A journey to Kaukaba highlights the resilience of Lebanon’s olive trees and the cultural significance of traditional olive harvesting amidst ongoing conflict. As families unite in the harvest, they uphold a connection to their ancestral land, with the olive tree symbolizing unity and heritage. Despite threats from nearby violence, the community remains dedicated to their customs, showcasing the enduring spirit of the Lebanese people and their commitment to preserving their agricultural legacy.
As we embark on our journey south at the break of dawn, my fiancée shares a beautiful Fayrouz melody from her phone. This iconic singer’s voice resonates best during the early hours when the sun gently rises above the mountains, and the streets of Beirut remain tranquil. Fayrouz stands as a national emblem of Lebanon, much like the revered cedar trees and the resilient olive groves that dot the landscape. In a country often divided by multiple faiths, these symbols unite everyone.
Both Fayrouz and the olive trees share an enduring presence, steadfast amidst the turmoil that often envelops Lebanon. Even now, as conflict rages between Hezbollah and Israel, transforming parts of Lebanon into desolate battlegrounds, the olive trees stand resilient.
My fiancée hails from Kaukaba, a small Christian village situated perilously close to the conflict zone, just a few kilometers from Israel’s border. Typically, Kaukaba features sunlit streets, where wild cats roam freely and houses are adorned in shades of yellow and white—all framed by the iconic olive trees.
“I Will Never Let Go”
“I Will Never Let Go”
Some olive trees in Kaukaba boast a lineage exceeding a thousand years. Each autumn, vibrant green olives mature on their twisted branches, only to wither into black remnants if left unharvested.
In a bid to protect the harvest and uphold tradition, my fiancée’s parents, who have spent their lives near Beirut, resolved to return to their ancestral land for the olive picking season. “War or no war,” her father—a passionate gardener and former chef—proclaims, “I survived the civil war. I will never let go now.”
Thus, on this serene Saturday morning, we drive eastward along the Damascus highway, crossing the ever-battered Bekaa Valley, and then heading southward along the Syrian frontier, towards Kaukaba, drawing closer to the front lines.
Kaukaba is a diminutive village housing around 200 residents, nestled on a slope across from Mount Hermon, referred to locally as Haramoun. From its summit, one can spot the distant barracks and antennas of the Israeli army, which has held the Golan Heights since 1967.
Rooted in Heritage and Land
Rooted in Heritage and Land
The family’s olive orchard lies in the valley, surrounded by other family-owned groves. The laughter of children at play fills the air, as entire clans gather to participate in the harvest, undeterred by the nearby conflict.
The olive tree is not merely a symbol of Lebanon but also represents the broader Levant. For instance, stateless Palestinians have embraced the olive as their national emblem, prompting international activists to travel to the occupied West Bank to assist with the olive harvest. It symbolizes a deep-rooted connection to the land.
In Kaukaba, the sentiment is similar. However, the village’s Christian residents express a greater concern for the Israeli threats than the Hezbollah militia, which often launches rockets from the hills surrounding Kaukaba, leading to retaliatory airstrikes that leave many nearby Shia villages unable to harvest their olives. The trees, in some cases, have been damaged or destroyed.
Fortunately, Kaukaba has largely remained untouched. Today is peaceful, with a few Syrian workers laboring quietly in the groves. These workers, arranged by the local administration, help families harvest olives by the hour. They skillfully strike the branches with long sticks, coaxing down the ripe fruits.
Later, Syrian women, dressed in vibrant skirts, silently collect the olives and separate the spoiled ones. In Lebanon, the contribution of Syrian workers is crucial; without them, even in times of peace, the harvest would suffer. Meanwhile, we engage in the meticulous hand-picking process. My fiancée’s father explains that olives meant for oil can be shaken from the trees, while those destined for direct consumption require careful hand-picking.
The act of harvesting is almost meditative. Standing among the trees, I feel the rough bark beneath my fingers as the warm sun shines down, and the leaves rustle gently in the breeze. It feels serene, allowing thoughts to drift towards spirituality and the world beyond, momentarily forgetting the looming war.
Yet, the war is a mere heartbeat away. One of the Syrian laborers shares that he fled from nearby bombings, relocating his family to Aleppo to escape the conflict. When asked about his future plans, he simply shrugs and replies, “I’ll keep picking. I need to earn a living.”
Lebanon: The Olive’s Cradle
Lebanon: The Olive’s Cradle
Suddenly, distant explosions punctuate the tranquility. A deep rumble echoes, and smoke billows on the horizon, stemming from the nearby Shia village of Khiam, where fierce clashes rage between Israel and Hezbollah. Despite the chaos, the Syrian workers remain focused, continuing their labor until they load the harvest into bags and depart in a Toyota van.
Later, the olives are processed into oil within a local garage, where only Syrian men toil. They transfer the harvested olives onto a conveyor belt for cleaning, followed by grinding with a traditional millstone. The paste is then spread on straw mats and pressed, a method that has endured for over a century.
Once, modern machinery was prevalent, but the people of Kaukaba prefer to uphold their traditional techniques. Georges Obeid, a slender man who typically works for Lebanese state security in Beirut, shares, “My family has operated this press since the sixties. But now, it’s harvest time, and I’m here to oversee it.”
Lebanon is renowned as one of the original homes of the olive tree, with cultivation dating back to the Phoenicians, who planted them over 4000 years ago. However, unlike the oils from leading producers like Italy or Spain, the olive oil from Lebanon remains a hidden gem, waiting to be discovered by the world.