‘Issam Salman, 64, a father of four from Bethlehem, described being virtually barred access to his olive groves beyond the separation fence in a testimony he gave B’Tselem field researcher ‘Amer ‘Aruri on 9 November 2024

Since the separation fence was built in the early 2000s, I haven’t been allowed to freely access my lands, which are located in the Wadi a-Shami area. The settlement of Har Homa was built near them, on Jabal Abu Ghanim. They stayed on the “Israeli” side of the fence, and to reach them I have to register on the list of landowners through the Palestinian DCO, which coordinates with the Israeli occupation authorities. They control the opening and closing of the fence gate. As part of this “coordination,” the Israeli authorities let me access the land only three days a year, along with the other landowners, through the gate in the fence in the town of Beit Sahur.

My two brothers and I inherited a ten-dunam plot (1 dunam = 1,000 sq. meters). In the past, until the fence was built, the olive harvest provided us with plenty of olive oil and olives for the entire year. We would produce about 10 containers of olive oil and split them among us. Today, after the separation fence was built, my brothers and I have to buy olive oil and olives from farmers who have farmland inside Bethlehem.

Even on the days we are allowed to go, getting to the land is no easy feat. The soldiers control the opening of the fence gate, and we usually wait an hour, and sometimes two or three hours, until the Israeli soldier comes and opens it for us. We’re not allowed to access the lands by vehicle, so we have to walk there. It takes me half an hour to get to my land. Once, I arrived when the gate in the fence was supposed to be opened, and after waiting for two hours, a soldier showed up and told the landowners: “No entry allowed today. Come back tomorrow.” Because I was busy with work, I couldn’t go to the land the next day.

Because the land needs care and the trees need pruning at different times throughout the year, there’s no point going to the land on the three days the occupation authorities give us during the harvest anymore. The neglected trees have stopped bearing fruit. On top of this, these days, landowners aren’t allowed to bring workers to tend to the land and the olive trees and nurture them like I used to do until they built this apartheid fence. Not only that, but some of our olive trees were burned by unknown individuals, which was extremely painful and sad for me. Even though the occupation won’t let us work our land and there’s not much point going there on the days they do let us, I kept going to the land when they let me. But to arrive and see the burned olive trees is unbearable. The olive tree is like a child to me, I love it and make sure it is safe and cared for. Imagine something bad happening to your son or daughter. How would you react? You’d surely be sad and anxious.

All members of my family and my brothers’ families are allowed to access the land only according to the lists submitted to the Palestinian DCO, which in turn coordinates with the Israeli DCO. But even if we all go to the land together, it won’t be any use - both because there are no olives on the trees and also mentally - the sight of the neglected land, the weeds everywhere, and the masonry fences (terraces) destroyed due to lack of maintenance dampen the joy of reaching the land and infuse it with sadness.

It’s important to me that my children and grandchildren go to our land, so they know they have a right that the fence cannot erase. I would really like my grandchildren to experience the olive harvest season, and before that, the experience of caring for the land and trees, as I experienced in my childhood and youth.