• Sauce Raïto

    Sauce provençale aux tomates, au #Vin_rouge, aux olives et aux câpres, typique du souper de Noël provençal. Faites chauffer dans une casserole de terre, quatre cuillerées d’huile d’olive et mettez-y dorer un gros oignon haché. Faites-lui bien prendre couleur puis mêlez-y une grosse cuillerée de farine pour la liaison. Dès qu’elle blondit, après 5 minutes de cuisson, mouillez à petits coups de vin rouge bien franc et un demi-litre d’eau bouillante (bouillon de poule ou de boeuf). Ajoutez trois grosses tomates… #Olives, #Câpres, Vin rouge, #Sauces_tomate, #Provence / #Végétarien, #Sans œuf, #Sans gluten, Végétalien (vegan), #Sans lactose, Sans (...)

    #Végétalien_vegan_ #Sans viande

  • En Cisjordanie, les olives de la colère
    Par Guillaume Gendron, envoyé spécial à Burin (Cisjordanie) — 3 novembre 2020 - Libération

    Au Sud de Naplouse, un responsable de la sécurité de Yitzhar et l’agricultrice palestinienne Doha Assos. Photo Guillaume Gendron

    (...) Soudain, un pick-up avale la colline et interrompt le pique-nique. L’homme au volant, robuste gaillard à papillotes blondes et calotte de laine, se présente comme « Yaakov, de la sécurité de Yitzhar ». Doha s’en méfie : l’an passé, il l’avait menacée de la dénoncer au Shabak, les renseignements israéliens. Lui prétend être venu jeter un œil, pour « protéger les arbres des voleurs » et empêcher un nouveau « balagan » (« bordel » en hébreu). Il sous-entend que Doha n’est pas propriétaire des oliviers. La réponse fuse : « J’ai les papiers, ce champ me vient de ma grand-mère. Tu oses dire ça, toi le voleur de terre ? » Le dialogue de sourds s’éternise. « On ne partira pas d’ici, vous ne partirez pas non plus, fait-il mine de concéder. Alors pourquoi pas faire la paix comme les Emirats, hein ? » Doha, dans sa tunique traditionnelle rouge et noire, explose : « Mais eux, ils ne sont pas sur mes terres ! Ces oliviers, je les ai plantés avant même que tu construises ta colonie ! » (...)

  • Palestinian volunteers help olive harvesters in ways the Palestinian Authority can’t
    Amira Hass | Oct. 23, 2020 | 10:49 AM | Haaretz.com

    In dozens of villages, the harvest has become life-threatening, and Israel prevents Palestinian security forces from protecting farmers. Volunteers have fill the vacuum – but settler violence isn’t limited to three weeks a year

    Volunteers with the Palestinian group Faz3a, whose members accompany olive harvesters to protect them from attacks by settlers, fill a vacuum. It’s a vacuum that the Palestinian Authority’s security forces never could fill in the West Bank’s areas B and C, where the Oslo Accords bar them from operating.

    Tens of thousands of Palestinian youths train in martial arts and the use of weapons for recruitment to the Palestinian security forces, including the police. Under the agreements with Israel, they must help the Shin Bet security service and the army monitor Palestinians, arrest and interrogate them.

    They’re expected to avert any harm to Israeli citizens. But they’re barred from protecting Palestinian civilians against attacks by thugs who are Israeli citizens.

    All the PA can do is “condemn” the violence. Its security agencies may pass the complaints of the assaulted Palestinians to the Israeli police (before coordination was halted in May), and write down the details of the assaults.

    At the beginning of the month, Palestinian media outlets reported on the establishment of the group Faz3a for the 2020 olive harvest. They quoted one of its founders, Mohammed al-Khatib of Bil’in, as saying that faza’a – Arabic for a response or a call for help during a war – is a Palestinian tradition of coming to the rescue of the masses in times of trouble.

    Faza’a operations in 1948 are etched in the Palestinian collective memory, when residents of Palestinian villages gathered their guns from their hideouts and went out to help the organized Palestinian fighters in the fighting against the armed members of the Jewish community.

    Olive harvesting isn’t just any seasonal farming or source of income. It’s a cultural, multigenerational and festive family event that everyone eagerly awaits. Entire families take part, young and old alike, and the process is a skill taught by the grandparents.

    But in dozens of villages in the West Bank, the olive harvest, and agriculture in general, have become dangerous activities, even life-threatening, due to the proximity of the ever-spreading outposts and the settlements that spawn these outposts. Settler violence and the Israeli authorities’ refusal to stop it have had a chilling effect: Not everyone dares to take the risk, not everyone wants to bring the women and children along, for fear of putting them in harm’s way.

    Year-round violence

    Unlike the faza’a of 1948, the volunteers today have no weapons, only determination, courage and political awareness. They know that an abandonment of the farmers and villages contributes to social disintegration.

    Khatib was among the founders of the coordinating committee of popular resistance against Israel’s separation barrier in the early 2000s and was arrested for this, stood trial and went to prison. If we wish to draw any conclusions from his past, the volunteers take into account the possibility that the army will arrest them. When it comes to Palestinians, even self-defense can be considered a crime in Israel and reason for arrest.

    Faz3a says about 200 volunteers have joined so far, and they are expecting to work for around three weeks until the harvest is over. But the violence isn’t seasonal. It’s a problem year-round, and the Palestinian farmers stand alone in the battle, as if it were a personal problem, not one of Israel’s direct and indirect methods of shrinking the Palestinian space.

    The violence during the olive harvest is only one of many Israeli measures that have had a chilling effect or killed the joy of farming. In some regions the army routinely denies Palestinians access to their land “to prevent any friction” with violent settlers, except for three times a year, a few days each time: to plant, plow and harvest grain crops, and for the trees, to harvest, trim and plow.

    These farmers have had to give up on the custom of growing vegetables among the trees for private consumption or small-scale marketing. Ten or even 20 days of access a year aren’t enough, though some owners of land beyond the separation barrier have turned, against their will, into 10-day-per-year farmers.

    An example of this can be seen in villages like Biddu and Beit Ijza, whose orchards are surrounded and cordoned off by the large Israeli-only expanse that the settlements of Givat Ze’ev and Givon have created.

    “At one time the orchards were a place for the entire family to relax on Fridays,” a resident of Biddu said while waiting for soldiers to open a gate for the villagers to get to their land. “We would come to work here a few times a week. Now accessing the area is like visiting a prisoner in jail.”

    Fewer permits allotted

    Thousands of Palestinian families own tens of thousands of dunams of fertile agricultural land that has been imprisoned beyond the Israeli separation barrier. The barrier has 74 gates that allow farmers to pass through to reach their land. Forty-six of them are defined as “seasonal” and are opened only a few days a year. Twenty-eight are supposed to open every day or at least three times a week.

    The soldiers arrive, open and shut the gates a short time later, three times a day. Since the barrier was built, Israel has gradually stiffened its terms for obtaining a permit to access farmland. The number of permits has decreased, and thus, so has the number of family members reaching the orchards. Young people in particular show less and less interest in enduring the hassle.

    Each permit is issued only after a run-around from one Israeli Civil Administration office to another. The shortage of working hands is noticeable in the number of thornbushes among the trees, as well as in the decayed leaves and unpicked fruit. Sometimes farmers must go through a gate quite a distance away and then get to their plots on foot, because not everyone receives a permit to enter with a tractor or a donkey and wagon.

    Beyond the fixed opening time of the gates, the farmers have no control over what happens on their land. Harvested crops and equipment are stolen. Garbage gets dumped there. There are fires, whether due to negligence or a stun grenade or tear gas canister shot by a soldier; the Palestinian farmers depend on the Israeli firefighters’ goodwill to put out these blazes.

    Here the Faz3a volunteers can’t be helpful. Though it’s public and private Palestinian land, part of the West Bank, they are barred from reaching it. Only Israelis and foreign tourists may freely access this Palestinian land.

    The attitude of Palestinians to this situation falls somewhere between feeling a bit sorry for the Palestinian Authority to being angry and mocking it. “What can it do?” the farmers wonder when access to their land is blocked by settler violence or Civil Administration rules.

    Some people conclude from this state of helplessness that “they don’t even care there in the PA.” This is how Israel widens the gap and sense of alienation and distrust between the Palestinian citizen and a disabled Palestinian self-rule.

    #colons #olives

    • Settlers hurled rocks at the Palestinian farmer’s head. His age didn’t deter them
      Gideon Levy, Alex Levac | Oct. 22, 2020 | Haaretz.com

      Settlers stoned and injured a 73-year-old Palestinian in his grove, others vandalized another farmer’s 200 trees. A journey during the season of harvest – which is also clearly the season of settler violence

      At home on the outskirts of the West Bank village of Na’alin, an elderly farmer, Khalil Amira, is nursing a head wound he suffered when settlers stoned him while he harvested olives in his grove – in front of his daughter and grandchildren. About an hour’s drive south, in the village of Jab’a, two other aged farmers are lamenting the damage wrought to their olive trees by other thugs. And these are only three recent examples of the dozens of Palestinian harvesters who are being assaulted on their lands on an almost daily basis.

      It’s autumn, with its clouds and its howling wind, as the old Israeli song goes, and it’s also the season of the olive harvest – and with it settlers who go on a rampage every year at this time, across the West Bank. It’s not autumn if there’s no olive harvest, and there’s no olive harvest without settler rampages. And the start of this season bodes ill.

      Several weeks into the harvest, which began this year on October 5, the Yesh Din – Volunteers for Human Rights NGO has already documented 25 violent incidents, and no one apparently intends to put a stop to them. The police accept complaints and take down testimonies, but that seems to be the extent of their activity.

      According to Yesh Din, between 2005 and 2019, only 9 percent of the complaints filed by Palestinians over Israelis’ violence against them ended with the alleged perpetrators being brought to trial. Fully 82 percent of the cases were closed, including nearly all of the complaints about the destruction of olive trees.

      Amira is surrounded by family in his fine house in Na’alin, west of Ramallah. His head is bandaged, concealing 15 stitches; his family envelops him with concern and warmth. Since being wounded last week by a stone thrown at him by settlers, he’s returned to the hospital twice, because of possible intracranial bleeding. A working man of 73, Amira was employed for 20 years as a welder in the predominantly ultra-Orthodox city of Bnei Brak, in Israel; he also worked for years at Elco, an industrial conglomerate. His father left him, his two sisters and his six brothers 100 dunams (25 acres) of olive trees, which he has been cultivating since his retirement, after becoming ill with a heart ailment. He speaks Hebrew fluently, and he and his family are gracious hosts.

      Amira’s access to his land was cut off in 2008 by the construction of the West Bank separation barrier – a fate that befell many Palestinian farmers. Part of his property was also expropriated for the establishment of a settlement called Hashmona’im, which is on the other side of the barrier, yet another annexation-type stunt. Recently, settlers ruined the two wells that were his on land adjacent to Hashmona’im. They would descend into one of the wells with a ladder and wash themselves in it, contaminating the water. The settlers also made a breach in the fence that encircles Hashmona’im and dumped garbage and construction debris on another part of his land – the evidence is still there. Amira filed a complaint with the Binyamin District police, and the dumping stopped for a time, but it resumed last February. It was clear that the perpetrators of the recent assault on him also set out from Hashmona’im, even if they were not necessarily residents of the settlement.

      For 11 years, the farmer was unable to visit the land he owns, adjacent to the fence surrounding Hashmona’im – others were able to work it for him – until last fall, when he was able to harvest his olives with no interference. He wanted to do the same this year. The Israel Defense Forces allow him four days to pick olives – with advance coordination. Amira was supposed to start picking Monday last week, but because of a doctor’s appointment, he didn’t arrive until the following day.

      They set out early in the morning: Amira, his son Raad, 47, his daughter Halda, 35, and three young grandchildren. The IDF does not permit them to arrive at their lands by vehicle, so they had to walk about a kilometer from the gate in the separation fence. By about midday they had collected enough olives to fill a large sack. Raad hoisted a bag with half of the olives onto his shoulder and carried it to the gate, and then returned for the other half. Seeing that Raad was tired, his father told him he didn’t have to come back again.

      At 2:30 P.M., Amira hid the tools he had used in the grove, before his departure. When he returned from the hiding place, he saw that his daughter and grandchildren had already left. On his way to the gate he saw his grandson’s knapsack on the ground. He picked it up and continued to walk, when suddenly he heard shouts.

      In a nearby grove, he saw four masked young people throwing rocks at his nephew, Abd al-Haq, and his son, Yusuf, who were working there separately. Spotting Amira, the masked men began hurling rocks at him as well. The fact that he was elderly apparently made no impression on them. According to Amira, they had large rocks that they had brought with them. Otherwise, they were not armed and did not wield clubs. He tried to evade the onslaught but could not escape. At one point, he was struck on the left side of his head, and he collapsed to the ground. He doesn’t know how long he lay there, nor does he remember any more about the person who threw the rock that hit looked like.

      “They didn’t look like people to me, but devils,” he tells us now.

      Soldiers appeared out of nowhere and administered first aid. His wife and the three grandchildren, also arrived, and were distraught. Blood streamed from his head, and an army paramedic stanched the wound. The soldiers summoned an Israeli ambulance to meet them at Hashmona’im. Amira managed to walk with the aid of the soldiers, but the Druze guard at the settlement’s gate refused to allow any of them to enter.

      “Your dogs attacked me and you guard them and don’t let me in?” Amira said to him angrily, in Arabic.

      An IDF jeep arrived and took him to the Nili checkpoint, where he was transferred to a Palestinian ambulance and taken to the Ramallah Governmental Hospital. There Amira was stitched up and held for three days to check for possible intracranial bleeding. After he was released at the end of the week, however, he started to suffer from headaches and vomiting. He returned to the hospital this past Sunday, was checked and released again. He was still experiencing headaches and continuing to throw up this week when we visited.

      Amira tells us that he feels even more determined than he did before the incident. Of course he will return to his land, there’s no question, he asserts. It’s his property, no one is going to stop him. He has already filed a complaint with the police, and handed over an Israeli ID card that his nephew found at the site of the attack. It belongs to a Y.C., born in 2003, resident of Ganei Modi’in, a neighborhood in the ultra-Orthodox settlement of Modi’in Ilit.


      Mohammed Abu Subheiya, 63, a father of eight, is waiting next to his house in Jaba, north of Hebron. For 24 years he worked in Ashdod for Ashtrom, an Israeli construction company. Lately he’s been working in construction in Israel with other employers.

      In 1990, Abu Subheiya’s father planted 22 dunams of olive trees, which Abu Subheiya tends in his spare time.

      We walk with him down a precipitous, rock-strewn trail to his plot of land, which lies in the valley that runs between Jaba and the settlement of Bat Ayin, which gained notoriety in 2002 when a terrorist underground was uncovered there. Some of the settlers there are newly religious, including some from the Bratslav Hasidic sect. Bat Ayin is where the assailants of the Jaba groves come from.

      Abu Subheiya hadn’t visited his grove since early March, because of the coronavirus crisis, which forced him to remain in Israel and not go back and forth to the West Bank. At the beginning of October, the International Red Cross informed him that days had been set for him to harvest the trees in his grove, which lies in a danger zone because of the Bat Ayin settlers. Arriving there on October 4, he was stunned to see that only about half of the 48 trees he has here were still intact. The assailants had gone from tree to tree and sawed off the branches or uprooted the trunks completely. It will take five years for the damaged trees to recover and bear fruit again, he tells us.

      We walk from one tree to the next, examining their battered branches, and reflect on the malice of people who are capable of wreaking such destruction upon the fruit of the earth and upon those who work the land. An aroma of sage wafts from bushes along the edges of the grove. Across the way, the mobile homes of Bat Ayin are perched on the slope of a hill. Abu Subheiya says that when the settlers approach his land he flees in fear. After the incident early this month, he too filed a complaint with the police, at the station in the ultra-Orthodox settlement of Betar Ilit; some officers even came to see his grove, but since then he has heard nothing from them. Nor will he. Five years ago, settlers spread a chemical substance on the ground that poisoned 13 of his oldest trees, whose jagged trunks still stand as a silent monument in the grove.

      “They work very slowly,” he says of his attackers. “That’s their politics. To destroy slowly, every time somewhere else, so we will remain without olives.”

      We descend the hill on the other side of the village, opposite Betar Ilit. The road leading to the olive groves was demolished by the Israeli Civil Administration six years ago, because this is Area C (under full Israeli control). Access now is possible only in a 4x4 vehicle.

      “Why does a road bother anyone,” asks Abu Subheiya. “You want to take our land – take it. But why does a road bother anyone? We paved an asphalt road. They came and smashed it to bits.”

      We are now making our way on foot to the grove belonging to Khaled Mashalla, 69, on the lower slope of the steep valley. The remains of the ruined road are still evident under the dirt. Only the section near the village was demolished, the rest was left paved as it was.

      Last week, assailants came here, too, and uprooted dozens of trees; trunks and broken branches are strewn along the way. Mashalla estimates that he lost 220 trees. He’s an amiable, colorful man who works in the improvised parking lot at the Gevaot checkpoint for Palestinian laborers who cross into Israel, Together with his business partner, he takes 7 shekels ($2) protection money per car per day to guard it against theft. Plump and gleeful, he wears a tattered felt hat that he removes in a theatrical gesture to reveal his bald head. He and his brothers own 400 dunams of olive trees in the area.

      The vandalism occurred on the night between Tuesday and Wednesday of last week. The Bedouin who live on the edge of the village called Mashalla to say that they saw headlights in his grove that night. The next afternoon, when he got there after working at the checkpoint, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Dozens of branches had been sawed off. When we visit, we see that the younger trees were spared. They had been wrapped in plastic tubing, to protect them from the gazelles.

      #vandalisme #barbares

  • Biosicurezza nella Puglia del disseccamento

    Cosa avviene quando un’entità non umana dall’identità ibrida territorializza il paesaggio dell’olivicoltura pugliese? Questo contributo analizza le politiche che scaturiscono dalla presenza di #Xylella_fastidiosa nel territorio pugliese. Dal primo atto di emergenza, il #Piano_Silletti (2015), fino all’ultimo piano di emergenza (2019), le politiche di contenimento sono state orientate alla protezione della sicurezza produttiva dell’Unione Europea. La prevenzione del rischio, implicita nella direttiva 29/2000, riproduce una essenzializzazione «in deroga» delle entità della natura nel loro valore di scambio. La biosicurezza è così costruita attorno alla sicurezza produttiva, attraverso una proliferazione di confini che ridefiniscono le pratiche agricole e la distinzione tra vita sana e vita patologica. Spinto da considerazioni sulla fine della natura nell’era dei cambiamenti climatici e dell’Antropocene, questo articolo esplora possibilità diverse di concepire la biosicurezza, attraverso una diversa considerazione del rapporto spaziale con le entità non umane. Quali misure di biosicurezza possiamo immaginare in un’ecologia senza natura?

    #Pouilles #biosécurité #risque #agriculture #oliveraie #olives #écologie #nature
    ping @wizo @albertocampiphoto

  • Les olives amères de Palestine

    Chaque année, aux mois d’octobre et de novembre, a lieu la récolte des olives en Palestine. À l’occasion de la cueillette, la violence de certains colons israéliens à l’égard des paysan·nes redouble d’intensité. Pour protéger un tant soit peu les familles de ces agressions, des bénévoles de la terre entière viennent les assister. Cette saison, la violence a eu pour cible les bénévoles mêmes. Voici quelques éléments pour tenter de comprendre une situation très problématique. par Johanna Schreiner L’olive en (...) #Billets

  • Burning trees and beating farmers: Israeli settlers wreak havoc on another olive harvest – Mondoweiss

    Every year, without fail, Palestinians mark the beginning of autumn with the olive harvest. A sacred cultural event, families from across the country leave their towns and cities and head for their olive groves, passed down to them from the generations before.

    And every year, without fail, much of the harvest is characterized by attacks on Palestinian farmers and families by Israeli settlers and armed soldiers. This year is no different.

    Since the harvest began in early October, several incidents of settler attacks on farmers and their crops have been reported by activists and organizations in the occupied West Bank.

    #cisjordanie #palestine #israël #colonisation #destruction #violences #humiliation #démolition

  • #Poulet M’chermel (olives et #Citron confit)

    Tagine de poulet aux #Olives et au citron confit, grand classique de la cuisine marocaine. Marinade (chermoula) Couper le citron confit en quartiers pour en gratter la pulpe en retirant les pépins. Couper l’écorce restante en lamelles et la réserver. Écraser l’ail en pâte avec un peu de gros sel. Ajouter la pulpe de citron confit, les épices, le persil haché et un peu d’huile. Mixer le tout. Enduire le poulet extérieurement et intérieurement ou le découper en morceaux pour bien l’imprégner. Laisser…

    Poulet, Citron, Olives, #Tajines / #Sans_œuf, #Sans_gluten, #Sans_lactose, Mijoté


  • Gasdotto Tap, la procura di #Lecce sequestra un’area del cantiere: dubbi sull’espianto di 448 ulivi

    In località Le Paesane era stato recentemente avviato l’espianto di 448 ulivi che si trovano sul tracciato del gasdotto. Lunedì scorso sopralluogo del sindaco con i parlamentati M5S che avevano presentato un esposto

    #gazduc #Tap #énergie #gaz #Italie #olives #oliveraie #oliviers #Pouilles #Xyllela
    cc @albertocampiphoto @wizo

  • #Campobello_di_Mazara: lavoro agricolo precario e discriminazione

    Una delle tappe più importanti del circuito del lavoro stagionale in Sicilia è sicuramente Campobello di Mazara. Ogni anno tra settembre e dicembre arrivano fino a 1300 braccianti, la maggior parte di origine subsahariana, per lavorare nella raccolta delle olive. La situazione è complessa: mentre fino all’inizio del fenomeno tutti i lavoratori si accampavano in una contrada fuori città, chiamata #Erbe_Bianche, dal 2014 invece si è aggiunto lo spazio intorno a un ex oleificio confiscato alla mafia.


    #olives #agriculture #exploitation #travail #Italie #saisonniers #migrations #asile #réfugiés #Sicile

  • Rooted in the soil: the birth of agro-resistance in Palestine - The Ecologist

    For decades Israel has been driving Palestinian farmers off their land by imposing restrictions on agriculture, writes JONATHAN COOK. But one company, Canaan Fair Trade, has found an innovative way to resist peacefully, increasing resilience and prosperity in rural West Bank communities, and forging international alliances in the global movement for good food and farming.

    #agro-résistance #olives #oliviers #Palestine

  • #Olives piquantes apéritives

    Ça pique mais c’est bon ! Rincer et égoutter les olives. Les déposer dans un saladier. Verser l’huile d’olive. Ajouter la harissa et saupoudrer généreusement de Cumin et de Ras el Hanout. Mélanger.

    Olives, #Grignotages / #Sans_viande, #Sans_œuf, #Végétarien, Marinade/Saumure, Entrée, apéro, starter..., #Sans_lactose, #Végétalien, #Afrique_du_Nord

    #Marinade/Saumure #Entrée,_apéro,_starter...

  • In #South_Lebanon, Entire Families Pick #olives

    Many decided to put off their older children’s schooling so they could help them in the olive harvest. (Photo: Al-Akhbar) Many decided to put off their older children’s schooling so they could help them in the olive harvest. (Photo: Al-Akhbar)

    About 10 days ago, South Lebanon residents were busy harvesting olives from their fields. Many hired Syrian laborers, mostly refugees, despite the relative decline in olive production this (...)

    #Culture_&_Society #Articles

  • #Olives noires ou olives vertes ?

    Personnellement je préfère les olives noires dont je raffole, plus goûteuses et plus moelleuses. J’en boulotte tous les jours en préparant le déjeuner. Mais sur les marchés de chez moi, on trouve bien plus de vertes que de noires, c’est dommage. Olive sur la pizza, il paraît que c’est bon pour la santé, comme l’huile d’olive que j’utilise aussi quotidiennement. Au Liban, en Palestine, ailleurs en Méditerranée, c’est quoi la préférence ?

    Mon olive noire française préférée (pour l’instant) c’est la Lucques cultivée dans l’Hérault, l’Aude et les Pyrénées Orientales. Toute en longueur, tendre sous la dent, elle a un goût très fin, un peu noisette.

    la niçoise se mange comme des bonbons

    le week-end dernier j’en ai goûté d’excellentes arrivant direct de Corfou, assez proche de la petite niçoise

    j’aime bien aussi la très classique olive noire préparée à la grecque, plus charnue et plus salée