From Arraba, southwest of Jenin, to Mays al-Jabal, Yaroun, Aitaroun and Houla in southern Lebanon, strikingly similar scenes are being repeated: Israeli occupation bulldozers and military vehicles enter agricultural lands, leaving olive trees — some of which have stood for decades, and perhaps centuries — uprooted or burned.

The latest such scene unfolded on Tuesday, September 1, in the Arraba area of the Jenin governorate, where Israeli occupation forces uprooted dozens of olive trees on both sides of the road connecting the towns of Arraba and Ya'bad, according to the Palestinian news agency WAFA.

According to the report, the operation affected both old and recently planted trees. Israeli authorities had previously notified landowners in the area that trees would be removed, citing considerations related to “securing roads and protecting settler movement.”

But what happened in Arraba does not appear to be an isolated scene when viewed alongside what other areas have experienced in recent months.

Across the border, in southern Lebanon, large areas of agricultural land and olive groves have suffered extensive damage during the war and subsequent Israeli military operations.

In June 2025, reports documented the Israeli military bulldozing olive groves in the Mays al-Jabal area during an overnight incursion into Lebanese territory.

Similar scenes continued throughout 2026.

In July, reports emerged of olive groves being burned in southern border areas. Then, in early August, fires in the town of Yaroun, in the Bint Jbeil district, damaged mature olive trees.

Later reports also documented the bulldozing of agricultural land and olive trees around Aitaroun, alongside demolition and land-clearing operations in other southern towns.

The figures illustrate the scale of the damage to the agricultural sector. Lebanese Agriculture Minister Nizar Hani was quoted as saying that approximately 56,000 olive trees were destroyed or uprooted in the town of Houla alone, an indication that the damage extends far beyond the loss of a single agricultural season.

What connects Arraba with the villages of southern Lebanon is not merely the type of tree.

Olive cultivation in Palestine and Lebanon is deeply rooted in the social and economic history of rural communities, with ownership of many groves passing from one generation to the next. Losing a mature olive tree, therefore, represents far more than the loss of a quantity of olives or olive oil.

A tree that requires decades to reach its current size and level of production cannot simply be replaced by planting a sapling and waiting for the next harvest.

This becomes even more significant in border and rural areas, where land ownership, cultivation and continued access to farmland are closely tied to the ability of residents to remain on their land and preserve their livelihoods.

There is a clear difference between the legal and political contexts of the occupied West Bank and southern Lebanon, and the two situations cannot be placed within a single legal framework.

Yet the physical outcome on the ground is strikingly similar: mature olive trees are uprooted or burned, agricultural lands are damaged, and farmers lose within hours what their families spent decades building.

In Arraba, the latest uprooting followed earlier measures during the same year. In March 2026, Israeli orders targeted the removal of trees around a military site east of the town. Later, dozens of olive trees were reportedly uprooted from an area estimated at approximately 25 dunams.

In southern Lebanon, the losses were likewise not confined to a single town. Agricultural damage extended from Mays al-Jabal and Houla to Aitaroun, Yaroun and other areas along the border.

Perhaps the most telling image in comparing Arraba with southern Lebanon lies in the simplicity — and brutality — of the scene itself.

An olive tree can take decades to become part of the landscape, identity and history of a piece of land, a village and a family. A heavy bulldozer can uproot it in minutes.

When land loses its trees, it does not merely lose its agricultural cover. It also loses part of its economic value and part of a natural and cultural landscape shaped over generations.

For that reason, what is happening deserves to be viewed beyond the images of bulldozers and uprooted trees. It touches on the relationship of entire communities with the land on which they live and from which they make their living.

From Arraba in Palestine to the villages of southern Lebanon, borders, circumstances and political contexts differ — but the olive tree remains a common witness.

And when a tree planted by grandparents is uprooted, the question is no longer simply how many trees were removed, but how much has been lost that numbers alone cannot measure.