07 Aug Project Mitzvah

Posted at 09:12h in Strange and Unexplained by CreepypastaStories.com 0 Comments

📅 Published on August 7, 2025

“Project Mitzvah”

Written by Xavier Poe Kane
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

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⏰ ESTIMATED READING TIME — 9 minutes

Rating: 10.00/10. From 1 vote.

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Mossad Training Facility
Herzliya, Israel
December 23, 1975

Yitzhak entered the woman’s hospital room first, followed by his deputy Bibi. From the outside, the woman didn’t appear like she needed hospitalization, but this was neither an average woman nor an average hospital. She was a kidon, an assassin hardened and trained at another part of the base. The only sign something was wrong with her was the tears sliding down her cheeks despite how tightly her eyes were shut.

Yitzhak reviewed her case file. She was older than the average kidon they sent to eliminate this particular target, but she was not the oldest—nor would she be the last. Of all the people the Mossad wanted assassinated, this one had proven difficult to kill.

“She’s the 612th we have sent,” he observed to no one in particular.

“So?” Bibi asked.

“70th woman and 35th Holocaust survivor.” He motioned to the number on her arm that had left her branded like an animal.

“You and your numbers,” Bibi mumbled.

“‘For by wise guidance you can wage your war,’” he quoted. “God speaks to us through numbers, and what more wise advice could we ask for than His?”

Bibi chuffed as Yitzhak stepped up to the woman, gently placing his hand on her arm as he addressed her. “It is all right. You did well.”

“I failed.” She opened her eyes and looked up at the men in charge of Operation Mitzvah. “The target lives. I swore I would be the one to kill him. I swore to God!” She grabbed the rails of her hospital bed in both hands and shook them violently in a storm of anger and grief. “I swore to my little Miriam!” She screamed before breaking down sobbing at the mention of her sister’s name.

The woman’s file mentioned Miriam had died in Bergen-Belsen at the tender age of 5.

“I failed Miriam. I couldn’t eliminate him—I couldn’t do that to a …” her voice cracked as she mumbled incomprehensible gibberish in between each sob.

“You did good,” Yitzhak said softly. “Justice will be done—whatever justice is.” He leaned over and kissed the woman’s forehead as he had done with the 611 individuals who had come before her.

* * * * * *

“Otto is prepared for tomorrow’s mission,” Bibi told Yitzhak as they left the woman’s hospital room.

Yitzhak nodded, and they walked in silence for a while. “Do you ever wonder, Bibi,” Yitzhak started as they made their way to the canteen for lunch, “where the doors we walk through come from? And what we would do if we ever found the doors locked forever?”

Bibi thought for a few moments, letting his boss’s abstract ideas sink in. “We would persevere just as all those who came before us have done. We have a historic opportunity to chase away darkness. Someday we’ll be successful.”

“What if … what if being successful is not the same as bringing light?” Yitzhak countered.

Bibi immediately felt his ire rise at his boss’s hesitancy. “And why haven’t you volunteered for a mission?”

A healthy middle-aged man, Yitzhak’s refusal to volunteer had been a source of irritation. Bibi had been disqualified for flat feet despite a strong desire to be the one to eliminate the target.

“Are you afraid of failure, or are you too afraid of meeting your true self and finding out you’re a coward?” Bibi spat, not caring for the consequences of his words. He’d snapped under the weight of both the director’s previous question and his gaze. “He’s evil. His death will save lives.”

“He is an ordinary person. Nothing special about even his brand of evil. How can we be sure that his death would save lives? Antisemitism has always been rampant and continues to be rampant.

“Pogroms did not end with the liberation of the camps. Jews were not welcomed back into their homes or given back their property after the Holocaust. In Poland, 150 survivors returned from the camps to their homes in Kielce where their once neighbors killed 41 and injured another 50. Our saviors in London and Washington did not open their borders to the survivors.”

Yitzhak shook his head as he continued. “No, Bibi.” He placed a gentle hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Extinguishing one life thinking it will stop genocide is like believing taking a thimble of water from the sea will prevent a tidal wave.”

Braunau am Inn, Austria-Hungary
December 24, 1890

The little boy had heard the noise every day of his life, and every day of his life he would scurry to his nursery closet, closing the door behind him. The noise sounded like an electric dentist’s drill, something that was then unknown to the child but would terrorize the man he was to become. He shuddered as he heard the strange sound fade, replaced by heavy footsteps. The little boy made himself small and covered himself with whatever he could.

The little boy trembled in terror as the doorknob slowly turned. He instinctively clasped a hand to his mouth, trying not to let his fear get the better of him. He closed his eyes tight, tears helplessly squeezing out from the corners. The door slowly opened, and the child trembled.

“There you are,” a cold masculine voice said as strong hands reached for him, brushing away the clothes he hid under.

The little boy was pulled from his hiding place and slammed onto his back.

The man who had invaded the nursery knelt beside him, rage burning in his eyes. Like the other trespassers, this man wore strange clothes that looked like some sort of uniform.

The child’s eyes focused on the gold pendant dangling from a chain about the man’s neck. It resembled a star from one of his story books. He also noticed a strange tattoo on the man’s left arm, which held him pinned while the other reached and pulled a revolver from its holster. The little boy closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling as he waited for the nightmarish game to end.

Soft whimpers escaped his mouth as he heard the hammer of the pistol being pulled back, the cylinder clicking as it advanced a round. While the child did not understand what he was hearing, on a primal level he understood the danger he was in. More tears escaped his scrunched eyes as he lay there, defenseless and powerless against the man holding him down.

He knew not to fight, as fighting only led his assailants to hurt him. The resulting injuries were dismissed by his parents as childish roughhousing. Experience had taught him that the best thing to do was to lie still and wait for the horror to end, one way or another.

“Vey is mir!” the man cried out.

The little boy exhaled, letting himself relax as he heard the now familiar sound of a pistol being decocked.

“I’ve failed you, Anne,” the man wailed as he began patting the child’s chest. “You live another day, ben zona.”

The terrifying sound returned, and the little boy cautiously opened his eyes and watched as the man, like the others, disappeared.

Mossad Training Facility
Herzliya, Israel
December 24, 1975

Yitzhak watched, shaking his head in exhaustion, as the latest volunteer returned from his mission.

The portal took on a blue hue. They wouldn’t be able to send another kidon through for 24 hours. However, the portal remained visible, allowing them to observe the target until it opened once more. It had been so for 613 days.

The man was sobbing and apologizing as he was led to medical for observation and sedation.

“The 36th Holocaust survivor,” Yitzhak said, turning to Bibi, “and he is the last we will send. It is time we shut the project down, Bibi.”

“But, sir,” Bibi sputtered, “we will find the person who can kill the target and spare our people the last genocide!”

Yitzhak shook his head and held up his hands. “We have sent 613 people, one a day for about 20 months. That is as many people as there are mitzvot. 70 women. 36 Holocaust survivors. As for the last, I must wonder if we have not stumbled upon the hidden righteous ones. Not a single one of them pulled the trigger when they had the chance.”

Bibi snorted. “Here you go again with your numerology nonsense. You’re a scientist! You should be more practical and pragmatic.”

The older man frowned at the dismissal. “I think God is trying to teach us a lesson.”

“God? What is this God business?” Bibi exploded with rage. “God has abandoned us. It’s up to us to make meaning out of tragedy, and if Israel’s best scientists have found a way to go back in time and prevent the mass slaughter of our people, would that not be the hand of God?”

Yitzhak put a hand on his old friend’s shoulder. “Bibi, did I ever tell you that I almost became a rabbi? It is true.” He looked over Bibi’s shoulder at a point a thousand yards away as he considered the life not taken. “There are truths not even physics can teach us. We did not create this rift in time and space—this rift that takes us to a month before his birth and then to each day after, moving in lockstep with his early life, this rift that is only open in Mossad’s headquarters on one end and his nursery on the other.

“No, Bibi,” Yitzhak shook his head solemnly, “this not the work of any mortal. This is God, and we must listen.”

“No!” Bibi screamed again. “Let us at least give this technology to the Americans! They’re good at pragmatic assassinations! They won’t hesitate!”

“Bibi, it is over. If we were to succeed, we would not prevent anything. He was insignificant in World War I, and he was not alone in between the wars. Nazism would’ve been replaced by other fascist groups. He was a symptom—not the disease—of antisemitism.” Yitzhak’s shoulders slumped as if burdened by a great weight.

“Never again,” Bibi growled in frustration. “The target had charisma and could hold an entire nation in thrall. There is something unique about this target, and if we take him out, everything that follows collapses!”

Yitzhak pulled a black and white photo from his pocket and handed it to Bibi.

The other man studied the haunting look of a young woman staring into the camera as she held a kindergarten-aged child.

“She was killed shortly after that photo was taken. Not by the SS in some camp but by the Reserve Police Battalion 101 shortly after Germany took Poland. They were not rabid Nazis but ordinary Germans volunteering to serve their country. They were not told they would be shooting unarmed civilians. They were even given the opportunity not to participate, and 13 chose not to.”

“Surely they were shot for refusing a legal order …”

Mournfully shaking his head, Yitzhak took the picture back and tucked it safely inside his pocket. “There is not a single documented case of a German being punished for refusing to shoot an unarmed civilian. For those who did, they had to live with themselves. One wrote in his diary that he would only shoot the children because they could not live without their parents, and so he convinced himself he was being merciful. The reality is, the vast majority of humans—if placed in the shoes of those ordinary, interwar Germans—is capable of atrocities.”

“All the more reason we must not fail!” Bibi roared. “There is a reason the portal opened in Israel! It is our sacred duty to use this divine gift!”

“No, Bibi. The lesson here is that we must be a light unto the world and a symbol of resilience and not vengeance—no matter how much we lust for it.”

Bibi was about to object when they were interrupted by what sounded like a dentist’s drill followed by a loud electric pop. The two men turned and stared as the portal disappeared. Yitzhak’s shoulders relaxed as if a great weight had been lifted, and his expression was that of exalted bliss—as if he had seen the hand of God Himself closing the portal.

Artist Statement

As a rule, I like to avoid stating my intent for a story’s meaning. I want my readers to find their own meaning (if any) in my work. However, as much as this story demanded I write it, it also scares me. An unhealthy mind could easily distort this into blaming Jewish people for creating Hitler’s antisemitism. Therefore, the fascist wannabe or neo-Nazi could twist the first half into something that feeds their worldview.

I want to be clear: In no way should this story be read as antisemitic. What this story is is the result of a combination of my feelings about the futility of war and what I felt watching the attack by hamas on the people of Israel. It is a reflection on the fact that while the war that followed was inevitable, it will most likely prove itself to be a folly like all wars. However, what makes this attack different from our 9/11 is this struck at the Jewish diaspora’s sense of safety and the brutality signaled an existential threat not only in Israel but around the globe.

In terms of storytelling, this story echoes an episode of the 1985 reboot of The Twilight Zone: Season 2, Episode 4, Lost and Found.” The teleplay was written by George R. R. Martin and based on the short story by Phillis Eisenstein. In it, a college student has random things go missing only to discover it was not her roommate playing pranks but time-traveling tourists from 2139 and that she would become “The Great Peacemaker” after becoming the first president of Earth. This story is one of those stories that has managed to stick with me through the decades.

This happy story blended with the ethical and philosophical question: If you could go back in time and kill baby Hitler, would you? Could you? Like “Lost and Found,” this is something I heard somewhere in my youth that stuck with me as something extremely profound. It’s one of the reasons I thought Luke Skywalker in The Last Jedi added depth and nuance to the character, making him something other than a mash-up of action and superhero.