I'm 90 years old. I'm a farmer, am married and have six sons and daughters and 30 grandchildren. I own 25 dunams in an area called Baten a-Tayreh , about five kilometers northwest of the village. The land is on a hilltop and the area is surrounded by settlements: Nahaliel to the north, Talmon to the west and the outpost of Kerem Re'im to the south.
In the early 1980s, I made the land arable and planted 400 olive seedlings, which are now 40-year-old trees. Every tree yields 10 to 20 kilograms of olives in a good season. I used to go to the land on foot or riding an animal, because there was only an agricultural path that wasn’t fit for driving. I planted the seedlings myself. Even though it was difficult to get there, I always tended the land and enjoyed going there and working it.
I used to go to the plot with my sons and grandsons. We would harvest and plow, and the rest of the year round would take care of the olive grove, weed and fertilize, and spend time and eat there together. It's a beautiful, scenic area with fresh air. I'm an elderly man now, but I'm still in love with my land.
Last harvest season, in October 2020, the settlers put up a gate at the entrance to the road leading to our land, to make our access difficult. They hold the keys and decide who enters the land. The settlers don't allow anyone here to lead a normal life. They don't want to see any of us enjoy our land and benefit from it.
Yesterday, Tuesday, 19 October 2021, a neighbor suddenly told me he'd discovered that someone had wreaked havoc on my land. It was evening, but I went crazy and wanted to go there right away despite the danger from the violent settlers. My sons asked me to wait patiently until morning. The next day, the neighbors told me they’d organized a group visit to the land with representatives of human rights organizations. I waited for them to leave and even though they didn’t want me to come because of my age and health, I followed them in my car.
I parked by the gate and had to walk two kilometers on foot to the entrance to my plot. Because of the layout of the land, I couldn't enter the plot myself and waited for the rest of the farmers to go in. While the neighbors and representatives of human rights organizations counted the ruined trees, I watched from a distance. They counted 140 trees on my land that had been cut down with chainsaws at the trunk, so they wouldn't grow back. Judging by the dryness of the leaves and branches, the damage was done a month or two ago.
I felt my heart tearing apart. I sobbed over the years of toil gone down the drain. Years of work wiped out overnight, with only some remains left. I lost 140 trees and felt pain over every single one of them. It's a blow to the soul that I can’t describe. It makes me feel like I’m suffocating. I’ll be heartbroken for the rest of my life.
I pray I'll be healthy enough to rebuild the plot with my sons and grandsons, restore it to its former state and fight the settlers' greed that way. They're doing everything they can to make us abandon the land so they can take it over.