Hi Dad. There are so many things I want to write to you, I don’t really know where to start. The thought won’t leave my mind that you went through so many horrors, that you survived them all, and there in Munich, in Germany of all places, you couldn’t survive. Your whole family was lost in the Holocaust, you fled to Russia, moved to Poland and reached a high status there, gave up everything to move to Israel, and then you went to represent it at the Olympics and never returned. When you arrived at the orphanage in Poland, you became a sports instructor there. You, who lost your parents and brother, decided to motivate others to live. You believed it was wrong to get stuck, that one had to keep moving because movement is life, and you gave those orphans the will to live through the sports activities you organized. You married Mom, and started teaching at the Warsaw Sports Academy. You focused on heavy athletics, you moved forward, got a degree and reached the position of an international judge with an academic degree in sports. In Poland you were the Vice Minister of Sports, not settling for less than an M.A., and you always said sports alone isn’t enough. It must be accompanied by studies, that they’re woven together. When we came to Israeli in 1957, you had to start all over. You were popular. They wanted you in Israel, but in Australia and Canada as well, and finally you decided you preferred the challenge of establishing the heavy athletics branch in Israel. You were sent to learn Hebrew at the Revadim kibbutz, I moved in with Grandma in Ashkelon and Alex, who was three years younger than me, went to live with our aunt in Kiryat Gat. The family split up, but after about a year you were offered an apartment in Bat Yam and we became a family again. And what a childhood we had. Every Saturday you’d take us to the beach in your little Fiat, reviewing students’ grades with me, being attentive, sharing, a father who was present and dominant yet humble. I remember how you used your free time to travel abroad with Mom, how we all went on trips all across the country. You wanted the shared experiences, the warmth. I was twenty when you were murdered, twenty years in which you wanted me to fulfill myself, in which you supported me and shared your life with me, encouraging to share as well. We were so lucky to have you. You established HaPoel Tel-Aviv for weight-lifting, working to promote the branch that didn’t exist until you arrived, and thus the Israeli weight-lifting team was formed. At the same time you ran a shelter for troubled teens in Jaffa, and taught physical education in Bat Yam. Your students admired you as a teacher, bringing back first-place wins and competition trophies for you. Your students went AWOL to attend your funeral, you were that beloved and appreciated. You were an educator with every fiber of your being. Students would come seeking your advice, and you knew how to guide them to what was good and right for them. You saw far into the horizon for each and every one of them, you believed in them and helped them build lives for themselves. That giving spirit was something Alex and I learned, and it’s why Alex became a doctor and a psychotherapist. You saw the potential hidden within every person. You saw Romano training in the ocean, and immediately recognized his talent. You brought Arabs from Acre, and followed your heart because that’s who you were. An open and loving person. And you kept on being an international judge that whole time. Before Munich 1972 you’d already been to two Olympics, representing Poland. In fact, you were the first Israeli ever invited there as an international judge. As far as you were concerned, participating in these Olympic Games was meant to be the completion of the fifth ring in the Olympic symbol. Though you refused to hear German and wouldn’t purchase any German products, you said: “I’ll return there as a winner.” So Dad, you should know that I haven’t set foot there since, and I won’t be traveling there for the 50th anniversary ceremony. What hurts me the most is the thought of the 26 insane hours you endured there. A day before you were judging, two world records were broken and you were happy. And suddenly, out of nowhere, came 26 hours of terror, of horrors; no one deserves anything like that. The trauma from the massacre was difficult. I was in the army, about to get married and living with my parents. That day I took the bus to the Kiryah, hearing on the news that something had happened in Munich. The army told me that you were alive and Yossi, who I later married, came to take me and Mom home. We went through difficult and nerve-wracking hours, not knowing what had happened to you. At 2 AM they told us you’d been rescued, and a neighbor knocked on our door with a bottle of champagne… but Mom said we’d wait for you to call and only then would she believe you were alright. At 5 AM there was another knock on the door, and they told us everyone had been killed. Yossi, who was my rock, went to put up obituaries. Mom was on pills and sedatives for three months, Alex was lost, but I had Yossi. You and Yossi had such a good relationship. You consulted with him whether to stay at the hotel with the judges or with the athletes in the Olympic Village, because the International Olympic Committee had recommended against this for ethical reasons. Yossi suggested you stay at the hotel, but you preferred to be close to Romano and Friedman, who used to be your students. And that decision cost you your life. Zelig Shtroch, a sharpshooter and member of the delegation, was a high school friend of Yossi’s, and he said that during the event he was with his rifle and had one of the terrorists in his sights. I don’t know how many people know this story, but Zelig said he was afraid that if he fired, they’d kill you all. Yossi was also the one who received your belongings, and smartly brought them to his parents’ house to see what they contained. Only I saw them, and there were a few things I chose not to show Mom. Among them was a watch you bought Alex, burned because it had been with you when the helicopter exploded. Yossi took the watch, drove to the company’s headquarters and asked for the same model. When they told him they didn’t have it in stock, he pressured them to get one, as a last memento of you for Alex. Alex got a new watch, but remained pretty alone at home. Mom took it very hard at first, and he was still a student. Today he’s a successful doctor, and father of a wonderful family. I guess sports runs in the family because his grandson is a boxer. Mom also managed to recover and started traveling the world, learning to play Bridge, going to shows and lectures. Ten months after the massacre, Yossi and I decided to get married. It was hard to make a home together at the height of mourning, and I didn’t want a regular wedding. We held a quiet, dignified dinner at the ZOA House, attended by most of the widows of the Munich Eleven. Since then, Dad, I’ve been your memorial candle. They say a person dies twice, once physically and once when there’s no one left to mention their name. So I mention you every chance I get, I write about you, I tell of how much warmth and love you had in you, how you loved people and were a friend to so many. In every phase of my life, since the murder, people cross my path, along the way, who tell another story about you, provide more information about you. Every now and then I learn of another person whose life you touched, another person you were there for when they needed help. You changed people’s lives, and did it your way, with kindness rather than by force or aggression, with a lot of love and faith in the person standing before you. You instilled all those basic values in me, Dad, for twenty years, and I thank you for it. It’s not something to be taken for granted. We were watching the opening ceremonies of the Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games, and suddenly there was a moment of silence that surprised not just us but all the families. I was deeply moved, not just for me but for Anki and Ilana. I love them very much, and very much appreciate the fight they put up for years, and respect them for dedicating their lives to that as they did. Yossi and I have two children, our daughter Liat and our son Shai, who we named after you, the initials of Yakov Springer. People expected us to call him Yakov, but two and a half months before he was born, Alex had a son he named Yakov, and I wanted something different. Liat has given me two grandchildren, Roni and Ido, and Shai, who runs a dog shelter, has no children. He’s an animal-assisted therapist, working with autistic people through the Etgarim foundation, and like you, he’s a giving person. Alex has three sons, and in total you and Mom have five greatgrandchildren. It’s important for you to know, Dad, that the pain and longing haven’t let go of us, you’re present/absent in our lives at all times, during the happiest and most difficult days. Sometimes, like this letter I’m writing you, life brings up painful memories. To this day I can’t accept the suffering you endured. You were a very sensitive person who maintained human dignity at all times, and I don’t even want to imagine what you went through during those horrible hours. I just want to hold you tight and keep you safe, the way you did for me. My father, you were one of a kind. I was lucky to have you as the best father anyone could ask for, and you’re always in my heart. I love you and miss you, Your daughter, Genia