In the shadowy world of espionage, a single choice can change the course of history. It was recently declassified that Catherine Peretz Shakdon, a stunning polyglot with dual Israeli–French citizenship, was the top-secret Mossad agent responsible for uncovering Iran’s deepest military and nuclear secrets. Her infiltration was so complete, so flawless, that no one suspected she was the silent hand behind Israel’s decisive military edge. She married into the upper echelons of Iran’s Revolutionary Guard as part of a “honey trap,” gaining access to passwords, blueprints, and coordinates. She sent encrypted photos and voice recordings, exposing the hidden bunkers, the real locations of nuclear warheads, and the meeting points of Iranian command. And then, as the war began, she vanished. Just like that. No trace. Only a legacy of courage that saved a nation.
Sound familiar?
In 1967, Israeli spy Eli Cohen’s cunning led the Syrians to plant eucalyptus trees around their secret military bunkers on the Golan Heights. These trees, standing tall like flags in the barren landscape, allowed Israeli jets to locate and destroy enemy strongholds in just hours. Images recently surfaced showing something equally bizarre — modern soccer fields next to top-secret military facilities in the middle of nowhere in Iran, with carefully manicured grass, clearly visible from satellites. Could it be another Eli Cohen? Another Catherine? Did an agent convince Iranian leadership that soccer fields symbolize “loyalty to the people” — when in fact, they were painting giant targets for Israeli drones and fighter pilots?
This isn’t fiction. It’s the story of sacrifice and unwavering commitment to a mission.
But not every spy story ends in success.
In the 1950s, the Mossad launched one of its most daring and painful intelligence programs ever: Project Ulysses. Handpicked Jewish immigrants from Arab lands were recruited as teenagers for a top-secret national mission. After 18 grueling months of isolation, during which they studied Islam and sabotage and crafted false identities, they were sent to live undercover as Palestinians in the West Bank, Gaza, and beyond.
They married Palestinian women, fathered children, and lived double lives for over a decade. Uri Yisrael, one of the most celebrated operatives, lived under his Arab alias “Abed al-Hader” for 15 years. He helped found fake businesses, prayed in mosques, and hosted secret meetings of emerging terrorist leaders — including the very first gathering of Fatah, led by unknown figures at the time: Yasser Arafat and Abu Jihad.
These agents provided the very apartments where Israel’s greatest enemies planned their destruction — and the Mossad listened through microphones buried in the walls. But this razor-thin line between cover and conscience became too much. In one fateful moment, while transmitting Morse code from a hidden radio, Uri’s Palestinian wife caught him mid-broadcast. Instead of covering it up, he broke down and confessed: “I’m not a Palestinian. I’m not a Fatah supporter. I’m a Jew. And I’m a Mossad agent.”
The mission had blurred into life. The lies had formed families. The agents were torn between two identities. Over time, most were quietly recalled. The unit was eventually disbanded — not because of failure on the battlefield, but because success in their cover cost them their sense of self.
And this is where the line between espionage and our spiritual lives becomes breathtakingly clear.
We, too, are agents. Hashem sends our souls into this physical world with a mission: to make this world a home for the divine. But the world is seductive. The distractions are endless. Sometimes we build families, careers, identities — and forget that our life isn’t the destination, it’s the disguise. The Rebbe taught that our soul is a soldier, a secret emissary deployed into exile to bring light into the darkness.
But do we remember our origin? Or have we become so absorbed in the world that we, like the Ulysses agents, forget our true identity?
The late astrophysicist Professor Velvl Greene, who worked for NASA, once shared a remarkable anecdote. At a Space Science Conference, a scientist was explaining the theoretical challenges of a space mission to Alpha Centauri — the star system closest to Earth. At a speed of 1,000 miles per second, it would take over 800 years each way. Any original crew would perish long before the journey ended. So, he explained, they’d need to launch men and women who would have children, who would then have children, continuing for 1,600 years until their descendants finally reached the destination.
But the scientist posed the real question: Would the 50th generation still remember the mission? Would they know why they were on that ship, where they came from, and where they were going?
Another scientist stood up and said: “If we could figure out how the Jewish people managed to survive for thousands of years while staying on mission — we’d have our answer.”
That is exactly who we are. We launched from Sinai with a map, a mission, and a mandate: to reveal the oneness of Hashem in every corner of creation. And through wars, exile, persecution, temptation, we are still here. The Torah, our Divine logbook, is not just guidance — it’s continuity. It reminds us, generation after generation, who we are, where we came from, and what we must do.
Indeed, the evil prophet Bilaam tried repeatedly to curse the Jews. Each time he fails, because “They are a people who dwell alone (with G-d), and do not reckon with the nations.” Bilaam admits that the Jewish people are untouchable, “rising like a Lion,” when they stay connected to their mission. It is when we forget who we are that we become vulnerable.
As I celebrated my birthday last month, I reflected on life’s greatest question: Am I fulfilling my mission in this world, or have I too become distracted along the way?
So here is my birthday blessing to us:
May we live with the clarity of a Catherine, the courage of an Eli Cohen, and the loyalty of a Project Ulysses agent who, despite every obstacle, never forgets who he truly is. May our children and grandchildren proudly carry on our legacy. May the Torah forever be our compass and our lifeline. And may our generation complete the mission that began at Sinai — revealing the G-dliness in every soul and bringing the final redemption for all humanity.
May you succeed in writing the greatest spy story ever written — your own!Rabbi Dovid Vigler is the spiritual leader at Chabad of Palm Beach Gardens and host of the Jewish Schmooze Radio Show. Email him at [email protected]
