THE HOLOCAUST IS OVER WE MUST RISE FROM ITS ASHES

and the Western Wall in the Six-Day War, all wore a red beret. They were the modelsof heroism, attracting us like moths to a flame. Every child dreamt of a red beretfolded under the shoulder strap, paratrooper wings on the chest, and red boots.Being a paratrooper was pure Israeli-ness at its best, and I wanted to be one. Iwanted to run fast, strike, sneak around, and fight. I wanted to be an Israeli hero,different from my father, the Jew in exile. He walked and I ran; he escaped and Ijumped from the sky.Before I could jump I had to train on the ground at the school for paratroopers. Tothis day the school grounds include all the classic torture installations: dive boards,huge swings, sandboxes, and the worst of all: the Eichmann. The Eichmann is a hightower from which you jump, harnessed to a wire. Here we met again; here again wasthe taste of vinegar. I climbed the tower reluctantly with leaden feet, weak knees, andracing heart. I climbed the Eichmann as the son of a Jewish refugee from Germany,jumped and landed as an Israeli that even Eichmann could not scare any more. Neveragain, Herr Eichmann.I had a wonderful childhood. Like everybody else, we were not wealthy but we werenot wanting. Our margarine sandwiches with olive kummel bread were much betterthan today’s fancy bakery baguettes and exotic cheeses. But, in retrospect, the 1960swere also my saddest years. When the West launched forward into the future with theBeatles, Woodstock, and Twiggy in a miniskirt, Israel sank back into the dark,primeval, and fanatic past without boundaries. The 1950s were still connected toWorld War II and the past; on the other side of the watershed years of the 1960s,the 1970s were already part of the future, of the twenty-first century. The 1960stransitioned us from the past to the present. We moved from women wearing girdlesand men wearing hats to the freedom of blue jeans and brand names. Before the1960s we listened to the radio, rode buses, and went to cinemas. Homosexuals weredeep in the closet and sex was matrimonial, at least officially. Then television camealong, as well as the Walkman, the private car, the Pill, and free love.It was the decade of metamorphosis, of opportunity and change— from thecaterpillar to the butterfly. Many times I think of the distance that separated me frommy father and measure it by the scale of the 1960s, which created an unbridgeable