Olive trees and their fruit are central not only to the everyday lives of Palestinians, but also as a symbol of Palestinian resistance and resilience.

Here, we break down the significance of the olive tree to Palestinians.

A deeply rooted history

Olive trees are among the oldest cultivated trees on Earth. With an average lifespan of some 300-600 years, the trees can support families and communities for generations.

Some olive trees have been reported as living for thousands of years, with the world’s oldest believed to be between 2,000 and 4,000 years old.

The long lives of olive trees reflect the history of Palestinian communities on their land, where the trees have been a constant amid hundreds of years of political change and upheaval.

The presence of the trees also challenges the idea that Palestine was ‘a land without people’, as claimed by settler movements in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

An economic lifeline

Olives are the primary or secondary source of income for some 80,000-100,000 Palestinian families. Before October 2023, they accounted for 70% of fruit production in the Occupied Palestinian Territory (OPT). Most of the annual olive harvest (93%) is used to produce olive oil, while the rest is used for soap, table olives and pickled olives.

Most of the OPT’s olive products are consumed locally, but exports to the region and internationally are increasingly common.

A cultural emblem

Harvest season, traditionally October-November, has long been a time for families to come together and pick olives from their trees, often singing and sharing stories while they work. Universities and schools even give students time off for the harvest.

Most of the olives are pressed for oil, which is used in cooking – from making zaatar to stews and pastries – but olives are also present in some medicines and cosmetics, as well as soap.

Some olive oil even serves a religious purpose, with Muslims and Christians considering it a blessed or symbolic substance and using it in their rites.

Beyond seeing olive trees solely as a source of income, many Palestinians have a strong emotional connection to their trees, which they care for over years and decades, almost as they would a family member.

Olive trees and their fruit feature prominently in art from the OPT, with many painters and poets such as Mahmoud Darwish and Tawfiq Zayyad drawing on their powerful symbolism.

Olive trees and Gaza

Olive trees have been yet another casualty of Israel’s devastating bombardment of Gaza. As cultivated land has been destroyed by military attacks, many families have been forced to take an axe to their own trees for firewood amid crippling fuel shortages.

In a November 2024 blog, written to mark the International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People, an Islamic Relief aid worker recounted this experience:

“I cannot forget that olive trees provided us with wood and leaves to burn for heat and cooking when there was no fuel. We keep taking, and they keep giving. Even their extended branches sheltered us when there was no shelter.”

Forced to flee to a nearby country where they are now safe with their family, but longing for home and peace, our colleague wrote:

“I wish I’d had the chance to hug my own trees goodbye. It’s a feeling so many of us share… We have a profound bond with these trees and the land they grow on. They are an integral part of our heritage, food and even our proverbs – a heritage accumulated through centuries of connection. As the Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish said, ‘Here we remain, as long as thyme and olives remain.’

“The olive trees and the people bonded to them can only live and thrive on this land, just as other types of trees flourish where they too belong.”

A symbol of resistance

Olive trees are drought-resistant and can grow even in poor soil conditions. These characteristics have made the trees symbolic of Palestinians’ attachment to their land.

Beyond symbolism, olive trees play a material role in the resistance of Palestinians to illegal occupation and land seizures. Planting and cultivating these trees are acts of defiance amid occupation, while the presence of the trees makes it more difficult to claim land is uninhabited or unused.

However, many farmers have been cut off from their trees, with access to land hugely restricted by Israeli controls. An inconsistently implemented permit system severely hampers farmers’ ability to cultivate their trees. Permits are granted to individuals, meaning families can often not work together to care for their trees – resulting in smaller harvests. Farmers must also often pass through checkpoints to reach their land. These checkpoints are only open at certain times of day, which restricts the time farmers can spend working their land and so also limits the harvest.

While olive trees can survive without constant cultivation, meaning they can still be a valuable source of income for families despite the hefty access challenges, the impact of separating farmers from their land and trees is significant.

Olive trees under attack

Sadly, olive trees – and the farmers who cultivate them – have become a target for attacks, particularly just before and during harvest season.

This is especially the case in the West Bank, where trees have been uprooted, burned and hacked apart by settlers. In 2025, United Nations agency OCHA reported the highest level of damage due to settler attacks since 2020, with over 4,000 trees attacked in 126 incidents recorded across 70 towns and villages.

Such attacks have been condemned by international non-governmental organisations, as well as some Jewish groups, who point out that the Torah prohibits the destruction of trees, including during wartime.

The destruction of trees in conflict also violates the Geneva Convention, specifically Articles 54 and 55.

Local communities and civil society groups have taken steps to protect trees and farmers during harvest season, as well as to replace trees that have been destroyed, but OCHA figures suggest the problem is getting worse.

Islamic Relief is supporting Palestinians in need

Over the years, Islamic Relief has provided families with olive trees, which they can use to boost their income and improve their diet.

This work helps ensure Palestinians have enough food in the future, makes communities better able to handle challenge, protects the environment, and keeps cultural traditions alive

Providing olive trees is just one of the ways Islamic Relief is supporting Palestinians in desperate need.

Find out more and donate to our Palestine Appeal here.

As the world marks the 78^th anniversary of Nakba Day, four humanitarian workers from Islamic Relief Palestine share what ‘home’ means to them.

A memory suspended between what once was but is no longer

For me, ‘home’ is no longer just walls and a roof. It has become a memory suspended between what once was but is no longer. Whenever I hear the word, small details rush to mind – details that once shaped my life; an apartment I finished with care and love a year before the war began, furnished with the most beautiful pieces, and warmth in every corner. There was my daughter’s room, decorated with Cinderella drawings, where she laughed and dreamed. There was my son’s room, with the Spider-Man designs, reflecting his innocence and passion. I didn’t have enough time to truly enjoy it all. It was as if time itself was rushing me towards loss.

On my last visit to the house after our 10^th displacement, I found it damaged – cracked walls, crooked doors, windows without any glass. Yet, it still held something unseen; a hidden warmth, memories and hope. That was when I realised that a home is not what a building’s walls contain, but what that place leaves within us. I tried to recreate that feeling in the places we were displaced to, but something was always missing. Nothing resembled the smell of home, the laughter of my children in its corners, or the greetings of neighbours that once began my day.

The news of our home’s complete destruction reached me on the morning of Eid al-Adha 2025, at 9 o’clock. ‘May God compensate you with blessings, your house is gone.’ The news struck like lightening, yet I didn’t feel the pain immediately. I simply said, “Alhamdulillah.” I was like a football player who doesn’t feel an injury until the wound cools.

My real pain began when I returned to my family – the news had already reached them, and I saw the tears in my wife and children’s eyes. Only then did I realise that I hadn’t just lost 4 walls, I had lost a part of my soul. The longing for every detail, even for the sounds of the neighbours, grew stronger. For me, returning home is no longer a question of returning to a place, but to an entire life… one I am still searching for everywhere.

Home is a feeling of being understood

When I think about home, I do not really see a place or a building. It is more of a feeling, like something settling inside me. Home is in the things like how the sunlight hits the same corner of the room every afternoon, the familiar creak of a door, or the smell of food drifting in before I’d even stepped into the kitchen – and stolen some from behind my mother’s back, just to taste it, before she’d yell at me, “lunch is ready, don’t fill your stomach!” Home is not just where I am, it is a place where I don’t have to think about who I am.

Most of the memories I hold onto are not big or dramatic, they are just little moments. I remember sitting around a table where no one cared that everyone was talking at once. I remember hearing laughter carry from one room to another. Even the silence felt different. It was comfortable, not empty. I remember evenings that stretched out long enough for stories to be told again and again but still feel worth listening to. On their own, those moments do not seem like much. But together, they form something solid.

I have also realised that home is not always tied to a place, sometimes home is people. Home is in the way someone says my name or how they just know my habits, likes and dislikes without asking. Home shows up in meals, nothing fancy, just familiar dishes. One bite of something I have eaten a hundred times can bring back so many memories. Even small traditions matter. They do not have to be big celebrations planned for weeks, just little things that quietly remind me that this is us and this is my home.

The last time I felt at home somewhere nothing big had happened. No emotional reunion, no significant moment. It was just easy – I slipped back into things without thinking. I did not feel like a guest, I did not feel like I had to explain myself. I felt understood, and this is what home comes down to for me, that feeling of being understood.

In the end, home is not really about walls or a specific place, home is about connection. It is about my family members and loved ones. Home is wherever I can be myself, and whomever I can be myself with, without having to explain. It is what I go back to in life, or even just in my mind, when I need to feel like myself again – feel safe again – with all my family members and loved ones gathered together. That is my home.

Home is a place that carries us as much as we carry it

When I hear the word ‘home’, the first things that come to mind are safety, peace and warmth. I imagine the house we worked so hard to turn into exactly what we’d once dreamt of.

It was a simple home, but it was full of us. It had only 3 rooms – a room for my wife and I, a room for our only daughter, and a large room that held the laughter and dreams of our 4 sons. Even the kitchen had a special spirit. It had been designed carefully by my wife and every corner carried her personal touch.

We used to visit our house every Friday while it was still being built, following every small detail step by step and waiting with excitement for it to be ready. Although it was bought through a bank loan over 85 months, what we felt was not the weight of debt, but the joy of a dream turning into reality.

The most beautiful days of our lives were spent in that home. Our children grew up there, in the Tel Al-Hawa neighbourhood of southern Gaza. They made their first friends there and got involved with the nearby kindergartens, schools and playgrounds. We used to walk to the sea together, and it was as if even the road there formed part of our daily happiness. Life around us felt simple and close; our neighbours became like an extended family. We often gathered on our balcony, grilled meat and chicken, laughed and shared our lives – as if we’d never run out of time. Every corner of that house held a memory. We built it step by step, leaving a part of ourselves in every part of it.

But our happiness did not last. Our home was destroyed during a period of conflict, and we lost not only the building itself, but everything inside it: furniture, clothes, appliances, the children’s toys, books and schoolbooks. We lost so many memories at once. It was as if a part of our life suddenly went out.

Today, we live in a rented house, where we’re trying to recreate that feeling of ‘home’, but something always feels missing. I have come to understand that a true home is not just a place we live in, but something that carries us as much as we carry it.

Despite the pain, the memories remain warm in our hearts – a mixture of longing, sorrow, and hope. The house may no longer exist as it once was, but it still lives within us, and the dream it represents remains alive, as if we are waiting for the day we’ll rebuild it again – not only with stones, but with everything we lost.

Home is no longer a place, but an ache within us

When the word ‘home’ is spoken, I do not see a door or a stretch of wall. The picture that forms in my mind instead is something vividly alive, a scene woven from delicate details that the eye might overlook, yet the soul faithfully remembers. It is there that memory quietly recreates itself, time and again.

Home, in the truest sense, is not merely a space we inhabit. It is a small homeland where our dreams reside, where memories endure, untouched by the erosion of time. It is the first scent that greets me before I cross the threshold, the soft light filtering through a window I know by heart, the familiar voice that gently dissolves the estrangement of the passing days.

It is the one place where I owe no explanations, where I don’t need to justify what I feel. It is my mirror to life, in which I exist exactly as I am, without masks or defences. Within it, my memories gather in the simplest of forms – a fleeting laugh, a long conversation on a quiet night. Even a silence that soothes, rather than burdens. It is also where my journey into motherhood first began to take shape.

The beauty of home is that it is not confined to a place. Rather, it is a feeling that travels with us. Sometimes all it takes is a familiar taste to recall my children’s early years, or an old melody that carries me back to my youth, and, for a fleeting moment, I am home again. Yet, the longing persists. Some details cannot be recreated; the warmth of family, the order of things as they once were. Even the small, meaningful chaos we once lived within.

On 30 October, I left my home. I carried nothing but the Qur’an and a few belongings, leaving behind a lifetime suspended within its walls. Since that day, home is no longer a place. It has become an ache that dwells within us, wherever we go.

In the new place where war has forced me to live, I try to cultivate fragments of that feeling. I arrange my belongings with care. I hold tightly to tangible memories. I create small rituals to restore a sense of familiarity. Yet, there remains a part of home that cannot be carried with us, only longed for. And, if one day, dreams reclaim their place in reality, if I return to myself, to the home that once was, it will not merely be a journey from one place to another. It will be a return to a lighter self. A moment of pure belonging, where everything within me gently finds its balance again.

Home is where I began, and the refuge I return to whenever distance grows too heavy. It is a presence that does not vanish, even in absence – a place that lives deeply within me, as I have lived deeply within it. Memory overflows and so does the heart. From the fabric of our daily lives emerges the simple beauty of Palestinian musakhan. It was never just a meal; it was always a story of home and warmth. The scent of bread, the echo of our laughter, the taste of olive oil and olives all carry us back. They reopen the door to the home we all left behind. The rising smoke of onions and sumac feels like a guide, leading us back to moments of safety we once knew. Each bite becomes a memory. The dish becomes a small embrace, one we cling to, trying to conceal the ache of separation.

We tell ourselves that houses can be rebuilt, so long as the taste of home lives within us. But the truth remains: leaving home is unbearably painful. It fractures something deep within, and our hearts continue to carry that wound.

In the end, home transcends walls and geography. It becomes a state of warmth and belonging that lives within us. We may lose our houses and maps may be redrawn, but our true home remains, like a hidden secret within our hearts. And, perhaps, in a rare moment of truth, we come to realise that returning home was never about a place. It was always about finding a way back to ourselves.

These are the stories of Islamic Relief Palestine staff in their own words. Many of our colleagues, like the 4 above, have become displaced since October 2023, and are striving to support communities in need while also rebuilding their own lives. Please help them to continue being a lifeline to vulnerable people in Gaza. Donate to our Palestine Appeal today.

May 15 is Nakba Day, an annual day of commemoration that continues to hold additional meaning this year as Palestinians endure mass displacement, occupation and crippling hunger. Here, we look at the origins and significance of the day. 

What is Nakba Day?

Nakba Day is commemorated annually on May 15. It marks the beginning of the destruction of the Palestinian homeland, and the mass displacement in 1948 of the majority of the Palestinian population. 

Nakba means ‘catastrophe’ in Arabic and is the word used by Palestinians and others to refer to this historic moment. For some, the term is also used to describe the subsequent and ongoing persecution of Palestinians and their loss of territory.   

In 1998, Nakba Day was officially inaugurated by Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat, though the date had been marked since 1949. Since 2023 it has been formally commemorated at the UN General Assembly.

What happened in May 1948?

May 1948 saw the start of a mass displacement in which over 700,000 Palestinians were forced from their homes.  

Over the course of the 1948 Palestine War, which lasted until January 1949, Israeli forces destroyed more than 530 Palestinian villages and carried out several massacres, killing some 15,000 people, according to researcher Salman Abu Sitta.

78% of Palestine’s historic territory was captured and used to establish what is now Israel. The remaining land was divided into today’s Occupied Palestinian Territory – the West Bank, including East Jerusalem, and the Gaza Strip. 

Following Israeli victory in the war, abandoned homes were given to new settlers. The descendants of many of the Palestinians who fled in 1948 remain displaced to this day, both within Palestine and around the world. There are now more than 6 million Palestine refugees worldwide, according to the United Nations (UN).

What led up to the Nakba?

From 1920 until May 1948, the United Kingdom ruled over a territory called Mandatory Palestine under an agreement by the League of Nations – a precursor to the UN. 

Following the end of World War II and the horror of the Holocaust, the British announced their intention to end the mandate, and the newly created UN began seeking to redraw the boundaries of Palestine to allow for the creation of a Jewish state.  

None of the various partition plans suggested received support from the Palestinians or The Arab League (a body established after World War II to foster political, economic and social ties between Arab nations in the Middle East and North Africa). However, when the mandate ended, the establishment of the state of Israel was declared, triggering the 1948 Palestine War, also known as the 1948 Arab-Israeli War. 

What happened after the Nakba?

In the 78 years since the Nakba, the Israeli state has continued to encroach into Palestinian territory, displacing families and violating international law in the process.  

Among the major instances of this was the Six Day War of 1967, which saw Israeli forces occupy all of historic Palestine, including Gaza and the West Bank, expelling 300,000 people from their homes. 

In the decades since, tensions in the region have remained high, with frequent flare ups. However, the scale of the escalation that began in October 2023 is truly unprecedented. In Gaza over 72,700 people have been killed; and many more forced from their homes, often repeatedly. Among the displaced are Palestinians who moved to Gaza from elsewhere in Palestine after the Nakba, and their descendants.

What are the long-term consequences of the Nakba?

The Nakba resulted in the world’s longest running unresolved refugee crisis, with over 6 million Palestine refugees worldwide at present. Most live in neighbouring countries, including Jordan, Lebanon and Syria. In some cases, Palestinian refugees in the Middle East have endured war and further displacement in their host countries.  

The enormous loss of territory which began with the Nakba continues to affect the everyday lives of Palestinians. Many valuable resources are in land now claimed by Israel, preventing Palestinians from accessing them and potentially growing their economy. 

The Israeli occupation, which has been ruled illegal under international law, affects every aspect of Palestinians’ lives. It denies their basic human rights, undermines their dignity and entrenches poverty. It restricts movement, trade and access to water, services, farmland, markets and religious sites. It cuts Palestinians in Gaza, East Jerusalem and the West Bank off from each other, separating families and friends.

Gaza has been under Israeli blockade since 2007. The blockade restricts the movement of goods and people in and out of the Strip, devastating the economy and people’s futures and disrupting humanitarian efforts. For years, thousands of essential items have been restricted from entering Gaza because Israel considers them to have a ‘dual use’, meaning items could potentially be used for both civilian and military purposes. In practice, this can include almost anything that people need. Items including fuel, water filters, solar pumps and surgical scissors have been refused entry.

Since October 2023 Israel has tightened the blockade even further, restricting food, medicine, fuel and other vital items from entering. Following the November 2025 ceasefire agreement, some aid and commercial supplies are allowed to enter but nowhere near enough to meet the huge needs.

How is Nakba Day commemorated?

For many, Nakba Day is an opportunity to draw attention to the historic persecution of Palestinians and their expulsion from their land, and highlight that it is still very much ongoing, particularly now, amid the unprecedented crisis.

Nakba Day is also a time to celebrate Palestine’s rich culture and history outside of a narrative of suffering, which for many defines the territory and its people. Palestinians are not only resilient, they are talented writers and dancers, gifted embroiderers, leading academics and scientists, and generous hosts.  

In 2023, for the first time in history, the United Nations marked Nakba Day. The global body held an event to ‘serve as a reminder of the historic injustice suffered by the Palestinian people,’ as well as to highlight the ongoing refugee crisis. The event included speeches, music, photos and personal testimonies. 

Why is Islamic Relief talking about Nakba Day?

Islamic Relief has been working in the Occupied Palestinian Territory since 1997, supporting Palestinians in need through emergency response efforts and development programming. Despite immense challenges, throughout the current crisis we have delivered lifesaving aid including water supplies, hygiene kits, psychosocial support for children and millions of hot meals.

We are also providing healthcare to expectant mothers and their newborns, running education activities for children living in displacement camps, and expanding our orphan sponsorship programme

This support is a lifeline for thousands of families in a time of desperate need.

Many of our staff and local partners have become displaced since October 2023 and are facing the same challenges as the communities we support. Our office in Gaza is among the almost 900,000 buildings destroyed or damaged by Israel’s bombing campaign. 

On Nakba Day we commemorate the ongoing suffering and injustice facing the Palestinian people, and their continued expulsion from their land. Their suffering is not consigned to the history books: it is a deepening and devastating humanitarian crisis unfolding before the eyes of the world. More than 6 months since the ceasefire announcement, Israel continues to block humanitarian aid and Palestinians continue to suffer daily attacks, severe humanitarian deprivation, and mass displacement.  

We are calling on international governments to protect Palestinians’ right to stay on their land and live in safety and dignity. World leaders must demand full adherence to the ceasefire agreement, an end to the Israeli occupation, protection of civilians and full unimpeded humanitarian access.

This is the present-day reality for everyone in Gaza, but whether it remains their future too depends on the decisions made by world leaders and international bodies today.   

Please help Islamic Relief to continue supporting families in desperate need in Gaza. Donate to Palestine Appeal now.