The Black Widow

NEXT MORNING THE STAFF OF Hadassah Medical Center was informed via e-mail that Dr. Natalie Mizrahi would be taking an extended leave of absence. The announcement was thirty words in length and a masterpiece of bureaucratic murk. No reason was given for the sabbatical, no date of return was mentioned. This left the staff with no option but to speculate about the reasons for Natalie’s sudden departure, a pursuit they engaged in freely, for it gave them something to talk about other than the stabbings. There were rumors of a serious illness, rumors of an emotional breakdown, rumors of a homesick return to France. After all, said one sage from cardiology, why in the world would anyone with a French passport actually choose to live in Israel at a time like this? Ayelet Malkin, who considered herself Natalie’s closest friend at the hospital, found all these theories inadequate. She knew Natalie to be of sound mind and body and had heard her speak many times of her relief to be in Israel, where she could live as a Jew without fear of assault or rebuke. Moreover, she had worked a twenty-four-hour shift with Natalie that week, and the two women had shared a gossipy dinner during which Natalie made no mention of any pending leave of absence. She thought the entire thing reeked of official mischief. Like many Israelis, Ayelet had a relative, an uncle, who was involved in secret government work. He came and went without warning and never spoke of his job or his travels. Ayelet decided that Natalie, fluent in three languages, had been recruited as a spy. Or perhaps, she thought, she had always been one.

While Ayelet had stumbled upon something resembling the truth, she was not technically correct, as Natalie was to learn on her first full day in Nahalal. She was not going to be a spy. Spies, she was told, are human sources who are recruited to spy against their own intelligence service, government, terrorist organization, international body, or commercial enterprise. Sometimes they spied for money, sometimes for sex or respect, and sometimes they spied because they were coerced, owing to some blemish in their personal life. In Natalie’s case, there was no coercion, only persuasion. She was from that point forward a special employee of the Office. As such, she would be governed by the same rules and strictures that applied to all those who worked directly for the service. She could not divulge secrets to foreign governments. She could not write a memoir about her work without approval. She could not discuss that work with anyone outside the Office, including members of her family. Her employment was to commence immediately and would terminate upon the completion of her mission. However, if Natalie wished to remain with the Office, suitable work would be found for her. A sum of five hundred thousand shekels was placed in a bank account bearing her real name. In addition, she would be paid the equivalent of her monthly salary from Hadassah. An Office courier would look after her apartment during her absence. In the event of her death, two million shekels would be paid to her parents.

The paperwork, briefings, and stern warnings consumed the entire first day. On the second her formal education commenced. She felt rather like a graduate student in a private university of one. In the mornings, immediately following breakfast, she learned techniques for replacing her own identity with an assumed one — tradecraft, they called it. After a light lunch she embarked on Palestinian studies, followed by Islamic and jihadist studies. No one ever referred to her as Natalie. She was Leila, no family name, only Leila. The instructors spoke to her only in Arabic and referred to themselves as Abdul, Muhammad, or Ahmed. One two-person team of briefers called themselves Abdul and Abdul. Natalie called them Double-A for short.

The last hour of daylight was Natalie’s exclusively. With her head spinning with Islam and jihad, she would set out for training runs along the dusty farm roads. She was never permitted to go alone; two armed security guards followed her always in a dark-green ATV. Often she returned to the house to find Gabriel waiting, and they would walk a mile or two through the perfumed twilight of the valley. His Arabic was not sufficiently fluent for prolonged conversation, so he addressed her in French. He spoke to her about her training and her studies but never about his childhood in the valley or its remarkable history. As far as Leila was concerned, the valley represented an act of colonial theft and dispossession. “Look at it,” he would say, pointing toward the Arab village on the hillock. “Imagine how they must feel when they see the accomplishments of the Jews. Imagine their anger. Imagine their shame. It is your anger, Leila. It is your shame.”