Striking Back: The 1972 Munich Olympics Massacre and Israel's Deadly Response

by Klein, Aaron J.

  Deterrence is a more complex factor. Essentially, its goal is to violently persuade those considering a career in terrorism to choose a different vocation. Undoubtedly some do. “We’ll never know how many,” a former high-ranking Mossad officer told me, smiling contentedly. True, but the ultimate effectiveness of deterrence-by-assassination is open to question.

  Deterrence is often woven together with the third factor, revenge and punishment. The aim here is to make it clear that he who hurts us, as an organization, as a people, will forever walk around in fear of a sudden, unprepared-for death. But there is an added tactical value: terrorists who are constantly looking over their shoulder in fear for their lives are less preoccupied with executing terror.

  Decision makers and heads of intelligence services the world over will vehemently deny succumbing to revenge’s ancient allure, with its biblical demand for an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Yet revenge, to differing degrees, has played a role in each and every assassination carried out in Israel’s name, throughout its history. The same can be said for democracies like Britain, France, and the United States. Usually, “revenge” is not spoken of openly. Different, softer words are used, words that people can live with; phrases like “closing the circle.”

  Revenge and punishment are part of a government’s decision-making process. For instance, the ongoing hunt for Osama Bin Laden. To what degree is the search for the 9/11 mastermind based on the need for prevention or deterrence? Now that numerous Bin Laden clones have arisen, to what extent is the hunt driven by a desire for revenge and punishment?

  In the case of Atef Bseiso, revenge was served cold, twenty years after the crime. Bseiso joined a list of more than a dozen people killed by Israel in the wake of the Munich attack. Bseiso, the last of them, closed the circle.

  2 A YEAR OF TERROR

  ISRAEL, LOD INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

  MAY 9, 1972, 1610H

  Terrorism hit an awful peak in 1972. Palestinian groups, frustrated by their failure to execute attacks against Israel from the Occupied Territories of the West Bank and the Gaza Strip, exported their activities beyond the boundaries of the Middle East. Throughout 1972, a record number of high-profile attacks were carried out against Israelis and Jews. The Palestinians’ daring offensive incorporated many forms of violence. They hijacked planes, assassinated Israeli diplomats, and sent letter bombs all across the European continent. As a result of their actions, the plight of the Palestinian people began to seep into the world’s collective consciousness. Terrorism—their chosen method—was proving successful. Each deadly attack raised the ante. Operations grew bolder, more sophisticated, more theatrical.

  On May 8, 1972, Belgian Sabena Flight 571 was en route from Brussels, via Vienna, to Tel Aviv. On board were ten crew members and ninety passengers, sixty-seven of them Jewish. Also on board were four members of Black September, an amorphous branch of Fatah. The terrorists (two men and two women) were armed with hand grenades, a revolver, and two five-pound explosive devices. In the late afternoon, as the plane flew over the Greek island of Rhodes, the commander of the terrorist cell quietly made his way to the pilot’s wide-open cabin door. He pulled out a loaded gun and ordered the pilot to land the plane in Tel Aviv—a wildly daring move, considering that Israel’s premier counterterrorist unit, Sayeret Matkal, was five miles from Israel’s international airport. The terrorist grabbed the PA system and introduced himself: “This is Captain Kamal Rifa’at, your new captain . . . .”

  In a quick phone consultation, Defense Minister Moshe Dayan, the hero of the 1967 Six Day War, and Golda Meir, prime minister, decided to allow the aircraft to land at Lod International Airport. It touched down and was immediately escorted to the far end of the tarmac. Within hours, top military brass convened at the airport terminal. Defense Minister Dayan and Transportation Minister Shimon Peres were joined by Israeli Defense Forces chief of staff Lieutenant General David Elazar and several other IDF generals, including the head of Military Intelligence, Major General Aharon Yariv, and Major General Ariel Sharon (who later served as defense minister and, from 2001, as prime minister). Dayan directed Victor Cohen, head of the interrogation branch of the Shabak, Israel’s internal secret service, to conduct spurious negotiations with the terrorists. Dayan and Meir had no intention of yielding to their extortionate demands—to free 315 convicted Palestinian terrorists imprisoned in Israeli jails—Dayan just wanted to deprive the terrorists of sleep.

  Next, Dayan summoned Sayeret Matkal, Israel’s elite anti-terror unit, commanded by Ehud Barak. (In twenty-seven years Barak too would become prime minister.) Dayan instructed the unit to cripple the plane and rescue the hostages. Shortly thereafter, Barak and his officers began to practice storming an identical Boeing 707 on a nearby runway on the far side of the airport, while mechanics were rendering the hijacked plane unable to fly.

  Victor Cohen’s negotiations, conducted over the plane’s radio system, kept the hijackers up all night, as they reiterated their demand that Israel open the gates of its prisons. On May 9, at 0900 hours, after more than ten hours of continuous negotiations, Cohen succeeded in convincing Rifa’at to send the pilot out with a sample of their explosives, to show to the Israelis. Cohen was playing the good cop as he argued that he needed to convince the one-eyed defense minister Dayan—that feared warrior—how lethal Black September’s intentions in fact were. Pilot Reginald Levy, traveling to Israel to celebrate his fiftieth birthday together with his wife, provided Israel’s security forces with critical details: the number of hijackers, their physical appearance, the contours of the black packages—probably explosive devices—they clutched. He confirmed that there were no seats next to the emergency exits of the plane, a matter of supreme importance to Barak and his staff officers, who knew that success hinged on surprise and speed. Levy returned to the hijackers and reported that Dayan had agreed to their terms. The 315 Palestinian prisoners would be delivered to the airport, and from there sent on to Cairo. Flight 571 would meet them in the Egyptian capital and the hostages would be freed. First, a technical team of mechanics would repair the aircraft.

  Sixteen commandos from Sayeret Matkal, dressed as El Al mechanics in white jumpsuits, approached the plane. They gathered near the emergency exits of the aircraft and along the wings and, in a synchronized assault, burst inside. They immediately killed the two male hijackers and apprehended the two females, inadvertently killing one hostage in the process. The Israeli commandos had taken control of the plane in ninety seconds. The astonishing operation, the first of its kind, soon echoed around the world. A wave of pride washed over Israel. Israeli ingenuity, many felt, could conquer all.

  That feeling didn’t change, even though three weeks after the Sabena mission a devastating attack occurred at Israel’s Lod Airport. Three men, members of the Japanese Red Army, a Marxist terrorist group, had volunteered to act under the auspices of the left-wing terror organization the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP), and carry out the attack. Their goal: to murder as many people as possible, thereby garnering maximum worldwide exposure. They arrived in Israel on an Air France flight from Paris. They went through passport control, claimed their bags, and withdrew AK-47 assault rifles and grenades. Then they opened fire and lobbed hand grenades at the dense crowd waiting nearby. In the chaos that ensued, two of the attackers were killed, probably by one of their own grenades. The third terrorist, Kozo Okamoto, fled. He made it to the tarmac and was captured alive. (He would be sentenced to life behind bars, but was released fourteen years later as part of a prisoner exchange.) Okamoto and his accomplices killed twenty-four people and injured seventy-two. Several of the victims were Puerto Rican pilgrims.

  As the pitiless campaign waged by Palestinian terrorists against the state of Israel unfolded, it exerted a far-reaching influence on the development of terrorism worldwide. International terrorist organizations such as the Japanese Red Army, Baader-Meinhof, and the Armenian ASALA watched and learned as the Palestinians expanded the
repertoire of murder, attempting previously undreamt-of missions. And the Palestinian mastery of terror’s twin purposes—propaganda and fear—helped lodge their stateless predicament in the minds of world leaders.

  But the worst was yet to come. The failure of the Sabena hijacking increased the resolve of Black September’s leadership. They were determined to pull off an unprecedented, earthshaking attack—a theater of terror that would burn itself into the world’s collective consciousness for generations. They chose the Munich Olympics, to be held in August and September of 1972, as their grand stage.

  3 NO WARNING BELLS

  ISRAEL WINGATE INSTITUTE

  JULY 11, 1972

  Shmuel Lalkin, head of the Israeli Olympic Delegation, signed the letter, sealed it in an envelope, and dropped it in the outgoing mail pile.

  Security and anti-terror precautions were not part of his job description, but they were important to the former Israeli Defense Forces major. Lalkin stuck out in a crowd: he was tall, forty-five years old, had broad shoulders and an athletic bounce to his step, a remnant of his days as a basketball and volleyball player. His hair was swept back and his mustache, a trademark of sorts, was always in perfect order. At first glance he seemed hard, unapproachable. But to those close to him, he was an easygoing family man, a sports lover who was always quick with a smile.

  Lalkin slid back in his chair and looked at the envelope. The official letter was addressed to the chief security officer of the Education, Culture and Sports Ministry in Jerusalem. In it, Lalkin, a man who had paid attention to details his entire life, had carefully laid out all his concerns about the security arrangements for the 20th Olympic Games, to be held in six weeks’ time, in Munich, West Germany. Chief among them, Lalkin emphasized how dangerous it was to place the Israeli team on the ground floor of a dormitory in Munich, accessible to all. He assumed German authorities were handling Olympic security, which made the obvious breach all the more egregious.

  Three weeks earlier Lalkin had returned from a seven-day visit to northern Munich, where the finishing touches were being put on the new Olympic Village. While he was there, he inspected the arenas, courts, athletic facilities, and dorms his Olympians would use. Other delegation heads were doing the same. In his notebook Lalkin sketched each and every facility the delegation might need. He planned to relay all relevant information to the athletes and coaches before they took off for Munich, as this would help prepare them for the competitions to come. He recognized the psychological importance of familiarity, the edge, however small, it might grant his athletes. Appraising security arrangements was far from his mind.

  His priorities shifted when Walter Troeger, mayor of the Olympic Village, gave him a tour of the Israeli dorms at 31 Connollystrasse. The ground-floor location, insecure, vulnerable, made him uncomfortable. In Lalkin’s mind there was simply no defensible logic to support the decision to place the Israelis at street level. He asked to meet with an Olympic security official. West German representatives from the International Olympic Committee were quick to arrange a meeting with an officer named Ruprecht from the Munich police department. Lalkin explained that he bore no official security position but that certain points had come to light and he wished to review some of the security precautions in place for the Israeli delegation. Ruprecht listened in silence. When Lalkin was through, Ruprecht attempted to ease his mind, telling him that he would put the Israeli dorms under tighter security and heavier surveillance. Lalkin wasn’t satisfied. He asked whether the Israeli athletes could be moved to a more secure building, with higher floors, where the entrances could be properly supervised. “Sir,” Ruprecht responded, “I don’t think it’s any of your business. All our decisions concerning your delegation’s living quarters have been coordinated with your embassy’s security people and the Israeli Olympic Committee. Our decisions were made together.” Lalkin left the room in silence, hanging his head.

  Back in Israel Lalkin was unsure how to act. The security issues continued to gnaw at him; his sleep was fitful. Eventually, he decided to call two friends, men he’d known in the pre-state Pal-mach fighting unit and later in the IDF, and who were now members of the Shabak. They directed him to Arie Shumar, the Education, Culture and Sports Ministry’s chief security officer. It was Shumar to whom Lalkin sent his official letter, outlining his concerns. “I didn’t feel comfortable with the security arrangements for our athletes. It was important to me to let people know that I thought things should be done differently,” he would later tell the prime minister’s official investigative committee, whose top secret report was made public for the first time as a result of the research for this book. In their findings, known as the Kopel Report, the three-member committee found that several Israeli officials had been given the opportunity to choose the location of the team’s dorms, perhaps in an area easily supervised or on one of the top floors, but hadn’t done so. Not one Israeli official, and many were contacted, asked to change the Israeli location in the village.

  The response to Lalkin’s letter came in a plain brown envelope. “Dear Mr. Lalkin: As Manager of the Israeli Olympic team it would be advisable for you to concentrate on sports. Leave security to the security personnel. Yours Truly, Arie Shumar, Chief Security Officer, Education, Culture and Sports Ministry.” The few, arrogant lines ignored Lalkin’s warnings. He had a premonition, he knew the Israeli athletes were at risk, but it wasn’t enough to change the thinking of the entire defense establishment.

  What Lalkin didn’t know was that the Israeli defense establishment was doing nothing to protect the country’s Olympians. Everything concerning the protection of the Olympic delegation (and other Israeli national groups) was falling through the cracks. No senior official felt any need to address the issue. Israel, at the time, was under mounting stress: planes were hijacked, Israeli officials targeted. The attacks were coming in quick succession, but the Shabak, the organization charged with homeland security, failed to connect any of the dots. Their failure went far beyond ignoring the security flaws in the Olympic Village. The deeper, more basic failure was rooted in a lack of interest, a downright disregard for a rapidly escalating situation. Only bloodshed would facilitate real change.

  While Lalkin worried, at Mossad headquarters, in the Hadar Dafna building at 39–41 King Saul Boulevard in north Tel Aviv, no one was losing any sleep. Work flowed in and out of the cold concrete building as usual. Even three hundred yards away at the IDF’s headquarters, on the south side of King Saul Boulevard, where Branch 4’s crude wooden cabins were located, there was no new activity. Branch 4 of Military Intelligence, charged with collecting, analyzing, and assessing data on Palestinian terror organizations, did not earmark a single piece of data relating to the possibility of an Olympic attack. The Kopel Report examined the intelligence agencies’ conduct in the prelude to the Olympics and revealed, “The Defense Establishment continually received information on the express desire to commit an attack in Europe. The flow of information was thin in comparison with other times during the year, but in August 1972 there was a rise in the number of reports regarding a planned attack in Europe. None mentioned the Olympics by name.” One report from that time did mention an “international event,” which might have hinted at the terrorist leaders’ intentions to carry out a high-profile attack, but it received no special attention.

  Even on Thursday, August 31, the sixth day of the Games, when the heads of Military Intelligence, the Shabak, and the Mossad met for their weekly conference, no bells were sounded. The committee analyzed the week’s intelligence reports, but failed to associate anything with the ongoing Games. Intelligence officers who later went over the information that existed at the time had this to say: “Do you have any idea how many bits of intelligence we get that relate to future ‘international events’ and then result in nothing? On the basis of that type of intelligence you cannot issue an official warning.”

  4 THE GAMES OF PEACE AND JOY

  MUNICH

  SATURDAY, AUGUST 26,
1972, 1500H

  The opening ceremony of the 20th Olympic Games was dazzling. A record 121 delegations and over seven thousand athletes entered the stadium in dress uniforms, took their places on the well-groomed grass, and watched as whip-wielding Bavarian dancers twirled and stomped. Thousands of doves fluttered skyward. An eighteen-year-old German athlete, Günter Zahn, ran into the stadium, bounded up the steps, and lit the Olympic torch. The Games were under way.

  The positive feeling in the stadium was carefully constructed to erase the scars of Germany’s bloody past. Local organizers did everything they could to convey the message that Germany’s rehabilitation was complete, that 1936—when Berlin, under Adolf Hitler, hosted the 11th Olympiad against a backdrop of discrimination and violence—was a relic of a dead past. Federal officials, the local Bavarian state government, German Olympic officials, the police, the press, and ordinary citizens were all part of an effort to showcase a progressive, an enlightened, a cultured Germany.

  The Israeli delegation’s participation in these Olympics was central to Germany’s theatrical act of repudiation. Israel’s twenty-seven-member squad was that country’s largest ever. Henry Hershkowitz, a marksman, carried the blue and white flag through the stadium, trembling with excitement. “I felt awesome pride that Jews could raise their flag on German soil,” he told reporters after the event. “This is proof that the Nazis weren’t able to crush the Jewish spirit, the Israeli spirit.” An especially loud roar engulfed the Israeli team as it entered the packed stadium.