A Spy in Exile
: Chapter 11

“Ya’ara’s news, that we’re leaving for Germany this Thursday evening already, is somewhat disconcerting. Disconcerting, but exciting, too. But perhaps that’s why we’re all here.” Batsheva Kessler cast a serious gaze over her new group of friends. She appeared confident, like someone in control of her audience. “I’m probably the responsible adult among us. You’re the young and wild ones who’ve gathered on a mountaintop in Western Galilee on a rainy winter’s day,” she said, looking at them, “whereas I, in all likelihood, have come from somewhere a little different.” She took a deep breath. “So let me begin with the age thing. I’m forty-four years old. And although I sometimes feel half that, there’s no denying your real age when you’re a grandmother,” she added with a smile. The other members of the group in the circle around her looked genuinely stunned. “A grandmother?” one of the young men whispered particularly loudly. “I don’t believe it,” Nufar said. “It’s not possible.”

“I married at the age of twenty, immediately after completing my national service, and Neria, my eldest, became a father at the age of twenty-two. That’s just the way we do things.”

“How many children do you have?”

“Just three. Neria, the eldest, who served in the Seventh Armored Brigade Reconnaissance Company and is now studying history at university. Yishai, who’s coming to the end of his service as a combat engineer. Assaf, you were an officer in the Combat Engineering Corps, right? And my baby, Michal, who’s no longer a baby at all. She’s in eleventh grade now. They can all look after themselves, and besides, their father is always around. I’ll always be their mother. Nothing could ever change that. But right now, I’m allowing myself to think and also to say out loud: I deserve it. I deserve the chance to live for myself again, too, and for what I believe in. I can’t carry on being there for everyone all the time. I’ve always been a good girl. A model of stability since the age of twenty. I studied law, but also married, and fell pregnant, and took care of our apartment, and made sure I got on both with my parents and with his, and with him, too, and fell pregnant again.

“Four years at university, and with a big tummy for almost two of them. Just try to imagine that. And then an internship, and opening my own law office, and Friday night dinners, and Saturday lunches, and Passover meals for more than thirty people since the age of twenty-five, and the intensity of the work involved in insurance claims. From claims filed by Holocaust survivors through to damages claims. When it comes to claims relating to the Holocaust, things can get very complicated. Emotionally charged. I became profoundly involved in that particular area of work. I was drawn to it as one is drawn to forbidden fruit. It haunted me at night, but I pressed on. And just so you know, behind damages claims—and those relating to medical negligence in particular—lies an entire world of suffering and hardship. And the work trips abroad were always brief, hurried, with always a million things to deal with on my return, more cases and more claims and more court hearings, and getting things ready for Shabbat, and always night flights so I could land at Ben-Gurion Airport in the early hours of the morning and be home in time to get Michal ready for school, with a stolen hour at the Louvre or Steidel or MOMA, just to feel human for a moment before returning to the rat race. So I said to Ya’ara: Count me in. No matter what they say. We have a country to fight for and I have a role to play. Secret agent, of course. But if possible, with a large pair of sunglasses and a silver-plated pistol in my handbag.”

Batsheva was a tall and handsome woman, but that hadn’t stopped her from wearing very fashionable and beautiful high-heeled shoes. And anyone who knew anything about shoes knew, too, that they were frighteningly expensive ones. The dark red silk of her dress complemented her. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but the diamond earrings she had on were spectacular.

“My parents were born in Czechoslovakia,” she continued, “and my Czech is excellent. At the age of sixteen, and a year later at seventeen, too, I did some work in Prague and Budapest for Nativ, the liaison organization that maintained contact with Jews living in the Eastern Bloc during the Cold War and encouraged immigration to Israel—under the guise of being there to visit family and tour around. I was there during the final days of the Iron Curtain. I was naïve and enthusiastic enough to do foolish things, and the honorable gentlemen at Nativ were simply insane. Taking a young girl and allowing her to carry out secret tasks, to convey instructions and relay money. They had no limits and were certainly not God-fearing individuals. I, by the way, was and still am.” She smiled again, clearly aware of the impression her words were making.

“I’d like to confess to something,” she continued in a soft voice. “Outwardly, I may appear to be someone who treads a fine line, the religious woman who’s constantly seeking her limits. Perhaps it suits me to have people see me in that way, but I know there are still barriers that I haven’t dared to cross. Those barriers are important, I respect them and they mean a lot to me. My way of life is a part of me; my faith, and please excuse the dramatics, is a guiding light in my life. The value system according to which I was raised and have raised my own children is not something I wish to challenge—on the contrary. But now I want to do something I’ve never dared to do before.” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

She looked around the room, lingering briefly on Sayid.

“I believe that my faith needs to be expressed not only in the form of leading a religious life. I need to do something real for the sake of our existence here. My husband and children have served in the army, and still do so. Religious women can’t serve in combat roles in the army. But here, I can. And it feels right for me.” She paused, and her eyes clouded over with sadness. “I’m sorry, I’m usually a lot clearer and more eloquent.” She shook her head, as if she was shaking off drops of water. “Anyway, we’re about to get going, and that’s the main thing. I’m happy to be here, with you, and I’ll keep you all in line. Like I said, it’s my job to be the responsible adult.”

She straightened her dress and the gleam returned to her beautiful eyes. “I’m done,” Batsheva said.

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