In the southern Lebanese village of Zibqin, the annual olive harvest has transformed from a joyful community tradition into a perilous act of survival. Farmers are currently navigating a landscape defined by nearby Israeli troop movements and the constant threat of shelling. Despite a shaky ceasefire, residents feel little comfort, often relying on the presence of the Lebanese Army to provide a thin veil of security as they work their ancestral lands. For families like those in Zibqin, the harvest is more than just a source of income; it is a deep-rooted connection to their identity and heritage that they refuse to surrender, even as the shadow of conflict looms over every tree.

The reality of the harvest has changed drastically, with once-communal family outings now limited by fear and the inability to properly tend to groves due to displacement. Many farmers, like 65-year-old Ali Bzieh, report significantly lower yields after being forced to abandon their land for months at a time. The local atmosphere is thick with anxiety, as villagers balance the necessity of their livelihood against the looming risk of further escalation. While some have taken the precaution of securing backup housing further north, the prevailing sentiment remains one of defiant attachment to the soil. As Mustafa Barakat aptly put it, the land is their identity, and leaving it behind would mean losing a piece of themselves.