One day we will again enjoy the olive harvest, not as displaced people but as farmers, as dreamers, and as children of this land.  

My grandfather’s garden was destroyed by Israeli tanks, but our connection to the land is not so easily erased.

Bombs shook the olive trees as we harvested — but we kept harvesting.

‘No matter how much the occupation destroys, we will remain in Gaza and so will the olive trees.’

Our family’s traditions and my grandfather’s life were destroyed by war.

A child is born / and comes to his life / somewhere in Gaza.