This native meadow saffron flower blooming in the Judean Desert is named for Tuvia Kushnir, a brilliant young botanist who already as a young high school student identified several as yet unclassified endemic native species.

It's a species I've not yet had the privilege to see in real life, though I'm delighted to have had the chance to see another species named for him, the charming Tuvia Iris, which also blooms in Israel's desert regions.

Tuvia was born and raised in Kfar Yehezkel, a Jewish village in the lower Galilee founded and supported by the Iraqi Jewish Sassoon Sehayik family, named in memory of one of the Sassoon Sehayik brothers. Last winter I volunteered there several times to help with the olive harvest for one of the village's veteran families.

We were there on Rosh Hodesh Kislev, the start of the month of Kislev during which Hannukah falls. In honour of the coming Hannukah holiday the farmer's wife sent out oily treats: trays to the volunteers and workers out in the field: freshly fried sfinj doughnuts along with freshly made frena bread to dip in fresh fragrant olive oil infused with local herbs and bowls of cured olives. Her grandparents were contemporaries of Tuvia's parents. Some of the olive trees in their grove had been planted back in their day, about 100 years earlier.

Tuvia hiked all over the country all his life, learning its flora firsthand by exploring every corner of the land. As a biology student his professors forecast a brilliant future, a botanical genius with an intuition for finding as yet undiscovered and rare species.

Tragically Tuvia never had the chance to reach his full potential. The British mandate was coming to an end and war was coming.

Tuvia was a student in Jerusalem's Hebrew University on Mount Scopus, living in the nearby village of Issawiya. He created a botanical gardens on the campus, including a special collection featuring every species of iris endemic to the region. His passion for irises is memorialised in a line of Naomi Shemer's poignant ballad to Israel's fallen, "Every Autumn, Giora".

By late 1947 Jerusalem was coming under increasing attacks from Arab militias, the city's Jewish population was under siege, cut off from the rest of the country, supplies of essentials dwindling. Tuvia, like so many young men and women, left his studies and joined the Palmach to protect the route to Jerusalem, helping to protect convoys of vital supplies for those besieged in Jerusalem. In January 1948 he was one of a group of 35, many of them students from the Hebrew University, who were killed while trying to get vital supplies to the besieged Gush Etzion region, south of Jerusalem. In Hebrew the 35 were known as the "Lamed Heh", and their story is probably one of the best known of Israel's War of Independence. Kibbutz Netiv Halamed Heh was founded in their memory.

Over the past two years we have lost so many young men like Tuvia who's flame burnt incredibly bright but for such a brief time. We have lost botanists, rabbis and Talmudic scholars, doctors, medical students, musicians, scientists, agronomists and so many others who's contributions would have enriched the lives of everyone. May their memories be blessed and may we be able to honour their memories by continuing their life's work however we can - learning, studying, researching, doing good.

The start of the Hebrew month of Kislev means that it's just a few weeks to Hannukah. Bakeries showcase decadent displays of Hannukah sufganiyot doughnuts and Judaica shops feature tables groaning with hannukiya candelabras.

The olive harvest is winding down but many farms across Israel are still busy bringing in the olives and pressing fresh oil, a key produce of the region going back to biblical times and beyond, vital both for food and in ancient times also lighting. On Hannukah we celebrate both these qualities of olive oil.

Olive trees tend to have a biannual cycle, one year a bumper crop, the next a sparse yield and so on. Add to this the serious drought, especially in in northern Israel, a region which usually enjoys a substantial winter precipitation, and it's perhaps not surprising that this year many olive farmers had very poor harvests, some with so little fruit on their trees that there was hardly anything to pick.

They are a hardy native species in Israel, usually needing relatively little irrigation because they are perfectly adapted to local conditions, but even they struggle in extreme drought conditions. Last winter much of the country had such little rain that even the olive trees and other native crops required watering during what should have been the rainy season.

So it's been especially gratifying to hear from olive farms in need of seasonal help to pick their olives and an extra joy to see olive groves where the trees were groaning with fruit. When we pray for rain we'll also be praying for the olive trees to have a better wet season this winter and a bountiful yield next autumn.

The poor olive harvest in so many local farms this year focuses the mind all the more on the Hannukah story and the miracle of the oil which had to happen during the winter otherwise it would not have been possible to wait only eight days for fresh oil to be pressed - this is the only time of year when there are fresh olives available for making oil.

The festival is very much the bracket to Sukkot, closing the autumn harvest season celebrated on Sukkot. Traditionally the olive harvest begins right after the first rains (green olives for pickling may be picked earlier).

Prayers for rain begin at the conclusion of Sukkot (though sometimes it does already start raining around Sukkot), often coinciding with the start of the olive harvest and olive oil pressing.

On Hannukah we celebrate the rededication of the ancient Temple in Jerusalem which had been desecrated by the Selucid emperor Antiochus IV. That year due to the war against Antiochus it had not been possible for Jews commemorate the traditional observance of Sukkot by going up to the Temple on pilgrimage with the fruits of the harvest. Instead when the Temple was finally liberated from Selucid forces and reconsecrated for Jewish worship, Hannukah was in some ways a substitute for the missed Sukkot harvest festival.

The celebration of the Hannukah rededication of the Temple and the restoration of Jewish religious life to Jerusalem was, due to the time of year, inextricably linked to the celebration of the conclusion of the olive harvest, symbolised by the miracle of the little jug of sacred Temple olive oil and the association of Hannukah with the season appropriate olive oil, one of the special biblical seven species, a key part of the Jews' cultural, religious and economic life in ancient Judea.

It has been my great honour over these past two years of farm volunteering to work many olive harvest all over Israel, from the northern Galilee to the north-west Negev in the south. This is the third olive harvest season of working in local farms, seeing the pride and love our farmers have for these special trees, so intrinsic to our heritage here. So many farmers have told me of the deep connection they feel with their ancestors in maintaining this tradition, some preferring to continue harvesting by hand for this reason, though mechanised harvest equipment has become more common in recent years.