A Mossad Situation

Because nobody’s ever questioned me about my involvement with Israel’s top-secret spy agency, the Mossad, I’m now ready and willing to talk.

 

It all began while I was still living in Toronto and planning my escape to Israel. One day I stumbled upon an advert in a national Canadian newspaper inviting people to join the Mossad by applying via their new website. Yeah, I was also very surprised to discover the rather unclassified ad. Anyhow, I applied but hadn’t heard back from them by the time I had left for Israel to make Aliyup. This, incidentally, would be my second attempt at settling successfully in Israel. My very own “Second Aliyah” if you will.

 

Operation Buddy Holy Land

 

When I arrived and began looking for a job I again emailed the Mossad, just letting them know their eagle had landed and was available for work – though they probably knew that even before I did. My message indicated that I was ready for any mission they deemed me uniquely qualified for, should my country need someone with my unique qualifications. Besides my Canadian passport though, there wasn’t anything on my résumé that suggested I was qualified to be a spy, except for being a musician which I figured could make an excellent cover. After all, who would ever suspect that that Canadian guy singing “Bye Bye American Pie” over at the Beirut Bar & Girl is an Israeli agent? Unless of course someone were to recognize me, giving a whole new meaning to my singing “This’ll be the day that I die.”

 

The Plot Thickens

 

Then one day while minding my own espresso in a Dizengoff Center café and reading an English newspaper, a man larger than life (he was obese) suddenly appeared and made himself comfortable at the table on my left. Through the corner of my eye I could tell he was looking at me, and through the opening in my ear I could tell he was talking to me. Having just arrived in Israel, alone, I was well into networking mode and open to making new contacts for both professional and social purposes.

 

Our conversation began as normal as any between an Israeli and a new immigrant, with the standard interrogation: Where are you from? How long have you been in Israel? Why aren’t you married? He was exceptionally polite and well-spoken, signs of having traveled the world extensively. When I confessed that I was from Canada he added that he had a friend there once, and just smiled as if to conclude with, “but I had to kill him.”

 

Everything was perfectly normal, until he asked me if I had a girlfriend? And THAT’S when it clicked: This guy’s MOSSAD and he wants to know if I’m a lone wolf! Spies are always lone wolves. After all, what spouse would ever tolerate excuses like, “But honey, I had to sleep with her. She was a Russian counterspy!” He was testing me, and I knew it.

 

Spy vs. Spy

 

Feeling rather impressed with myself for having outfoxed the Mossad, I smiled and decided to play along with my new handler’s little game. Suddenly all the signs were obvious: he was suspiciously relaxed, inquisitive, very polite, well-groomed, engaging, and articulate. And then I recalled noticing the brown leather shoulder strap under his lapel when he first sat down, though I just assumed it was a suspender.

 

After toying with him for about 15 minutes, he suddenly paused and asked what I was doing right now, to which I replied, “I’m reading my newspaper.” It was only when he suggested, “Well, why not come to my apartment? You can read your paper there,” that I realized this guy was not Mossad, but Mosgay and I was merely the next McHappy meal on his hit list. His cover was blown and following my polite “Thanks, but I think I’ll just hang here and read my paper,” he dearly departed.

 

Nope. Still haven’t heard from the Mossad. But I know they’re out there.

 

 

 

 

Steve Daitch is a Tel Aviv-based writer and musician. You can hear his new disc “SHTIKIPEDIA” and other treats at www.stevedaitch.com as well as on Facebook.