Teenagers on Israel Tour this summer will find it very different from the place I visited with a group of fellow students in the late 1950s.

Our parents didn’t see us off at the airport. Flying then was for more privileged tourists and we endured a tedious land and sea journey, enlivened by an almost-pioneer sense of anticipation. Most of us didn’t know anyone who had ever been to Israel. Our group soon bonded during the bumpy (even in July) channel crossing, on the overnight train to Genoa and then a Mediterranean crossing on the rickety “Artza”, which proudly flew the Israeli flag.

From the moment we stepped ashore in Haifa we embraced the country’s exhilarating mood. The population of the State of Israel had more than doubled since independence and we marvelled at the myriad mix of newcomers. Observing exotic-robed North Africans, dark-skinned Yemenites and pale-faced Survivors we realised that Jews could look very different from familiar Anglo-Jewry. Wherever we went we heard, (in broken Hebrew or accented English,) “This is our country, our home, no-one is going to persecute or push us around anymore.”

In Israel’s first years strict austerity rules meant stringent food rationing, but when we visited this was winding down.We feasted on fresh fruit and vegetables and tucked into new foods such as felafel, hummus and tehina stuffed into pita with lashings of Israeli salad made from finely diced tomato, cucumber and green pepper. Prickly pear Sabras, also a nickname for native Israelis, were a toothsome fruit.

We travelled the country visiting landmarks, landscapes and biblical sites and briefly sweated as kibbutz volunteers. We loved the gracious golden stone houses in Jerusalem; disliked the ugly concrete block apartments springing up around cities and were overwhelmed by the gritty ma’abarot, the temporary tent housing for new immigrants.

In divided Jerusalem we stood behind barricades overlooking the Hinnom Valley watching Jordanian traffic on the hill around the old city and counted the cars at the Mandelbaum Gate entering (off-limits to us) East Jerusalem. Heading south towards the forbidding Gaza strip, we posed for photos with the Danish UN soldiers guarding the border.

Then decked out with funny hats (kova tembals), necklaces of asimonim, (iconic telephone tokens with a hole in the middle,) and precious currency of prutot and lirot, precursors to the shekel, we went shopping.

Souvenir buying was an important and tangible way of taking a piece of Israel back to family and friends. Creativity was everywhere; in hand-crafted silver jewellery, Yemenite needlework tablecloths and embroidered linen blouses.

But it was the metal objects in green, blue or black enamel or finished with a dark green verdigris patina that spoke to us with their vibrant designs. Material once reserved for guns and bullets was being refashioned into items celebrating the young state.

We stocked up on decorative plaques, jugs, napkin holders and ash trays embossed with evocative images of kibbutz dancers; soldiers and Magen Davids galore or portraying the ten commandments and 12 tribes. We loved the selection of affordable Judaica— mezuzah cases, kiddush cups, Chanukah menorahs, Shabbat candlesticks and Passover plates — to take pride of place back home.

At the end of the summer we returned to England, loaded with souvenirs in our luggage and ideas and images in our heads. We had seen a very different Jewish world and celebrated the exuberance of the young state. As years passed, the souvenir objects disappeared but the memories, experiences and connection to Israel stayed alive with us.