Early morning, in a quiet hidden grove on the slopes of Mount Carmel. The sun climbs gently into the sky, its rays filtering through the trees and touching the bare skin of a young couple posing fully nude. The photographer asks them to take a deep breath, feel the ground beneath their feet, relax their bodies, and lift their faces to the light. They smile. There’s no shame, no tension—only a surprising sense of calm.
Ori, 37, and Neta, 23, came for a nude photo session in nature. When asked how it feels, Neta laughs. “I feel like a princess,” she says. Ori adds, “It feels natural. There’s nothing to hide.”
The two met a few years ago at an alternative festival. “There was good energy,” says Ori, a professional chef. “From there, it turned into a relationship based on honesty and a sense of ease. We live simply, without pretenses. Being naked doesn’t mean we’re doing something extreme. It’s about letting go of judgment and what others think. We came here to see how beautiful we really are—no clothes, no filters, just us.”
“It’s not about sexuality,” Neta explains. “It’s about acceptance. Sharing the photos online is another step—an act of courage. But the nudity itself feels the most natural thing in the world. It’s like breathing, returning to a basic state, reconnecting with myself, with Ori, and with my body. It wasn’t erotic—it was freeing.”
Ori adds, “I feel like a small revolutionary, like John Lennon and Yoko Ono who paved the way before us. Maybe if more people dare to expose themselves this way, we’ll start to see a less judgmental society.”
Neta concludes, “I’m most beautiful when I’m naked. It’s my body, and that’s enough. Anyone who hasn’t tried nude photography outdoors should know—it can be a healing experience. Even if it’s just with yourself, in front of the mirror. To look at your body without criticism—that’s true freedom.”
Leading these bold sessions is Noy Mustik, 32, an international artist and photographer who invites people to shed their clothes and their fears. A three-hour session costs about 2,800 shekels. For her, nudity isn’t provocation—it’s a process of self-love and healing.
“When we’re naked and feel the wind on our bodies, it’s like ecstasy,” she says. “You can’t escape that presence. It brings you back to the here and now.”
Who is it for? “For couples with open minds,” she says confidently. “I’ve photographed people from age 20 to 72. Some come alone, some as couples who want to reconnect or document their love. These are people who think freely, even primitively. They return to themselves. Being naked outdoors—with the sun, wind, and earth—is pure ecstasy. It brings us back to life itself.”
The next couple to pose under a pecan tree are Tal, 29, a body-oriented psychotherapist, and Nahar, 34, a musician and healer. They’ve been together for two years and recently moved in together in Pardes Hanna.
“We’re nudists at heart,” Nahar says. “We love our bodies, the spirit, nature. We love to play, to explore, to connect in different ways.”
Grinning, wearing only a flower crown, he adds, “It’s my birthday today, and this is the perfect gift—waking up next to Tal, going out with Noy for this amazing photo session. It’s our first time posing nude, though we’ve been naked together in many other places. It’s so freeing.”
Tal says, “Being in a relationship means being vulnerable and exposed all the time. Nudity just deepens that. It’s a real encounter, without masks—a kind of couples therapy. Even if we keep the photos private, it’s a chance to reflect, to see ourselves differently, to reconnect with our bodies and each other.”
She recalls her first nude shoot. “It was two and a half years ago, after a painful breakup. We went into the woods—it was tears, nature, and nudity. It was deeply healing. I realized how powerful it is.”
Nahar adds, “Nudity is about growing up, shedding layers, facing shame. It’s a way to be truly present. We learn to protect each other, to feel trust and boundaries. It’s our way of playing, just for us—not for others. Nude photography in nature is like couples therapy. Afterwards, we talk about what came up, what felt strong or awkward. It’s a way to touch intimacy—not through words, but through body and breath.”
Noy explains that the process begins long before the camera clicks. “People call me wanting to experience this. We first meet on Zoom to get to know each other. If I feel it’s not right or safe, I simply won’t do it. When we meet, we talk about boundaries and intentions. Each piece of clothing removed represents something shed—fear, shame. We laugh, talk, move naturally. There are no poses, no performances. Whatever happens, happens.”
What if sexual tension arises? “It’s natural,” she says calmly. “Sexual energy is part of life, but it’s not the focus. If it appears, we let it be quietly. No panic, no repression. Just presence.”
“I call it a self-love photography session,” she says. “The goal is to return to ourselves and to freedom. When we feel sovereignty over our bodies, we’ll also feel sovereignty in our country.”
After a long morning surrounded by bodies unaccustomed to sunlight, Noy turns to me and smiles. “Now it’s your turn,” she says. She suggests I find a connection with a chinaberry tree nearby, one that’s been catching my eye all morning.
I laugh nervously. As a journalist, I’ve stood in war zones and interviewed politicians, but this feels far more exposing. Still, I decide to surrender to the experience. I toss my clothes aside quickly, hoping to get it over with, and hug the rough trunk, half hiding behind it, wishing it could shield me from my own embarrassment.
Noy notices my tension right away. “Breathe,” she says gently. I take a deep breath and let the cool northern breeze touch my skin. The air sends shivers up my spine—so simple, so natural, and yet so rare in the world of 2025. Slowly, I start to feel something shift.
I stop thinking about how I look and start feeling. I invent a few awkward poses, even try to climb the tree—naked as the day I was born. Mosquitoes bite, but I can’t help smiling. The discomfort fades. What remains is a strange mix of joy, awareness, and connection—to nature, to my body, to the moment.
Then I hear Noy’s calm voice again. “That’s it, Asaf—you can get dressed.”
I pull my clothes back on with a grin I can’t quite explain. For a brief moment, I’d experienced the freedom everyone here had been talking about.
In today’s increasingly conservative Israel, Mustik isn’t afraid to talk about freedom. “I see that nude photography in nature is only growing,” she says. “It began during the pandemic and intensified during the war. I even photographed soldiers who came straight from Gaza—shedding their uniforms in the open fields. It was a moment of healing. Beneath all the headlines about religion and war, there are still free, liberal people in Israel who simply want to be. And I believe that will only grow.”