Liquid Gold: The Story of Palestinian Olive Oil

In Palestine, olive oil is more than a product—it’s a story pressed from the soil, the sun, and the hands of generations. Across the hills of the West Bank, the ancient olive tree stands as a symbol of endurance, hope, and belonging. Every October and November, as the air turns cool and golden, families return to their ancestral lands to harvest olives, turning the harvest into a time of labor, joy, and collective memory.

My mother’s village, Deir Ghassaneh, one of the villages of Ramallah, is famous for its olive groves. Every year, my grandfather would wake us before sunrise to pick olives from our family’s trees. We would spread wide nets under the branches, climb up the ladders, and gently beat the branches with sticks until the olives fell like soft rain. The sound of olives hitting the nets created a rhythm—soft, steady, and full of memory. When the olives were crushed at the village press, the first oil that flowed was vibrant green, almost glowing, and its taste burned slightly on the tongue, a sign of purity and freshness.

For Palestinians, the olive tree is not just agriculture—it is ancestry. In Arabic poetry and proverbs, the tree symbolizes patience, strength, and peace. The Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) is said to have called olive oil "a blessed oil." Across the region, it lights lamps, heals wounds, and seasons bread. In every Palestinian home, you will find a glass bottle of oil kept with reverence—often from the family’s own trees.

According to a 2019 study by Brito et al., olive trees demonstrate remarkable tolerance to drought conditions by activating biological mechanisms that allow them to “store resilience in their wood,” a trait that has made them enduring symbols across Mediterranean cultures.

During the olive harvest season, Palestinian villages come alive with a rhythm that blends labor and joy. Families wake up before sunrise, carrying woven baskets and metal rakes to the groves. The air smells of earth and crushed olives. Laughter carries throughout the hills as stories, gossip and folk songs fill the day. The harvest isn’t only about collecting fruit—it’s a moment of community renewal, where generations work side by side and children learn the meaning of patience and belonging. As described in This Week in Palestine, "olive picking is a social and cultural ritual where families come together to share food, sing, and celebrate their connection to the land." In some villages, these same traditions have continued for centuries, beneath trees that have stood since biblical times.

Families harvesting olives in early 1900s Palestine—men, women, and children working beneath the same ancient trees that still bear fruit today. (Photo: Library of Congress)

Some of Palestine’s oldest olive trees—many over two thousand years old—still stand as living witnesses to history. In Jerusalem, farmers and caretakers have preserved these trees for generations, pruning and nurturing them through war, drought and displacement. Their survival is more than biological; it’s symbolic. According to Olive Oil Times, scientific analyses confirmed that the ancient olive trees in Jerusalem’s Garden of Gethsemane are around two millennia old and still capable of producing fruit today. Each trunk carries the memory of the land, its grooves etched by time and its roots reaching deep into the soil—a testament to endurance and belonging.

Ancient olive trees in Jerusalem’s Garden of Gethsemane—cared for by Franciscan monks, living witnesses to Palestine’s deep-rooted heritage. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

Olive oil sits at the heart of Palestinian cuisine—a symbol of both flavor and identity. A drizzle of oil completes nearly every dish: from musakhan (a traditional Palestinian meal of chicken, onions, sumac, and bread soaked in olive oil), to maqluba (an upside-down rice and vegetable dish), to za‘atar (a thyme, sesame, and sumac mix) spread over taboon bread (clay-oven bread). It flavors both savory and sweet dishes and even acts as a natural preservative. During the harvest season, families gather to share meals under the olive trees—moments that blend food, memory, and togetherness.

As reported by Al Jazeera, such gatherings reflect not only agricultural labor but an act of cultural preservation—each olive picked, pressed, and shared becomes a story of belonging.

After the harvest, farmers trim the trees to keep them healthy for future seasons (Library of Congress). The olive tree is generous but demanding—it requires care, time and patience. In many villages, presses work day and night, their stone wheels grinding fruit that families have gathered from dawn until dusk. Every drop counts.

But these groves face growing threats. According to B’Tselem, settler violence has led to the destruction of tens of thousands of Palestinian olive trees over the past decade, with attacks intensifying during peak harvest months. These losses are not just agricultural—they represent the erasure of memory, livelihood, and history for thousands of families. According to The Polis Project, olive trees have become "sites of resistance," where colonization, dispossession and identity intersect. Uprooting an olive tree is not just ecological destruction—it’s cultural erasure. During each harvest season, hundreds of incidents of settler attacks and arson are reported. A 2025 Mongabay investigation documented how farmers across Gaza and the West Bank continue to salvage what they can from burned or fenced-off groves.

Another powerful symbol of Palestine’s relationship with the olive tree is Mahfouza Shtayyeh, known across social media as "the Olive Lady." Her iconic photograph—taken two decades ago—shows her holding tightly to an olive tree in her village, Salem, near Nablus. Recently, the media group Hind’s Call visited her to mark the 20th anniversary of the image, meeting her up close and documenting the story behind her enduring presence and strength.

During the interview, she explains that the tree she held onto had been planted by her father and that she continued to return to protect it whenever settlers approached the grove. Her words in the video are simple but unforgettable:

"The tree has stood with us through everything. How can I leave it now?"

Her story resonated across the region because it reflects something universal: love, memory, and the refusal to let the land be erased.

In the village of Deir Ghassaneh, locals say the olive tree is like a member of the family—when one is lost, it is mourned. Yet even after fires, people return to replant. Organizations like Land of Canaan Foundation are working to restore uprooted groves through the Trees for Life Project, giving farmers new saplings and the means to rebuild their livelihoods. Every tree replanted is both an act of healing and a message of defiance.

Beyond symbolism, olive oil is a vital part of Palestine’s economy. Before restrictions on export began, it represented up to 15% of agricultural income in some West Bank regions. Palestinian olive oil is sought after worldwide for its purity and low acidity, and small cooperatives have been forming to promote sustainable farming. According to Mongabay, some producers are now using solar-powered presses to protect the environment and reduce costs.

The olive tree is also deeply spiritual. In Palestinian Christian and Muslim traditions, it is a sacred plant—mentioned in the Qur’an and the Bible. Olive oil lights church lamps and mosque lanterns; it blesses weddings, newborns, and even the dead. To many Palestinians, it embodies the connection between heaven and earth.

Today, despite barriers, checkpoints and burning groves, Palestinians continue to press olives and pour oil into glass bottles with handwritten labels. Some jars are sent abroad to relatives; others are kept for family meals that bring everyone together around the table.

Projects like Trees for Life and local presses in Ramallah, Nablus, and Jenin show that the story of the olive tree is still being written—in every harvest, every meal, and every act of care.

Olive oil remains what Palestinians call "liquid "gold"—not only for its color or taste, but for what it represents: resilience, continuity and identity. From the terraces of Deir Ghassaneh to the ancient gardens of Jerusalem, the story of olive oil is the story of Palestine itself—rooted in endurance, nourished by memory and carried forward by hands that refuse to let go.

Photo Source: American Colony (Jerusalem), Wikimedia Commons