By Mike Hanini Odetalla
Have you ever tasted something so good, so special, that the taste continued to linger in your memories for the rest of your life? That no matter how many times you try, you are never able to duplicate it?
The memories of my childhood and my family’s fruit orchards in Palestine are still as fresh today as they were when I was there as a young boy. My family’s orchard produced an assortment of God’s beautiful bounty. We grew olives, peaches, figs, an assortment of plums, and the world’s best apricots.
My favorite fruit had always been the golden, slightly blushing, sun kissed, apricots that grew on the trees that were planted decades before by my grandfather. These aged trees continued to produce fruit that we ate and sold to the neighboring townspeople as well as in Jerusalem.
I remember getting up early in the early summer mornings and running to the dew covered orchards. I would go directly to my favorite apricot tree and pick the cool, dew covered fruit that had fallen that morning to the ground. These slightly bruised golden beauties were absolutely the best tasting fruit the tree offered for they had been left on the vine to reach the peak of flavor ripeness. The point of getting there early was two-fold. I would get there early so that the birds would not have a chance to devour the fruit as it lay on the ground and it was nice and cool in the mornings. Since Palestine gets no rainfall in the summer, the principle water source for the trees and plants is the cool dew that blankets the area in the mornings.
I would scan the ground for the best looking fruit, pick it up, and lift it over my mouth. I would then squeeze the golden nectar from the fruit and let it drip into my mouth. The taste of that sweet, cool nectar emanating from the fruit is something that is well beyond explanation. It must be experienced for no amount of explanation or imagery can do it justice or come close to conveying the flavor and the feeling. The trees that produced such delicious beauty were planted by hand, on land, which had been in my family for hundreds of years. The soil that these trees lived off of was worked by the hands of my forefathers before me. Their sweat and tears were part of the soil and in turn translated into the sweet taste that I now enjoyed. This was not lost on me even as a child. For every bite that we took from the bounty of our land, we thanked God, and said a prayer for the people that made it possible.
I have now been away from my land and country for over 33 years. I have been back “home” to Palestine on numerous occasions, but never in the peak season when the apricots were ripe. Here in the US they grow apricots as well. I even make treks to orchards here to try to replicate the tastes and feelings that I have in my memory, but to no avail. It is NOT the same. Not even close.
The tastes, smells, and the experiences of my childhood in Palestine continue to haunt and taunt me. It is like an elusive love that is experienced and then lost.
One can spend a lifetime trying to find and bring it back. To me the taste and smell of the nectar as it dripped from the apricot is something that I will cherish till my death. It is the essence of my life and attachment to a land that was stolen and continues to be from my people. For as long as I can remember the taste and smell of the bounty that my land and country produced, I will always yearn and dream of my return there… That is why I am deeply saddened and outraged when I see pictures of olive groves and orchards being destroyed and uprooted by Israeli bulldozers. They are more than just trees…they are a whole lot more than most Israelis and their soldiers will ever realize or know…
Mike Hanini Odetalla
9-2002
