Shortly after the Swords of Iron war began on October 7, I began volunteering to help out in businesses that need working hands to survive. Accompanied by one of my sons, two of my grandsons or my wife, I have picked tomatoes and cucumbers, made tempeh, and have given lectures about beer to evacuees from northern and southern border communities.
My latest venture into volunteerism is related to the holiday of Tu Bishvat, the New Year of Trees, celebrated in Israel by planting trees and enjoying the fruits of the land. These include olives, one of the Seven Species which the rabbis say glorify the Land of Israel: wheat, barley, grapes, figs, pomegranates, olives, and dates.
Olive trees don’t need much attention. They grow here in the wild and can live for hundreds of years. There are some trees in Israel that can be dated back 2,000+ years and are still bearing fruit! The only thing we humans have to do is harvest the olives.
And so it was that one sunny morning a few weeks ago, I rode with my son Aharon and grandsons Amitai (14) and Yadin (11) to Kfar Shmuel, a moshav situated between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Our destination was the Paz Farm, a family enterprise of 100 dunams (25 acres) of olive trees and a modern press for producing olive oil.
Helping out with the olive harvest
We went to help with the olive harvest (which has a special name in Hebrew – masik). There were a few dozen other volunteers there, mostly American-born Orthodox families. Most of the regular harvesters were Arabs from West Bank villages (not very far away), but they have been unable to go to work there since the start of the war when the border was closed. The only ones left were the Jewish workers who were associated with the orchard. They also served as our guides.
The traditional way of harvesting olives is to spread a blanket at the foot of the tree, and then beat away at the branches with sticks so the olives fall onto the blanket. The orchard we worked in used a special machine on a tractor that gripped the trunk in a vise and shook it violently for a few seconds. That caused over 90% of the olives to fall onto the tarpaulin.
What about the other 10%? That’s where the volunteers stepped in. Picking up our sticks and mini-rakes, we knocked down and pulled down all the remaining olives we could see, often right onto our heads.
Yadin’s immediate reaction was, “Stop! You’re murdering the trees!” Our guides explained to him that this is how olives have been harvested for thousands of years, and it causes no permanent damage to the trees.
Each time we’d beaten a few trees and the tarpaulin was full, we pulled it over to a container, heaved up the tarpaulin, and dumped out the olives. Each container holds 400 kilograms (880 pounds) of olives.
It was hard work for about three straight hours, but Amitai and Yadin didn’t tire. They kept whacking the trees and bringing down the olives like real pros.
Afterwards, we walked over to the very modern, mechanized olive press, where workers were already pressing the olives harvested that morning. The trick is to press the olives as soon as possible after they are harvested, as this keeps the acidity level low.
Paz olive oil is not sold in retail stores but is supplied mostly to institutions such as hotels and restaurants. However, it is sold to volunteers and visitors, so we purchased a few liters to bring home.
Olive harvesting makes you very sore, very dirty, and very oily. But also very satisfied. It seems to work for all ages. ■
The writer was born in New York and has lived in Israel since 1971. He resides in Jerusalem with his wife of 55 years, and they have three sons and five grandchildren. Now semi-retired, he writes about Israeli craft beer on his Facebook page (Israel Brews and Views) and in The Jerusalem Post.