We were greeted by the family, father and sons, who own the land, who grow the trees we worked on for a few hours. The landowner thanked us and showed us what he needed done. 

Picking olives is a delicate task. This year’s crop is paltry, as there was insufficient rain and enough warm days during the flowering period. Our hands moved among the branches, plucking the olives. Some will be for oil and others for eating. 

We spread out through the orchard, and within three hours the 100 or so trees were picked clean. We sat down to lunch, listened to Nasser’s son Basil explaining the tough situation. No water lines, no electricity, hard to care for the trees and to make ends meet. He apologized for leaving, went off to the mosque, leaving Basil in charge. As we worked, the oppressive buzz of the army drone just above our heads, the operator in the army jeep on the ridge. No settlers appeared today, just Palestinian and Israeli comrades, working the land together, and sharing a meal. 

We parted, some hugs and new facebook friendships, some lingering sadness about the way these people are forced to live. A bit of gratefulness for being able to lift their spirits a little today.