By Ahan S. Prakash
In the first months of 2024, as the world reeled from the relentless destruction in Gaza, a new kind of surveillance started picking up the trail: human rights researchers used digital footprints to track down soldiers involved in the wreckage. One of those they found was Eitan Gilboa, an Israeli soldier who hadn’t been bashful about celebrating after the demolition of homes in Rafah. When his deployment ended, there was no tribunal, no uncomfortable questions waiting for him. Instead, he caught a flight straight to New Delhi. Gilboa joined tens of thousands of other Israeli veterans who finish their mandatory service looking for a pause, something to shake off the war, along India’s so-called Hummus Trail. This isn’t just a backpacker circuit anymore; it’s a string of high-altitude spots tucked into Himachal Pradesh, sun-drenched beaches in Goa, and quiet outposts in Rajasthan. Together, they’ve become something like a sanctuary for battle-weary soldiers, a place where recovery looks like mountains, cheap guesthouses, and familiar food.
But there’s a tougher truth hiding behind the easy arrival of these soldiers, even those facing serious war crime allegations. No one at passport control is asking questions. This isn’t accidental. It points straight at the bigger political game in play, a signal that shared politics and strategic alliances between India and Israel now matter more than what international law has to say.
The Hummus Trail itself isn’t new. For decades, finishing military service in Israel has launched young people out into the world for what’s known back home as the ‘after-army trip.’ And by now, anywhere from forty to eighty thousand Israelis pour into India every year. Tiny villages, Kasol, Dharamkot, Tosh, feel more like satellite pieces of Israel than slices of India. Hebrew signs fill the storefronts. Locals haggle in fluent Hebrew, and the Chabad house is often the town’s beating heart. What used to be a place for cheap rooms and hash brownies has grown into something bigger, especially as Israel’s military operations have multiplied. Human rights organizations, like the Hind Rajab Foundation out of Brussels, started to pay attention. They began using open-source files and social media data to track soldiers allegedly guilty of grave breaches of the Geneva Convention, watching their transitions from frontline deployment straight into Indian holiday towns. Even when complaints reached immigration officials or local police, like those naming Gilboa, nothing happened. There were no interviews, no detentions. Eventually, Gilboa just left India. No one stopped him.
This isn’t just incompetent bureaucracy; it’s policy in practice. The hands-off approach reflects how far the New Delhi, Tel Aviv relationship has come.
This isn’t just incompetent bureaucracy; it’s policy in practice. The hands-off approach reflects how far the New Delhi, Tel Aviv relationship has come. For a long time, India’s foreign policy was rooted in its role in the Non-Aligned Movement. India recognized Palestine as a state in 1988 and kept Israel at arm’s length. Diplomatic ties only got formal in the 1990s, and for years, things moved slowly. But the last decade tells a different story: the relationship flipped from cautious diplomacy to a true strategic alliance. Trade between the two shot up, from just $200 million in 1992 to well over $10 billion recently. And that doesn’t even count weapons deals. India now buys more Israeli military gear than anyone else, making up around 37% of Israel’s arms exports. Indian security relies on Israeli radar, combat drones like the Hermes 900, precision-guided bombs, the works. This heavy dependence gives Tel Aviv leverage. It pretty much guarantees that India won’t stir controversy about what Israel’s doing in Gaza or the West Bank.
But trade and defense contracts aren’t the whole story, there’s an ideological thread weaving through everything. Look back at the ideas that shaped Indian nationalism, especially as Vinayak Damodar Savarkar outlined them in the 1920s. He admired Zionism. He saw what the Jews were building in Palestine and held it up as a model for fusing land, religion, and nation. That same admiration is echoing through policy today. Take the Citizenship Amendment Act of 2019, for instance, it opens a fast-track to Indian citizenship for non-Muslim minorities from neighboring countries, mirroring Israel’s own Nation-State Law of 2018, which ties national identity specifically to Jewish people. This policy overlap breeds natural sympathy with Israeli soldiers, not suspicion.
But peel back the curtain and you see a glaring double standard at home. Foreign veterans accused of serious violations, people who set charges under civilian apartment blocks, can drift through India without a glance from authorities. Meanwhile, Indians who publicly support Palestinians run into trouble fast. Police in several states have arrested students, clerics, and organizers for everything from holding rallies to posting social media status updates. Universities aren’t any kinder: students have faced disciplinary action for editorials critical of Israel or even for challenging how Israeli tourists get special treatment in certain enclaves. Local reporting, like coverage from Ashoka University’s student paper, has shown that some spots along the Hummus Trail close their doors to Indian residents, but stay open for foreigners, especially Israelis. And the state doesn’t just tolerate these spaces, it shields them, protecting both business owners and visiting ex-combatants from any public or legal blowback.
The international legal consequences are obvious. Under the Geneva Conventions, countries have to find and prosecute those accused of serious war crimes, whether or not they’re citizens. If states simply ignore credible reports against visiting soldiers, they’re breaking their own legal promises. In Europe, governments are starting to face pressure to vet or investigate visiting veterans. In South Asia, it’s a different story. The region has become a sanctuary where former soldiers check into yoga retreats or detox programs without a second thought for legal consequences. Prime Minister Modi’s comments promoting yoga, ayurveda, and wellness for Israeli tourists add another layer, they recast immunity from prosecution as mere hospitality, making it sound like a cultural gesture instead of a political decision.
When someone can leave a battlefield and, just a day later, order shakshuka on a rooftop in the Himalayas with no questions asked, universal jurisdiction is out the window.
So what does it all add up to? The Hummus Trail isn’t just a backpackers’ road anymore; it’s become a safe haven for soldiers walking away from America’s longest wars. It’s a physical symbol of a shifting global order, one where trade, arms sales, and nationalism draw the boundaries of right and wrong more sharply than international law ever can. When someone can leave a battlefield and, just a day later, order shakshuka on a rooftop in the Himalayas with no questions asked, universal jurisdiction is out the window. India’s government isn’t just looking the other way; it made a choice. By putting strategic ties with Israel ahead of legal and humanitarian norms, New Delhi signals exactly where its priorities lie. As long as that alliance holds steady, the quiet mountain towns and far-off beaches of India will stay as refuges, for war criminals.
About the Author
Ahan S. Prakash is a Geopolitical analyst and columnist covering South Asian affairs, strategic security, and international relations.