Tagore poetically stated that “Trees are the continuous attempt by the Earth to communicate with the attentive sky.” My initiation into priesthood six years prior was marked by my companion Matthew gifting me a small olive tree, a symbol of resiliency and faith that I nurtured in a pot due to my transient lifestyle. This resilient sapling has now found a permanent home in the unkempt lawn of our vicarage – a testament to our commitment towards the neighbourhood.
Olive trees are known for their hardiness, thriving in parched conditions and infertile soil, maturing slowly over millennia. This resilience has led some to believe that the olive trees present in Gethsemane’s Garden today may be the same ones that witnessed Jesus’ painful prayers before his execution. In Palestinian culture, the olive tree represents their fight for national recognition due to its durability and its symbolism of peace.
Olive trees need many years to bear fruit, thus they were never planted during warfare. Their long roots symbolise dedication and a commitment to faith, hope, love, and kinship. A poignant image comes to mind – an old Palestinian woman mourning, hugging a fallen olive tree while an indifferent soldier in a bulldozer observes her.
Over the past months, individuals globally, including Ireland, organised pilgrimages and prayer walks in support of Palestinian Christians and all those affected by the ongoing strife. In Portsmouth, we collectively walked more than 32 kilometres – an equivalent distance from Gaza City to Rafah crossing where many Gazans were confined. The Canadian pilgrim, Isabella Mori, inspired by our endeavour, penned a series of haikus to accompany the Ontario pilgrimage. I am privileged to share a few of these with her consent.
Reflecting on the demise of Dire Straits, Mark Knopfler wistfully suggests he could have continued performing, potentially enabling the band to attain popularity as vast as Brazil. Alongside this anecdote, the narrative weaves a combination of vivid imagery and emotive language to portray various scenes: a burning sky, an olive plantation, the grave’s solemn quiet, an exploding bomb, and a pilot causing fatal harm.
A recurrent theme is the tragic case of the Palestinian poet and scholar Refat Alareer and his family, who tragically lost their lives in an air strike in Gaza. His poignant haiku discovered at the start of one of his poems implores, “If I must perish, let my story live through you”. This tragic narrative emphasises the importance of bearing witness.
Regardless of the countless torments inherited by both conflicting sides on this sacred land, precious to the three religious bodies of Abrahamic faith, many individuals and communities remain steadfast in their dedication to non-violence. Organisations such as The Women in Black, Combatants for Peace, Breaking the Silence, Roots (Shorashim/Judur), B’Tselem, We Are Not Numbers, Standing Together, and The Parents Circle are worth mentioning here. This is a plea for support and prayers for these peace-seekers, likened to olive trees deeply rooted in this disputed territory harbouring two truths, two people. The Tent of Nations, another peacekeeping family in the West Bank, bravely declares at their farm’s entrance, “We decline to be adversaries.”
Finally, the moving haiku by a Canadian traveller contributes a hopeful note. Despite the fruitless night, the dawn witnesses the germination of an olive seedling from the ruins – a symbol of resilience and new beginnings.