While this argument went on, our activists started to infiltrate into the plantations one by one. The brigade commander had to choose between several alternatives: he could call for reinforcements to get us out by force, or he could allow us to harvest olives. Wisely, he chose the latter course.
The next six hours were an experience taken straight out of an old Zionist propaganda film. We picked olives, one by one, from the trees nearest the settlement. We used our hats as containers, until buckets were brought. We climbed trees in order to get at the higher branches. Hard work, but really enjoyable. On the hill, opposite us, at a distance of some 50 meters, a cluster of angry, bearded, skull-capwearing settlers had gathered, but soldiers prevented them from approaching us.
When the villagers saw us working, families of the tree-owners dared to come and harvest too. Friendships developed quickly. Everything was done at a hectic speed. The Palestinians knew that they could work there only as long as we were there. They chose work methods that were damaging to the trees, hitting the branches, gathering the olives on nylon sheets spread on the ground, in order to gather as many olives as possible in a few hours.
At 3 p.m., when we â– were about to finish, we received a call on the mobile phone. We were asked to come as quickly as possible to the other side of the village, where a confrontation was developing with the army. The villagers wanted to use the presence of Israelis (those who had come from Jerusalem) in order to remove the roadblock put up by the army to prevent them having contact with the neighboring village and the world at large. The Palestinians calculated that the army would not open fire in the presence of Israelis and foreign TV crews. Since the situation was deteriorating rapidly, we were asked to come and try to prevent a fatal clash.
We boarded the minibus and drove into the village. Along the main street, a lot of children were standing around. At some distance, children were playing (training?) throwing stones at each other. Some local youngsters volunteered to walk in front of our bus and tell the children that we were not settlers. Proceeding this way we were nearing the place of the clash when we were stopped by the village head and a very authoritative young man. The head said that the confrontation had ended and that he would show us the place. The young man said that the confrontation was still going on and that we should not go on any further. It was clear that he was the boss. He strongly suggested that we go by the way we had come. But first he gave us a short, passionate