To some extent, there is a deep and long-lasting connection that Palestinians have with their land that is very hard to understand. As the Zionists expelled many of them, it was incomprehensible, they were expected to move somewhere in the Arab world and spread in them as them. However, the best thing is that Palestinians were always determined for their land and it has been 70 years that they had maintained their land and rights. They have a rightful claim to their homeland.
after the genocide that is going on in these regions, the question of why Palestinians refuse to abandon their homes and inherited lands even after the restlessness, relentless bombardments, settler encroachments, economic dispossession and striking raids goes beyond mere geography or property. It strikes at the very heart of Palestinian identity. This is not a normal connection; this connection to the land is practical and woven into the culture, history and collective memory. While some people call it stubbornness, the fact is, if they leave their land, it will have a huge and worse impact on their generations, they are already suffering severe conditions that their children will never forget. They want to save their generations for further.
As this society, holds on to agrarian culture and survives through this, so they have special significance in Palestine culture. The olive tree symbolizes this connection as perfectly ancient, resilient, and deeply rooted, much like the Palestinian people. Families tend to these trees as they tend to their heritage. Harvesting olives, pressing them into oil, and sharing that oil with loved ones are not merely agricultural activities; they are acts of cultural preservation.
Israelis have full information about how Palestine was surviving. Olive trees are the most special culture for these people. That is why Israeli settlers attacked and targeted Palestinian olive groves. Destroying an olive tree in Palestine means killing an individual. It is a direct assault on Palestinian identity. The ongoing destruction of these groves reflects Israel’s broader effort to erase Palestinian presence. Since 1967, Israel has uprooted nearly 800,000 olive trees, a war not just on nature, but also on Palestinian existence itself.
The attachment to the land persists even among those of us in the diaspora. Though I was born in Nablus in the occupied West Bank, I grew up outside Palestine. Despite this distance, my connection to the land has never wavered. My family was forced to flee during the Second Intifada, not out of choice, but out of necessity. My father witnessed the Israeli army seize his father’s land and turn it into a military checkpoint, and my mother was shot at by settlers on her way to work. Leaving was an act of survival, not voluntary migration.
Over the last two decades, I have regularly returned to Palestine, watching settlers gradually encroach on more land, pushing Palestinians further to the margins. The illegal settlements that I remembered as clusters of houses have since expanded into entire cities, surrounding and suffocating Palestinian towns and villages. Yet, amid the destruction, burnt olive trees, stolen water, and demolished homes, I witnessed a profound resistance. Palestinians were finding ways to survive, setting up water tanks during Israeli-imposed cut-offs, rebuilding homes under the cover of night, and rushing to support villages like Huwara during settler raids.
In the past year, Israeli violence has reached genocidal levels, yet Palestinian “sumud” steadfastness has remained unbroken. From Jenin to Gaza, under the relentless assault of colonialism, Palestinians continue to resist, simply by living and enduring. The more unbearable the occupier tries to make Palestinian life, the more Palestinians devise ingenious ways to keep going, whether it’s powering a washing machine with a bicycle, building a clay oven to bake bread, or constructing a generator from scrap parts. These acts of resilience, born out of necessity, embody the essence of sumud.
For Palestinians in the diaspora, our connection to the land has never faded. We watch with anguish and horror as the genocide unfolds, and as the world, particularly the leaders of Western nations. turns a blind eye to our suffering. The dehumanization of Palestinians has fueled despair, but it also serves as a reminder that we cannot give up. We owe it to those in Gaza, who continue to endure the horrors of genocide, to remain steadfast and tell the world: we are still here, we exist, and we will persevere, despite a world intent on erasing us.
The metaphor “we are the land” is not just a poetic flourish; it is the lived reality of the Palestinian people. When asked why we do not leave, Palestinians answer with resolve: “Why should we?” This is our land, cultivated by the blood, sweat, and tears of generations. To leave would be to lose everything, to allow the erasure of our history, our culture, and our collective soul. After all this time, Palestinians remain because we must.