“There is no real border between Israel and Palestine,” says Muhammad Hamudi, an olive farmer and olive oil producer from Asira al-Shamaliya, near Nablus in the West Bank. He has been working with the ongoing USAID-funded project Olive Oil Without Borders (OOWB) since its inception in 2011. Hamudi is in his mid-50s, with smiling eyes and palms so big an olive looks miniscule in them. “Today the border is here, tomorrow it will be there. The olive oil market has no borders as well. The bridge to the global market is the same bridge for everyone.”

OOWB is a collaborative economic initiative among 34 olive oil farming communities in Israel and the West Bank. It is spearheaded by the Near East Foundation (NEF), a 100-year old nongovernmental organization working on economic development among poverty-stricken communities throughout Africa and the Mideast. The initiative is funded by USAID, which provides financial and operative assistance to foreign nations and regions in need. The program has been successful enough that USAID has just granted OOWB its second $1.2 million round of funding, expected to serve some 2,000 Palestinians and Israelis working in the olive oil business over the course of three years.


Hamudi is one of the project’s success stories, points out Salah Abu-Eisheh, NEF country director for the Palestinian Authority. “During the three-year run he has tripled his production, improved significantly the quality and purity of his olive oil, and increased his income.” Hamudi smiles when he hears Abu-Eisheh say this. “NEF helped me achieve a sustained level of productivity,” Hamudi says. “No more bad years and good years; now I am in control of the yield.”

This success is due in large part to direct grants farmers like Hamudi received for purchasing modern equipment, renovating facilities (such as mills), and planting new varieties of olive trees. The rest of the USAID funding goes to conducting seminars and hands-on workshops led by industry consultants, from agriculture and olive oil production to business management and marketing.

Yet Palestinian farmers are only half of the OOWB equation: Israeli farmers and producers provide the necessary cross-border collaboration for this innovative and seemingly conflict-free program.

When I ask Hamudi about his experience collaborating with his Israeli-Jewish counterparts, his answer is pragmatic. “I see it as an exchange. We have things to teach, and they have things to teach. They use modern techniques, we have experience and knowledge. The benefits are for both sides. We have no other choice.”

But for a region mired in political conflict, collaborating is a choice—and quite an unusual one. Ayala Noy, a 40 year-old farmer and producer from Moshav Zippori, a farm community 20 minutes north of Nazareth on the Israeli side, approaches the project from a different perspective: “It was a very important and empowering experience. Sitting down with a Palestinian farmer who tells me, with tears in his eyes, that his orchard was burned to the ground the previous night by Israeli settlers was very emotional for me. ‘How do you sleep at night?’ he asked me. I told him not very well. That was the biggest challenge for me—being a representative of Israel, dealing with the hard feelings they have toward us.”

Though one of OOWB’s stated goals is to “leverage economic cooperation to promote peace and reconciliation,” according to NEF President Charlie Benjamin, the organization approaches its work from “a completely depoliticized perspective.” The focus is on “building economic relationships. We don’t touch the broader issues.” At the same time, Benjamin does acknowledge the growing trust, communication, and interaction outside the program.

Noy agrees that the project has strengthened more than economic ties. “We brought Palestinians to our house, we showed them our mill, and we try to keep in touch by phone,” she says. “I think it gave them a chance to see ‘other’ Israelis. Many of them told me that was their first time to meet an Israeli who is not a soldier, or a settler.”

Similar sentiment is echoed from the other side of the fence. Sumaya Sawalmeh, a 40-year-old farmer from the same village as Hamudi, says, “It was important for me to take part in the project. I came into Israel [and] for the first time in my life…left with positive feelings.”

Adel Yaseen, an elderly farmer with a thundering voice from the nearby village of Jnaid, agrees. “I made friends from Israel. The project helped us to build relationships and brought us closer.”

Olives, and in particular olive oil, have always been among the most vital sectors of the local economy in the Middle East. Similar to grape vineyards in Napa, or rice fields in Asia, the West Bank is covered with olive orchards. The same is true for the Galilee region of Israel. In these regions olives are more than a means of livelihood; they are a way of living. Entire families and villages live off the yearly cycle of the olive trees. In Palestine, 100,000 families participate in the industry, which accounts for more than 10 percent of the state’s GDP.

As the olive oil industry is so vital to the region, NEF decided to engage with the sector and initiate this historic collaboration with Israel after recognizing a production surplus on the Palestinian side and a production deficit on the Israeli side. Meaning, the Palestinians had been producing more olive oil than they could sell, while the Israeli market suffered from a shortage of local oil. The solution seemed at once simple, yet, given the politics of the region, immensely complex.

The first major roadblock was the trade ban between Israel and the Palestinian Authority, which has been in place since 2003, the middle of the second intifada. As negotiations between the respective governments took place, NEF communicated with both parties and attempted to illuminate the ban’s economic effects. In the beginning of 2013, the ban was finally lifted, allowing OOWB to rise to its full potential.

“This is exactly what should be going on in the region right now—everyone coming together,” Dave Harden, USAID mission director in the Palestinian Authority, tells me at an OOWB gathering of Israeli and Palestinian olive farmers at an orchard outside Nazareth. “They are building stuff together, they’re producing higher quality products, and they’re selling them. What more can you ask for?”

Just before leaving the orchard for the mill, Abu Naim, the host farmer, leads me by hand to one of the largest trees in the orchard. “You see this tree, it is about 3,000 years old. It still gives fruits every year.” I look at the tree, its massively wide trunk, its sprawling top. It looks healthy and full of life.

Those behind OOWB claim to be more focused on the practical realities of olive oil production than the draw of ancient agricultural tradition or the thorny task of Middle East fence mending. Yet their work is inexorably tied to and ultimately results in the project’s loftier outcomes. “We focus on building the system, this economic machine, but those dynamics have a broader impact,” NEF President Benjamin tells me. On top of the 3,600 metric tons of olive oil Palestinian farmers have exported into Israel since 2013, representing $20 million in new income, Benjamin says “70 percent of OOWB participants say they believe economic cooperation helps build additional efforts at reconciliation between the two sides.”

It’s hard not to be struck by the metaphor of the olive branch—a cliché perhaps but literally apt here.

  • Italian man claims to be ‘human cheetah’ with lightning-fast reflexes
    Photo credit: CanvaA man with fast reflexes.

    At first glance, this probably looks like a camera trick. Ken Lee, an Italian content creator, has built a massive online following by doing something that doesn’t quite feel real. Viewers refer to him as the “human cheetah” because it appears he has near-instant reflexes.

    Grabbing objects out of the air with uncanny precision, flicking clothespins and lighters, and throwing a blur of punches and kicks at impossible speeds, it is easy to call him unbelievable. Half the audience thinks his viral speed videos are fake. The other half is just as convinced they are watching something incredibly rare.

    Hands so fast they blur time

    In the video above, a timer runs to confirm its authenticity. In what looks like half a second, he reaches out and snags the lighter from the table. To prove it is real, he does it twice.

    Having amassed millions of followers on his TikTok page, the identity behind the mysterious influencer remains largely unknown. Active since around 2022, with almost 100 million accumulated likes, Lee has cultivated a fandom around his self-proclaimed “Superhero per Hobby!”

    Do you believe it is real? Is this person the fastest human alive? Many followers cannot wait for the next video to be posted. Plenty of his fervent fans are Italian, so sifting through the remarks takes a bit of hunting. Here are some comments that sum up how much people enjoy the fun and the spectacle:

    “Ken lee the fastest and the best”

    “Most dangerous human”

    “Is this what the lighter sees before my homie steals it”

    “It was sped up during he grabbed the lighter, if u count up with the timer u would be off by like 0,5 seconds whenever he grabs the lighter.”

    “If the flash were human”

    “How is it possible to get such powers ?”

    “I blinked and I missed it”

    People love good entertainment

    The awe of peak performance attracts people to watch elite athletes, musicians, or even dancers. There is something that deeply satisfies all of us when a human appears to push a skill to its limit. Whether it is real or fake seems to matter less than the opportunity to chime in on some good entertainment.

    How far could any of us go by practicing and repeating a particular motion over and over until it is mastered? Beneath the flashy nickname and his viral speed videos, Lee’s content has a way of drawing people in. This is not a superpower. Just repetition. Focus. Obsession. And maybe some digital wizardry.

    Testing the science of speed

    If you wish to question the validity of Lee’s performances, maybe some basic science can help. Human reaction time is not just a reflex. A 2024 study found that the nervous system can fine-tune responses in real time. Practice can make movements appear almost automatic.

    It has been well established in research that the gap between seeing something and responding has a limit. A 2025 study concluded that the most elite extremes allow for reaction times of 100 milliseconds. At that speed, the human brain can barely process that something has happened.

    Science explains Lee is not necessarily moving as fast as we might perceive him to be. And therein lies all the fun of it. We cannot prove it is real, nor can we actually prove that it is fake.

    Maybe Lee is the “fastest man alive” or the so-called “human cheetah.” Or maybe he is just a remarkable entertainer. Either way, he has clearly tapped into something strange and fascinating: a blend of human ability and fantasy that people do not want to miss.

    To give context to Lee’s videos, watch this performance on Tú Sí Que Vales:

  • Despite all the likes, literallys and dropped g’s, English isn’t decaying before our eyes
    Photo credit: LisaStrachan/iStock via Getty Images Fear not: There isn’t anything that needs saving.

    As a linguistics professor, I’m often asked why English is decaying before our eyes, whether it’s “like” being used promiscuouslyt’s being dropped deleteriously or “literally” being deployed nonliterally.

    While these common gripes point to eccentric speech patterns, they don’t point to grammatical annihilation. English has weathered far worse.

    Let’s start with something we can all agree on: Old English, spoken from approximately A.D. 450 to 1100, is pretty unintelligible to us today. Anyone who’s had the pleasure of reading “Beowulf” in high school knows how different English back then used to sound. Word endings did a lot more grammatical work, and verbs followed more complicated patterns. Remnants of those rules fuel lingering debates today, such as when to use “whom” over “who,” and whether the past tense of “sneak” is “snuck” or “sneaked.”

    The language went on to experience centuries of tumult: Viking invasions, which introduced Old Norse influence; Anglo-Norman French rule, which shifted the language of the elite to French; and 18th-Century grammarians, who dictated norms with their elocution and grammar guides.

    In that time, English has lost almost all of the more complex linguistic trappings it was born with to become the language we know and – at least, sometimes – love today. And as I explain in my new book, “Why We Talk Funny: The Real Story Behind Our Accents,” it was all thanks to the way that language naturally evolves to meet the social needs of its speakers.

    From dropping the ‘l’ to dropping the ‘g’

    The things we tend to label as “bad” or sloppy English – for instance, the “g” that gets lost from our -ing endings or the deletion of a “t” when we say a word like “innernet” – actually reflect speech habits that are centuries old.

    Take, for example, “often.” Originally spoken with the “t,” that pronunciation gradually became less favored around the 15th century, alongside that “l” in “talk” and the “k” in know. Meanwhile, the “s” now stuck on the back of verbs like “does” and “makes” began as a dialectal variant that only became popular in 16th-century London. It gradually replaced “th” whenever third persons were involved, as in “The lady doth protest too much.”

    While dropping the “l” in talk may have been initially frowned upon, today it would be strange if you pronounced the letter. And the shift makes sense: It smoothed out some linguistic awkwardness for the sake of efficiency.

    If people learned to look at language more like linguists, they might come around to seeing that there is more than one perspective on what good speech consists of.

    And yes, that absolutely is a sentence ending with a preposition – something many modern grammar guides discourage, even though the idea only took hold after 18th-century grammarian Robert Lowth intimated it was a less elegant choice based on the model of Latin.

    Though Lowth voiced no hard and fast rule against it, many a grammar maven later misconstrued his advice as an admonition. Just like that, a mere suggestion became grammatical law.

    The rise of the grammar sticklers

    Many of today’s ideas about what constitutes correct English are based on a singular – often mistaken – 19th-century view of the forces that govern our language.

    In the late 18th century, the English-speaking world began experiencing class restructuring and higher literacy rates. As greater class mobility became possible, accent differences became class markers that separated new money from old money.

    Emulation of upper-crust speech norms became popular among the nouveau riche. With literacy also on the rise, grammarians and elocutionists raced to dictate the terms of “proper” English on and off the page, which led to the rise of usage guides and dictionaries that were eager to sell a certain brand of speech.

    Another example of grammarian angst reconfiguring the view of an otherwise perfectly fine form is the droppin’ of the “g.” It became so tied to slovenly speech that it was branded with an apostrophe in the 19th century to make sure no one missed its lackadaisical and nonstandard nature.

    Up until the 19th century, however, no one seemed to care whether one pronounced it as “-in” or “-ing.”

    Evidence suggests that -ing wasn’t even heard as the correct form. Many elocution guides from the 18th century provide rhyming word pairs like “herring/heron,” “coughing/coffin” and “jerking/jerkin,” which suggest that “-in” may have been the preferred pronunciation of words ending with “-ing.” Even writer and satirist Jonathan Swift – a frequent lobbyist for “proper” English – rhymes “brewing” with “ruin” in his 1731 poem “Verses on the Death of Dr. Swift, D.S.P.D..”

    Embrace the change

    Language has always shifted and evolved. People often bristle at changes from what they’ve known to what is new. And maybe that’s because this process often begins with speakers that society usually looks less favorably on: the young, the female, the poor, the nonwhite.

    But it’s important to remember that being disliked and bad are not the same thing – that today’s speech pariahs are driven by the same linguistic and social needs as the Londoners who started going with “does” instead of “doth” or dropped the “t” in often.

    So if you think the speech that comes from your lips is the “correct” version, think again. Thou, like every other English speaker, art literally the product of centuries of linguistic reinvention.

    This article originally appeared on The Conversation. You can read it here.

  • 10 boys and 10 girls were left alone in separate houses and the different results are just wild
    Photo credit: Ian Taylor PhotographerTwo young children play in the grass.

    It sounds like the plot of William Golding’s Lord of the Flies. However, in the mid-2000s, it was a very real and very controversial reality television experiment.

    Footage from the UK Channel 4 documentary Boys and Girls Alone is captivating audiences all over again. It offers a fascinating and chaotic look at what happens when you remove parents from the equation.

    The premise was simple but high stakes. Twenty children, aged 11 and 12, were split into two groups by gender. Ten boys and ten girls were placed in separate houses and told to live without adult supervision for five days.

    The Setup

    While there were safety nets in place, the day-to-day living was entirely up to the kids. A camera crew was present but instructed not to intervene unless safety was at risk. The children could also ring a bell to speak to a nurse or psychiatrist.

    The houses were fully stocked with food, cleaning supplies, toys, and paints. Everything they needed to survive was there. They just had to figure out how to use it.

    The Boys: Instant Chaos

    In the boys’ house, the unraveling was almost immediate. The newfound freedom triggered a rapid descent into high-energy anarchy.

    They engaged in water pistol fights and threw cushions. In one memorable instance, a boy named Michael covered the carpet in sticky popcorn kernels just because he could.

    The destruction eventually escalated to the walls. The boys covered the house in writing, drawing, and paint. But the euphoria of freedom eventually crashed into the reality of consequences.

    “We never expected to be like this, but I’m really upset that we trashed it so badly,” one boy admitted in the footage. “We were trying to explore everything at once and got too carried away in ourselves.”

    Their attempts to clean up were frantic and largely ineffective. Nutrition also took a hit. Despite having completed a cooking course, the boys survived mostly on cereal, sugar, and the occasional frozen pizza. By the end of the week, the house was trashed, and the group had fractured into opposing factions.

    The Girls: Organized Society

    The girls’ house looked like a different planet.

    In stark contrast to the mayhem next door, the girls immediately established a functioning society. They organized a cooking roster, with a girl named Sherry preparing their first meal. They baked cakes. They put on a fashion show. They even drew up a scrupulous chores list to ensure the house stayed livable.

    While their stay wasn’t devoid of interpersonal drama, the experiment highlighted a fascinating divergence in socialization. Left to their own devices, the girls prioritized community and maintenance. The boys tested the absolute limits of their environment until it broke.

    The documentary was controversial when it aired, with critics questioning the ethics of placing children in unsupervised situations for entertainment. But what made it so enduring, and why footage keeps resurfacing years later, is what it reveals about how kids are socialized long before anyone puts them in a house together. The boys weren’t born anarchists and the girls weren’t born organizers. They arrived at those houses already shaped by years of being told, implicitly and explicitly, what boys do and what girls do. Whether that’s a nature story or a nurture story is the question the documentary keeps asking without quite answering, which is probably why people are still watching and arguing about it nearly two decades later.

    This article originally appeared two years ago. It has been updated.

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