My Andrei, I wouldn’t do a 50-year journey like this for anyone, just for you. We only had a year and three months of living together, sharing everything, laughing, having fun, kissing at every stoplight. Such a great love we had. Then you went to Munich, and I took Anouki, who was less than two months old, to my parents in the Netherlands, where I was informed that I’d lost you. Before I write to you of what we went through, I want to tell you, Andrei, that I was there, in your room in the Olympic Village. When the horror came to light I took a plane to Munich, and started trying to find out what had happened. The room was left unguarded, and though they tried to dissuade me from going up there, I insisted. I asked one of the fencers to come with me, but he refused. We saw the dripping blood on the stairwell first, and he pleaded with me not to go up. I told him I had to see where my husband spent the last hours of his life, and indeed the sight of it was horrifying. Food thrown on the floor, stains from excrement and urine and blood everywhere, and bullet holes scattered on the walls. I found dolls Andrei bought Anouki, I took them and left. And then I made a decision, Andrei. I told myself that if this was what people could do to each other in the Olympic Village, the symbol of brotherhood and peace and friendship, then I would not be silent. I would tell the story again and again, bringing up what happened so that such a thing would never happen again. And so, for 50 years I’ve gathered one detail after another, more and more information, telling your story and fighting for official recognition of the massacre. For you. You were such a sensitive person, the furthest thing from a macho man, you wept easily and laughed lightly. A modest man, unnaturally funny, a man of great knowledge and an autodidact. We met in the Netherlands, where you’d been sent for professional supplement courses as the coach of the Israeli fencing team. I’d just finished a tour of Europe, and decided I wanted to learn fencing. During one of my training sessions I said to myself “Enough”, and you immediately asked how I knew Hebrew. I told you that I’d volunteered at the kibbutz for a year and had studied a bit of Hebrew, though I’d been disappointed by the Israeli adventure. You asked me out for a beer, not knowing that I’d already had my eye on you. That night we both had a lot of beers, and I fell in love. We moved in together pretty quickly, and after you heard that I wasn’t thrilled with Israel you considered staying in the Netherlands, but the moral obligation to return, since you’d been sent out for supplemental courses after all, was the determining factor, and I agreed to go back with you. We were sent to Birnit, a small town on the Lebanese border, and you taught at the Sports Academy. Friends warned me that there was nothing there. No electricity, no stores, no cafés. Nothing. But it was enough for me that you were there. At 5 PM the place would shut down for security reasons, so I never went to the Ulpan to study Hebrew. What I did do was participate in the non-academic part of the study program, fencing, judo, horseback riding, and so the happiest year of my life went by. After a year we moved to Ramat Gan, and you continued coaching the team. You’d immigrated to Israel from Transylvania at 19, along with your mother. Your father had died of cancer when you were 11, and your married sister remained in Bucharest. After Munich, she moved to Israel with her family, and your mother, an extraordinary woman, lived for another 30 years afterwards and was a significant part of mine and Anouk’s lives. I don’t know how she still had so much more love to give after her only son was murdered. Losing a child is the most difficult thing there is, and after a few years she lost her daughter to cancer as well. And she went on, Andrei, and still had love for all my other children, born to my ex-husband. She was an amazing grandmother and bolstered us all. In the Netherlands I had a large, financially well-off family, and after the catastrophe they were all sure I would go back. But I chose to stay here, I wanted to raise my girl in Israel, so I could one day explain to her what had happened, and why. I couldn’t do that in the Netherlands. I remember that a week after Anouki was born, I came to the Wingate Institute to see the closing ceremony for the project you’d initiated with the Black Panthers. Abergil, Marciano, you taught them all fencing. It’s an aggressive sport, where you hold a weapon and attack someone, and you chose to emphasize the aspect of respecting their opponents and referees in their training. And then you were invited to the Olympics, and your lifelong dream came true. Yet you were willing to give it up and withdraw, just so I wouldn’t be left alone with the baby. We were a young couple in the prime of our love. Finally, Anouki and I flew to the Netherlands, and we decided to meet in Munich. When we met, I spared you the knowledge that Anouki had fallen ill and was hospitalized in the Netherlands. I spent two weeks with you there, and every day I checked on her through my parents. We slept in a small room in a house in Munich, not in the Olympic Village, and only after you finished your competitions did I tell you about Anouki. We were given two days off, and you were warned not to go to the Netherlands. Of course we hitchhiked, crossing the border and reaching the hospital. The next day you had to go back, and we decided to meet in Israel after the Olympics. You reached Munich at night, called me and we chatted until you ran out of coins. Your friends had just returned from “Fiddler on the Roof”, you spent some more time together, talking and laughing, and then you went to bed. The incident began rather quickly. I was asleep at my parents’ house, and in the morning I was told that you were among the hostages. The whole family came, but I wouldn’t speak to anyone and focused on what was happening. The worst part for me was the ultimatum that for every hour that passed without their demands being met, they’d execute one of the hostages. It was exhausting and nerve-wracking. The whole time I was waiting, fully alert to hear something in the media, since everything was broadcast live. I saw you on TV as the terrorists brought you to the window so you could communicate in German with the negotiations team. Then you were hit by the Kalashnikov, they pulled you in, the window was shut and the curtain was drawn. When I saw you being taken to the helicopters, I knew it was the end for you. All the Germans wanted was to get you out of the Olympic Village so their “Cheerful Games” could continue. When the German announcement claimed everyone had been saved, the tension in my parents’ house broke. Everyone was jumping for joy and popping champagne bottles, and the Israeli Ambassador to the Netherlands called to congratulate us. And I just waited for a call from you. I spoke a few times with the head of the delegation, Shmuel Lalkin, until 3 AM, but he had nothing new to tell me. Then I heard the ABC announcer say “They are all gone” and I understood. I called the Israeli Ambassador, who immediately asked if you’d called, and I told him you hadn’t, and that you wouldn’t ever again. I took a small bag, flew to Munich, and went to the Olympic Village, where it was business as usual. Athletes were warming up and practicing like nothing had happened. I thought what I could do about this situation, how could the Games be continuing as if 11 athletes hadn’t been murdered here just yesterday? Coming to Israel was dramatic for me. I was mainly concerned about meeting your mother. I started to descend from the plane, and outside I was hit with screaming and crying, thousands of people, the Prime Minister and who knows who else. Only then did I realize that your mother was actually in Romania, and so your funeral was only held a few days later. I was so angry, Andrei. I was angry at the whole world, until I realized that I couldn’t raise a baby with all that anger and that I had to switch off all the hard feelings. The most important thing to me was not living with hate, and not passing it on to Anouki, who’s so like you in appearance and character. When we were invited to the opening ceremony in Tokyo, I felt it wasn’t just a coincidental invitation. After the Rio 2016 Olympic Games we’d reached a turning point in our struggle and the relationship with Bach, I felt another step was coming, and I told Ilana that we had to go. It was strange to reach that huge stadium that held only about a thousand people because of coronavirus restrictions. Suddenly, the Israeli delegation to Munich 1972 was mentioned, how 11 athletes from the Olympic family had lost their lives in a terror attack at the Olympics. Immediately after that everyone was asked to stand for a minute of silence, and Ilana and I couldn’t believe it was happening to us. All the dignitaries stood silent and bowed their heads. I don’t cry easily, but I couldn’t control the flow of my tears. In my heart I said to you: Andrei, it took me 49 years, but here, you’ve gotten what you deserved, you and all your fellow delegate members. For three days we couldn’t sleep a wink, we were so thrilled and euphoric. A few days later we met Thomas Bach, President of the International Olympic Committee, again, and I told him I was grateful to him that it happened in my lifetime. It spared our children and their children further struggle. Without Ilana I wouldn’t have withstood this entire journey, and here it was, the moment we’d dreamed of and fought for. A defining moment. I must tell you, Andrei, that eight years after Munich I remarried, and divorced after 18 years and three children. I have no partner now, because I don’t have time for someone to lie on my couch and ask for coffee. Anouki has given me two grandchildren, lovely Nina and your namesake Andrei, who is also a fencer. He’s an aggressive athlete, and every time he wins a point he raises his hand high. I asked him why, and he said that when he raises his hand he says deep down: Grandpa Andrei, this is for you. She hadn’t planned on calling him Andy, but as the birth approached she knew that was what she would call him. She also kept our last name, and I’m glad there’s another Andy Spitzer in the world. He and Nina both know your story well, and you’re part of their lives. Andrei, your Anouki is here next to me, wanting to pass on a very important message to you and the others. She said one could assume the people who went through what we went through would want revenge, but it’s the other way around. We understand the price more than anyone, we understand there’s no end to it. Every side has losers, there’s no winner in this story. Our children paid a very heavy price because Ilana and I dedicated our lives to fighting for your memorial. So it’s important to me that you know I asked them to forgive me for all the energy, attention and money we gave to our struggle, sometimes at their expense. They forgave me. You are always with me. Ankie