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As October approaches, monks and nuns get busy harvesting olives on the Mount of Olives and in the Garden of Gethsemane – where, according to the gospels, Jesus spent the last night before being taken to the other side of the valley. Jerusalem To be crucified.
For two years, Israel-Hamas war has spoiled the atmosphere holy landThe hundreds of centuries-old olive trees present here have been shaken from time to time by missile attacks. israel,
But this year’s harvest came as an armistice agreement was reached, spreading a tenuous hope for peace – peace that olive branches have symbolized since the Biblical story of the dove that was brought back to Noah’s Ark to signal the end of the Flood.
“The land is a gift and a sign of a divine presence,” said the Rev. Diego Dalla Gasa, the Franciscan in charge of the harvest at the hermitage next to Gethsemane. The word Gethsemane is from the ancient Aramaic and Hebrew for “oil press”.
Mostly for Dalla Gassa and others Catholic The congregation on the hill, preserving and harvesting olives to make oil is not a business or primarily a source of livelihood for their communities. Rather, it is a form of prayer and reverence.
“Being custodians of sacred sites means not just protecting them, but keeping them alive physically, but also spiritually,” he said. “It’s actually the sacred sites that protect us.”
Harvesting olives by hand on the Mount of Olives
Early on a recent morning, Dalla Gassa changed from his habit to a T-shirt and shorts — albeit with an olive wood cross around his neck — and headed to the rooftops overlooking Jerusalem’s Old City.
The bright sun was shining off the golden dome of the Al-Aqsa Mosque, visible over the bell towers of Christian churches as well as the walls encircling the Temple Mount – Judaism’s holiest site.
Dalla Gasa and a handful of volunteers, ranging from Israeli Jews to Italian law enforcement officers, picked black and green olives by hand and with small rakes, and dropped them onto nets beneath the trees.
Once he had filled a cart, Dalla Gassa covered his ears and started humming the loud, modern press. Soon, the aroma of freshly pressed green oil filled the air. It takes up to 10 kilograms (22 lb) of olives to produce one liter (34 oz) of extra-virgin oil.
harvest as prayer
Up the hill from the Franciscan convent, Sister Mary Benedict walks among the olive trees with the adopted cat she has named “Petit Chat,” which is French for little cat.
“It’s easy to pray while picking and nature is so beautiful,” she said later as she began her harvest. “It’s like a comeback time.”
For more than two decades, French nuns have lived in the Benedictine monastery founded atop the Mount of Olives in the late 19th century. Now only half a dozen sisters live there, their days filled with 16-hour days of work, contemplative walks in the garden, and prayer.
“It is very peaceful here, very simple,” said Sister Columba, who is from the Philippines and is in charge of making sure the church lamps always have enough olive oil to keep them burning near the tent.
Olive trees are an essential crop in this desert region where they have been grown for millennia. For decades they have been at the center of sometimes violent land disputes between Palestinians and some Jewish residents in the West Bank. Israel captured East Jerusalem, including the Mount of Olives, in the 1967 war.
The congregations on the hill do not have commercial production, they devote the vast majority of the oil to their own use, both in the kitchen and in rituals. Many Christians use oil blessed by the priest during the annual Chrism Mass for rituals ranging from anointing the sick to blessing baptized people and new altars.
“Good only when pressed”: the olive and religious symbolism
For the religious brothers and sisters who live among these trees, the harvest itself is spiritual and full of symbolism.
“In picking olives, we learn how we are picked. We go looking for that last olive — that’s what God does with us, even the ones that are a little harder to reach,” Dalla Gassa said.
Squeezing a plump green olive between his fingers, he also talked about the sacrifice that comes with fulfilling the obligation of love toward God and neighbor.
Dalla Gassa said, “Olives are good only when pressed. It is the same for us.”
The volunteers who are harvesting this year share the same great experiences of dusty, hot work days.
“The garden is very special. It’s full of spirituality and sacredness,” said Ilana Peer-Goldin, who was helping Dalla Gasa with the harvest on a recent morning. An Israeli raised in Jerusalem, she is influenced by Jewish, Catholic and Buddhist practices.
Teresa Penta, who is from Puglia, Italy – one of the Mediterranean region’s top olive-producing regions – has spent 13 years in the hermitage next to Gethsemane.
He said, “This place has an eternal charm.”
The modern olive press has been around for only a few years. He said this added special meaning and that Gethsemane had returned to its original function.
This year’s crop has been reduced due to drought and strong spring winds, which have damaged the flowers. Still, other congregations are sending their olives to be processed at the monastery of Letrun, which is about halfway between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv.
The Trappist monks of Lateran also have olive trees and vines, although thousands of them were destroyed by a devastating fire this spring.
Walking toward the olive press outside the abbey church in his black-and-white habit, Brother Athanase said the production of oil and wine helps the monks earn their livelihood. But the ultimate goal for the contemplative religious is different.
He said, “Working with repeated expressions to create empty space, to be completely available to our Lord, Jesus Christ.” “It is a life that must be achieved to the fullest.”
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AP journalist Melanie Lidman contributed from Tel Aviv, Israel.
___ Associated Press religion coverage is supported by the AP’s collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from the Lilly Endowment Inc. AP is solely responsible for this content.