A Painful Visit

On a recent trip to Munich, victims' relatives endured a cold welcome and wrenching emotions

By Don Yaeger

Main story When the Terror Began Sidebars The American The Mastermind Striking Back A Painful Visit Flashbacks A Sanctuary Violated Shootings in the Night After the Nightmare Munich's Message

The 25 relatives of the Israeli victims hadn't planned much for their visit to Munich two weeks ago. Widows, children and grandchildren -- most of whom had never set foot in the city -- simply wanted to bear witness, to lay wreaths and light candles at the two sites where their loved ones perished. Instead the pilgrims had their emotions whipped back and forth in unforeseen ways.

On the Saturday afternoon of their arrival, in a hotel bar less than two miles from the Olympic Stadium, which happened to be the site of the European track and field championships, they watched as Israeli pole vaulter Alex Averbukh won his country's first ever European gold medal in the sport. As the medal ceremony played out on TV, the entire group stood and sang the Israeli national anthem. Several cried with joy.

But the next day, a freakishly cold, rainy and windswept Sunday, brought reminders of the weltered history that still enmeshes the parties touched by the events of 1972. Hundreds of policemen, weapons drawn, chaperoned the group during its visit to 31 Connollystrasse in what was once the Olympic Village. Snipers lurked on rooftops and helicopters hovered overhead. A team of police officers scaled the facade of an adjacent apartment block to cover with a blanket two Palestinian flags and a poster with Arabic script that hung in a window. The irony wasn't lost on Ilana Romano, widow of Yossef Romano, the weightlifter who had been killed early in the siege at the Village. "If these security officers had been there 30 years ago," she said, "we wouldn't be here today."

Ankie Spitzer (right) and her daughter took in the Fürstenfeldbruck monument. AP

At the airfield in Fürstenfeldbruck, site of the botched rescue attempt, the Israelis' bus pulled out on the tarmac near the spots where the helicopters carrying the hostages had landed. A German air force officer addressed the families, but he had been a college student in 1972 and insisted that no one from 30 years ago could be found to meet with the group. "I was so glad it was raining," said Ankie Spitzer, widow of fencing coach André Spitzer, who died at the airfield. "It kept me from falling to my knees."

German authorities had tried to dissuade the families from making the trip to Munich. Spitzer received word that officials couldn't guarantee her safety." (To this, Spitzer says acidly, her reaction was "No s---.") But she remains much more appalled that the Germans still haven't released ballistics and pathology reports that would answer the question of whether Palestinian or German weapons killed her husband and eight of his teammates in the airport shootout. Based on documents she has seen, Spitzer believes that at least one hostage, track coach Amitzur Shapira, was killed by German gunfire. "Absolutely, there are more records," she says.

"I've been begging the German government to take in these people [mastermind Abu Daoud and others involved in the attack] and put them on trial so we can put all this behind us. But until they're ready to do that, there'll be no end to this pain."

Germany has issued an international warrant for the arrest of Abu Daoud, and a financial settlement between the Germans and the families was reached in 2001. Without a trial more German records aren't likely to become public -- and as long as information remains under wraps, Abu Daoud's claim that German bullets killed the hostages at the airfield will go unrefuted. As Abu Daoud tells SI, "If the Germans wanted to pursue me, they would have to tell the world too many secrets."

In their shared anger at the German response that night and since, Abu Daoud sees Spitzer as a potential ally. He has extended an invitation to her to meet. Spitzer replied that the only place she wants to meet Abu Daoud is a courtroom. "I want justice," she says. "Thirty years later not one person has ever sat in court for the murder of 11 innocent sportsmen on international television. That should bother someone other than us."

Issue date: August 26, 2002