An officer from the Civil Administration asks the soldiers to allow me to move on. They examine me, take my identity card from my pocket, and the officer states: “We are going to uproot these trees. Where do you want us to replant them?” I ask him why, and he explains that the route of the separation barrier was going to pass through here. I inform him that the Green Line is a few kilometers away, and I inquire, “Why are you building the barrier on our land?”

Osama’s voice was heavy with emotion. The officer replies that we only have a few hours to decide where we want the trees to be replanted, and he says that they will come back to uproot them the next morning. Osama looks at the ground and is silent. The room is enveloped in uncertainty, and I soon hear it fill with a mix of prayers and curses.

I begin to speak. “Friends, we cannot let this pass silently. We must prepare. We will not stand idly by and watch while they do this! Usually, the soldiers arrive at seven o’clock in the morning, but we can precede them and be there at six. We can chain ourselves to the trees, and Israeli and international activists have already offered to join us in the past.” The atmosphere of worry in the room is replaced by motivation. “We are ready!” Abdullah Abu Rahma’s eyes are shining and he calls the satellite television network Al-Arabiya. Once he hangs up, he updates us, “They will be here tomorrow and will broadcast live.” This is the point of no return. Our hearts beat strongly. We will not sleep tonight.

The soldiers arrive at six o’clock, but we had assumed they would come early, so we arrived at five. We were one step ahead of them. Darkness cloaks the surroundings. We all arrived – Palestinians, Israelis, and foreigners. We silently wrap the metal chains around our bodies and around the thick stems of the olive trees, and secure them with large locks.

The first ray of light appears on the horizon, and the gleaming reddish gold reflects onto our trees. At the same time, the soldiers establish a checkpoint in the village, without realizing that we had already left to protect the endangered trees. The looks on their faces when they arrive and see us already chained to the trees is a sight for sore eyes.

News agencies and journalists were all on their way to Bilin, and the soldiers did not know how to handle them. Abdullah Abu Rahma gives interviews ceaselessly and talks to the cameras on behalf of the Popular Committee for the Struggle Against the Barrier. “Israel claims that the barrier is intended to ensure its security but look at these trees that they intend to uproot in order to construct the barrier,” he says. “They are not even located near the Green Line, and are kilometers away from the closest illegal Israeli settlement. This barrier will separate us from our fields. These trees are our livelihood. If Israel steals them from us, it will be stealing our future.”

In front of me I see six bulldozers gathering near the trees. They look to me like a pack of hungry dogs eager to be freed from their leashes. “I’ll see you soon,” I promise Lamiyaa. I didn’t know if I was telling her the truth, and she could hear the hesitation in my voice. “God be with you,” she replies in a shaky voice.

At ten thirty, the soldiers receive an order and start moving towards the trees. They approach the Palestinian activist Wajiya, a 50-year-old resident of the village with a white beard. He is standing chained to a tree and is bravely reciting a poem he wrote about the olive trees. The soldiers listen with trepidation as they approach the Palestinians armed only with the power of justice. Eventually, the soldiers remove the Palestinians and arrest them.

Usually in these circumstances, the Israeli activists are transferred to a police station and then released, the foreigners are brought to the airport and deported , and the Palestinians are arrested and placed in military prisons for weeks or months. To our surprise, the soldiers merely kick out the Israeli and international activists and release the Palestinian activists. What is going on here?

The soldiers forcefully disperse the crowds far away from Osama’s land, beating anyone in their path with their batons, and dragging them away. The hungry dogs – those massive bulldozers—are unleashed and begin to move. They grab their prey with their colossal arms, and dig into the ground under the ancient, aged olive trees. They lift up the trees and cut off their lifeline.

The disaster ends.

We count about a hundred olive trees that were uprooted and destroyed.

Each of them a whole world.

Muhamad al-Khatib