Here on Nitzanim Beach they have created their fantasy of an Indian village. Strips of bright cloth fly over the campgrounds, flags proclaiming nothing but the delight of color. The 1960s have come to Israel, but with a desperate edge, as if Haight-Ashbury were ten minutes from the Vietnam front. Some are on active duty, arriving from nearby bases for a quick change into loose, brightly colored Indian clothes. Little is forbidden here.
Drug use is widespread but discreet.
Writhing around campfires to Arabic drums and long, twisted shofars, the young people recall the Israelites in the desert, before they reached Sinai to receive the Law. Children of Israel, not yet Jews. Still, not everyone can restrain himself. A trucker named Danny keeps a radio on low volume in his tent, briefing neighboring tents about the latest shooting incidents just up the beach. And then maybe we'll have a few years of quiet until the next round.