Oliver Benjamin
to get him out of Israel, this was a pretty substantial threat.
The five of us knew that the clerk would complain about Yippee
to Anat, and that our beloved friend’s days were numbered at Ramat
Mechasel. We also knew that we had to help him find some way to
make some money.
“Don’t worry about the old Yipper and his money, mates. I’ve
got some avenues. In the meantime, I think it’s highly imperative
that we act accordingly in the light of tonight’s grievous
circumstances. I think we ought to have a beach party.”
There was no arguing with fuzzy logic. Yippee had no point, and
who were we to argue? In the next hour, we managed to round up
about ten more volunteers and three kibbuzniks. One was a girl
named Yael who had access to one of the kibbutz vans, and agreed to
drive us. The destination sounded like a perfect one for Dionysian
revelry by moonlight: a nearby campground situated on a very nice
beach. If Yippee was going to leave us, at least he was going to go out
in style.
The trip took about twenty minutes. By the time we arrived at
the campground, everyone in the van except the driver was
thoroughly drunk and stoned. When Yael opened the large sliding
door, clouds of marijuana smoke poured out of a vehicle that was
normally used to drive the kibbutz children to elementary school.
Once on its feet, the throng of bodies ran out to the sea. Yippee led
the pack, screaming some Australian drinking song and tearing off
his clothes before diving headfirst into the ocean. Unfortunately, it
was a shallow break, and he emerged from the water with another
splendid cut on his forehead. I couldn’t help but remember our first
meeting, and felt suddenly nostalgic.
In a marvelous display of good sportsmanship, almost everyone
stripped their clothes off and frolicked, bottles and joints in hand, out
into the ocean. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Everyone was
splashing around and singing and generally having a wonderful time
in the warm water of the Mediterranean. Suddenly, Greta splashed
over to where I was splashing, and affectionately threw her arms
around me. I reciprocated, and marveled how wonderful it felt to
have a long, slender and totally naked Swiss girl against my body. She
held me a little bit longer than she should have for a polite hug, and
then kissed me a little bit longer than she should have for a polite
kiss, and I was left wondering what politics had to do with anything.
I was suddenly and unmistakably in love with Greta. However, if I
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