Al-Fukhari, Gaza – Ahlam Saqr, 50, cried the morning his sons began cutting branches from his olive trees to burn them to make fire for cooking, staying warm and heating water for bathing.
It was a matter of survival, she said, of allowing the family to survive the relentless Israeli bombing of Gaza. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch his four beloved trees get taken down.
“The house seemed so empty. The trees had their place in the house and it was dark when they left. We have great memories with them,” she said.
Forced to lose his “life companions”
Gaza is under a brutal Israeli bombardment and siege that has displaced most of its population and at the same time prevented the entry of fuel, gas for stoves and other essential goods.
Amidst the human misery and crisis, a series of other tragedies have occurred as families are forced to destroy their trees in order to have firewood to survive.
Having to destroy one’s own olive trees, one of Palestine’s most enduring symbols, is a deep wound that has left scars of varying shapes in the hearts of those who spoke to Tel Aviv Tribune.
Ahlam is not the only person in Gaza who has had to part with their beloved trees just to be able to feed the family and keep everyone warm. In many homes, people cry over having to destroy these living, breathing witnesses to family history.
“I used to tell everyone that my trees were my life companions. They were there when I was raising my children here; they saw every stage of our lives,” Ahlam told Tel Aviv Tribune.
Khaled Baraka, 65, also mourns his trees, but he is not sure what condition they are in today because he was forced to flee his home in Bani Suheila six weeks ago.
“I was displaced… when the Israeli tanks entered the town of Khan Younis, we were already going through a difficult time.
“My orchard and fields were right next to our house and we had already started burning branches,” he said.
By the time Khaled and his family fled Bani Suheila, half of the trees were gone, cut down little by little for the family’s needs or because neighbors came begging for firewood to keep their own children warm and fed .
“To make bread, you need fire,” he said bitterly. “How else was this supposed to happen?” There were so many different species of trees. Guavas, lemons, oranges and olives – they were all cut down and I’m sure once the occupying forces took over the area they destroyed whatever was left.
Khaled inherited his trees from his father, he told Tel Aviv Tribune, and most of them are at least 70 years old.
“These trees have experienced my moments of joy and sadness,” he said. “They know my secrets. When I was sad and worried, I talked to the trees, I took care of them… but the war killed those trees.
“Trees were my friends”
Fayza Jabr, 60, has lived alone for 10 years, since the death of her husband. The couple had no children.
About seven years before her husband died, she planted two olive trees, a lemon tree and a clementine tree around her house and spent her time caring for them and proudly watching them mature and bear fruit.
“They were my friends, they were part of my life,” Fayza said. “When a tree bore fruit, I called the neighbor’s son, Abboud, who is 11 years old. He helped me pick fruit and prune trees that needed it.
“I didn’t want to build a wall around my house so I could see the trees from the inside and passersby could enjoy the green.
“In mid-October, my siblings, their children and grandchildren were moved to my house in Khan Younis – more than 30 people in my small house, all in need of food and bread. To achieve this, we had to use the trees to light fires.
In the beginning, Fayza continues, it was possible to find bags of firewood at the market and scrape together $30 to buy a bag that would last two days.
But eventually, this reserve ran out and her sisters woke up at dawn to look for something to fuel the fire. All kinds of things were burned: fabric, plastic and even shoes.
“It was olive season, at the end of October, so I asked my family to help me pick the olives, without knowing that it would be the farewell season for my trees.
“I think I was lucky to be able to pick olives from my two trees. They are over 17 years old. If they were my children, they would be teenagers.
“About a month after harvest, I noticed that some branches were broken, so I asked my sisters about it. They told me that they had to cut down the trees because there was no other solution. Today the garden is barren. We had to uproot the trees to the roots to use them all.
“I was sad. It’s hard for me to cut down my trees, but I can’t be angry because there are children in the house who need to eat.
The unspeakable wealth of four trees
Ahlam moved into her home in al-Fukhari about 20 years ago, after Israeli forces destroyed the family’s first home near Khan Younis.
“UNRWA (the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees) built these houses for us after we were displaced for a few years, me, my husband and our six children, moving from one temporary shelter to another. I was so happy, the new houses had space to plant trees and other things around them. Nothing like plants to make a place feel comforting.
“When the municipal workers came to give each house two olive trees, I kindly convinced them to give me four instead, and I was so happy with these four trees that it was as if I owned a entire orchard.
“My daughter Israa could only study among these trees. She loved them too. But since the start of the war, you have had to light a fire to cook and it is a difficult journey to look for wood. One day we used everything, even plastic water pipes, and they smelled so bad that even the food tasted different.
“My sons ended up suggesting we cut down trees. At first they said there was only one tree and the war wouldn’t last long. But the war did not stop and now all the trees are gone,” Ahlam said.
“We have lost so much in this war that this is not going to end the trees that looked like our children,” Khaled said, resigned.
“We mourn these trees, but there is no other solution. »