the Olive War serves as a microcosm of the broader struggle for Palestinian liberation.
