In the rolling hills of the West Bank, the olive harvest has always been a time of hope, hard work, and family tradition. But this year, the air is thick with more than just the scent of ripe olives—there’s fear and frustration as violence surges, disrupting the lifeblood of Palestinian agriculture and threatening the livelihoods of thousands.
On the morning of October 19, 2025, Afaf Abu Alia, a 55-year-old grandmother, set out with her grandchildren to pick olives near Turmus Ayya, a village nestled in the heart of the West Bank. What began as a routine harvest quickly turned harrowing. As Abu Alia recounted to Reuters, masked men emerged from the trees. "I fell to the ground and I couldn't feel anything," she said, her right eye bruised from a blow to the head. A video reviewed by Reuters confirmed the attack, capturing the chaos and violence that has become all too familiar during this year’s harvest.
These attacks are not isolated incidents. According to the Palestinian Authority's Colonization and Wall Resistance Commission (CWRC), there have been at least 158 attacks against olive pickers across the Israeli-occupied West Bank since the start of the harvest in early October. The violence, which includes both settler and army involvement, marks a 13 percent rise compared to the same period in 2024, as reported by Ajith Sunghay, head of the UN Human Rights Office in the Occupied Palestinian Territory. "Settler violence has skyrocketed in scale and frequency, with the acquiescence, support, and in many cases participation, of Israeli security forces—and always with impunity," Sunghay said in a recent update.
The olive tree—long a symbol of Palestinian steadfastness—has become a target. Adham al-Rabia, a Palestinian activist, told Reuters, "The olive tree is a symbol of Palestinian steadfastness." This year, settlers have burned groves, chain-sawed ancient trees, and destroyed homes and agricultural infrastructure, according to the UN. The CWRC reports that more than 15,000 olive trees have been attacked since October 2024, a devastating blow for a sector that accounts for around 8 percent of Palestinian GDP and supports over 60,000 jobs, per the Palestinian Authority’s agriculture ministry.
Just a few kilometers from Turmus Ayya lies al-Mughayyir, Abu Alia’s home village. Her family, like many others, has been forced to seek out new groves after settlers cut down their orchard of about 500 olive trees. The Israeli military has acknowledged cutting down over 3,000 trees in the area, claiming the action was necessary "to improve defences." Locals, however, say the real number is even higher and accuse both settlers and the military of systematically restricting access to their land.
Marzook Abu Naem, a local council member, painted a grim picture of daily life. He explained that a combination of military orders and settler violence has left villagers unable to access most of their crops. The economic impact is severe: some young people are delaying university, and for many families, meat has become a luxury. The Palestinian agriculture ministry recorded a 17 percent increase in financial losses for West Bank farmers from January to mid-October 2025 compared to the same period last year.
The violence has not been limited to Turmus Ayya. On October 24, as reported by the Palestinian News Agency (WAFA), Israeli settlers set fire to several vehicles in the town of Deir Dibwan, targeting cars parked in front of citizens’ homes. In Beit Dajan, particularly in the Khallet al-Qatil area, settlers attacked olive pickers, preventing them from completing the harvest. Similar scenes played out in Deir Ballut, west of Salfit, where farmers were driven away from the "Blue Mountain" area by settlers from a newly established outpost.
Local sources told WAFA that these outposts are designed to restrict Palestinian farmers’ access to their lands, not only in Deir Ballut but also in neighboring Rafat and al-Zawiya. The attacks have escalated to the point where, according to the CWRC, 17 of the 158 documented attacks this season were carried out by the Israeli army, while 141 were attributed to settlers. Some incidents involved shooting at farmers to intimidate them and force them to leave their fields.
One particularly troubling incident involved the family of Amer Khalil Abdullah, who were working their land near Deir Ballut. According to local reports, the Israeli army detained the family members, confiscated their phones, and expelled them from the site, warning they could not return without an entry permit. Such actions, say Palestinian officials and activists, are part of a broader pattern of harassment and displacement.
Despite these hardships, Palestinian farmers and activists are not giving up. Groups like Rabbis for Human Rights, led by activists such as Adham al-Rabia, have organized volunteers to accompany and protect farmers during the harvest. Yet even these efforts are sometimes thwarted. On October 15, a Reuters reporter witnessed an Israeli army unit blocking Rabia and his volunteers from accessing a field, highlighting the obstacles faced by those seeking to defend Palestinian farmers.
Technology, too, has become a tool for survival. Palestinian activists and farmers now manage WhatsApp groups to send real-time warnings about approaching settlers, allowing communities to mobilize quickly or seek shelter when trouble looms.
Yasser Al-Qam, a lawyer from Turmus Ayya, witnessed the attack on Abu Alia and described how Israeli soldiers had left him and a friend alone with settlers before the assault. The Israel Defence Forces (IDF), for their part, told Reuters they had sent troops and police to defuse the confrontation and were not aware of soldiers being present during the attack. "The IDF is operating to enable the harvest season to proceed in a proper and safe manner for all residents," the military said in a statement.
The Mateh Binyamin Regional Council, which oversees Israeli West Bank settlements in the Turmus Ayya region, has publicly condemned "every instance of violence that occurs" in the area. The council emphasized that settlers carry weapons "intended solely for self-defence." Still, for many Palestinians and Israeli human rights groups, such statements ring hollow against the backdrop of increasing violence and impunity.
In the face of adversity, resilience persists. A few days after Abu Alia’s attack, families and international volunteers returned to the groves of Turmus Ayya, sharing thermoses of coffee and bread as they picked olives together—a quiet act of defiance and hope amid growing uncertainty.
As the olive harvest continues under the shadow of violence, the struggle for the land and its ancient trees remains a powerful symbol of endurance for Palestinians. But with each new attack, the future of this cherished tradition—and those who depend on it—hangs ever more precariously in the balance.