I have just gotten back from a 45 day trip to my homeland of Palestine with my family.
Needless to say, I indulged myself in the famous mishmish (apricots) that I had written about
previously. In fact, I made it a point to be in Palestine during the brief time, Jumma Mishmishieh
(the apricots week) that the famous apricots of my youth reached their peak ripeness. I made
sure that I was right there, in Palestine, so that I may relive one of my life’s most memorable and
enjoyable experiences. I, along with my wife and children, got up at the crack of dawn, when
the ground, trees, and most importantly, the luscious, slightly blushing, golden apricots, which I
had been dreaming of since the age of 8, some 34 years ago, were covered with the early
morning dew. I made sure to be there to pick up the ripe fruit, which had fallen from the tree to
the ground and was now chilled by the morning dew, lifted it over my mouth, and let the golden
drops of nectar drip into my waiting, open mouth…
Dear friends, I cannot for the life of me describe in mere words what this meant to me. I had
been dreaming of this day for 34 years and can honestly state that it was well worth it…My
homeland land of Palestine, its trees, fruit, and more importantly, it’s wonderful and steadfast
people, never ever let me down…
Below is my previous writing about the apricots of Palestine:
Mike 9-2003
Of Apricots & Palestine
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 soldiers will
ever realize or know…
Mike Odetalla
9-2002
Needless to say, I indulged myself in the famous mishmish (apricots) that I had written about
previously. In fact, I made it a point to be in Palestine during the brief time, Jumma Mishmishieh
(the apricots week) that the famous apricots of my youth reached their peak ripeness. I made
sure that I was right there, in Palestine, so that I may relive one of my life’s most memorable and
enjoyable experiences. I, along with my wife and children, got up at the crack of dawn, when
the ground, trees, and most importantly, the luscious, slightly blushing, golden apricots, which I
had been dreaming of since the age of 8, some 34 years ago, were covered with the early
morning dew. I made sure to be there to pick up the ripe fruit, which had fallen from the tree to
the ground and was now chilled by the morning dew, lifted it over my mouth, and let the golden
drops of nectar drip into my waiting, open mouth…
Dear friends, I cannot for the life of me describe in mere words what this meant to me. I had
been dreaming of this day for 34 years and can honestly state that it was well worth it…My
homeland land of Palestine, its trees, fruit, and more importantly, it’s wonderful and steadfast
people, never ever let me down…
Below is my previous writing about the apricots of Palestine:
Mike 9-2003
Of Apricots & Palestine
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 soldiers will
ever realize or know…
Mike Odetalla
9-2002
