This statement is from the Palestinian Farmers Union (PFU), a broadly recognized Palestinian farmers’ network that focuses on defending the rights of farmers and building the capacity of farmers’ organizations and sustainable agricultural development, fueled by the dream of an independent democratic Palestinian state.

Hanan Salama, 59 years old, was a mother of five—one son and four daughters—from the small village of Faqqua in the Jenin governorate. Her life was simple but rich in meaning, rooted deeply in the soil she worked with her hands. Like so many Palestinian women, she lived for her family and for the land, relying on the olive harvest to sustain her loved ones. The olive trees were more than a source of income—they were a symbol of her people’s endurance, of their unbroken connection to the earth.

Each autumn, when the season came, Hanan would head out to the fields, as she had done for decades. This year was no different. Alongside her husband and son, she once again ventured into the olive grove she cherished. For Hanan, the trees were sacred; they carried the weight of generations. Underneath their shade, she would tell her children stories—tales of struggle, survival, and hope. Her words spoke of the olive oil that flowed from the land like the lifeblood of the Palestinian people, sustaining them through each year of hardship.

But on October 17, 2024, as Hanan bent down to gather olives from the ground, her life was abruptly stolen. She didn’t know that morning that it would be her last time among the trees. The routine of picking olives, a peaceful act she had known all her life, was violently shattered when an Israeli female soldier, positioned nearby, fired a single, cold-blooded shot.

Hanan wasn’t a threat. She wasn’t armed. She didn’t carry anything but the baskets for her olives. The bullet was fired with intent, a calculated act against a woman whose only “crime” was her presence on the land she refused to leave. As her body fell to the ground, the olive branches swayed gently above her, as if in mourning. The olives she had been harvesting slipped from her hands, scattering like tears upon the earth.

In that moment, the olive trees grove, usually a place of life and sustenance, became a silent witness to her death. This year, the trees would not produce oil alone—they would cry out in grief, weeping blood for the woman who had nurtured them with such care.

Hanan’s family was left broken, their anchor and provider gone forever. The village of Faqqua, too, mourned a loss deeper than words. Hanan was more than a mother; she was the embodiment of resilience, a woman who spent her life in quiet defiance, standing strong on her land, even as it was threatened year after year. And in the end, she gave her life for it, her final breath taken beneath the olive trees she had loved so dearly.