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Munich Massacre 1972 – Olympic Games

Report · München-Ingolstadt · April 07, 2021
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  • Photo: Christina F., Fakultät für Tourismus - Hochschule München - Digitales Marketing & Management
On the tracks of the black 5th of September

It was one of the darkest days in the history of the Olympics in Munich 1972 – the attack on the 20th Olympic Games, which cost many people their lives and which still characterizes Munich‘s cityscape today.

On the trail of the 1972 Olympic assassination

– From the Olympiapark to Fürstenfeldbruck by bike –

Follow the trail of the 1972 assassination attempt and discover the original sites by bike.

Remark

The story of the assassination was told fictitiously for this website, which means that although the story is based on a true event, the exact statements, thoughts and feelings are freely invented. The story is based on the book “Die Rächer” by the Israeli journalist and Middle East expert Aaron J. Klein and on the movie “München 72 – Das Attentat”. You can find the trailer of the movie here.

We would like to emphasize that the story of the 1972 Olympic massacre has touched us deeply. The victims and their family members have our deepest respect and sincere condolences.

Christina F. and Elli G.

The Black September

Nervously, he passed his hand through his hair and looked at his companion. She was standing next to him without making a move and was watching the customs officer slowly unzipping the bag. In a moment, it could all be over. At least, that‘s what he thinks. He has been carrying out the orders of “Black September” for quite a while now, always without asking any questions. Because he was not part of the inner circle of the terrorist group, it was usual that he only got the information which was important for his mission. Therefore, he did not know what exactly was in the bag this time either, but he did not suspect anything good.

 

As the man finally opened the bag to take a look at its inside, he heard his companion sharply breath out. On the documents identifying themselves, she was his wife, but in reality he had only known her for a few hours. His real family was at home, once again thinking he was on a business trip. His wife was nothing like him. She didn‘t understand the pain he felt every time he thought of his stolen homeland. It was his roots and faith that made him take such a risk every time.

 

When he finally dared to look in the direction of the bag, he could see that it contained only clothes and a stone fell from his heart. The customs officer nodded and then waved the two of them through without taking another look at the other three bags, and finally they entered the reception hall of Cologne Airport. He had done it again. Now all he had to do was travel to Munich together with his companion, stow the bags in various lockers at the main train station and pass the keys securely to a contact person. Everything went exactly according to plan.

 

And so it happened that on this day – two weeks before the assassination – eight Kalashnikovs including magazines and ten hand grenades passed undetected through customs and directly into the arms of the assassins of the 20th Olympic Games in Munich.

Olympic Village
Olympic Village

The Attack

André

 

The panicked screams of my work colleague and friend Josef broke through the silence of our apartment so abruptly that I immediately sat up in my bed. At first I didn't understand what was going on. Confused, I looked at the clock, which showed just a quarter past four in the morning. I still had more than an hour of sleep ahead of me, so why the hell was he making such a racket? Suddenly there was a loud bang and I heard more voices that I couldn‘t place. A slight panic slowly penetrated through the curtain of tiredness to myself. A bad feeling unfolded in the bottom of my stomach. Something was wrong.

 

Next to my bed, the broad silhouette of another of my colleagues appeared in the darkness. His name was Mosche and he was the wrestling coach. He grabbed me by both shoulders, looked deep into my eyes and was shaking me. “André, get up!”, he shouted at me and in the next moment he was already running away further in the direction of the clamor of voices. I hesitated for just a moment, wondering if I should put some clothes on, but then decided there was no time for that at the moment. I jumped out of bed and ran after Mosche, but I didn‘t get far. The sight that met my eyes froze me where I was.

 

Josef was lying in his underwear on his stomach on the floor of our apartment – a masked gunman was holding him down. Mosche was standing only about half a meter in front of me, his arms raised in surrender, but his eyes reflected burning fury. I was even too half-asleep to be able to assess the situation properly, and for a brief moment the world seemed to stand still. But the hard impact of my body against the wall next to me finally snapped me out of my state. Another masked man ran past me and pushed me aside. He pulled out his gun and fired a few deafening shots from the window behind us. I tried to make out his target, but saw only a dark silhouette zig-zagging and disappearing behind a wall. The attacker had missed the escapee. Suddenly, more masked men came running into the room. They pointed their guns directly at us. I quickly did the same as my friend and raised my arms.

 

By now, the rest of my roommates had woken up and were trying to understand the horrific scene that was unfolding before our eyes. We were all coaches of the Israeli team or judges of the Olympic Games, so we were housed together. As I looked at each of my colleagues, I realized that one of the coaches was missing. It had to have been him that the assassin had aimed at just a few seconds before. He had made it out of the building. He would get help. Everything would be all right.

 

The whole situation was an incredible mess until finally an unmasked man in a beige suit and hat stepped into the doorway. He radiated such authority that his appearance immediately silenced all the shouts. With a brief nod, he indicated to his colleagues that they should tie us up and take us upstairs to the second floor. Reluctantly, I had my arms tied behind my back. I replayed the situation feverishly over and over again in my head. Did I have a chance if I tried to escape now? Or was it bordering on suicide to face eight armed men? The barrel of the gun, pressing unerringly into my back, made me discard my thoughts. I had no chance.

 

But Mosche, whose watchful gaze was still full of rage, had obviously made a different decision. In a flash, he spun out of his attacker‘s tight grip and lunged at the leader in the beige suit. The man‘s hat fell off his head as he hit the hard floor of the apartment. Frozen in place, I watched the two men struggle. Mosche was far superior physically to the suit-wearer and had quickly gained the upper hand, causing my hopes to flare. Maybe we had a chance after all, if only we would all work together. I was only a fencing instructor and had no idea of fighting like my colleague Mosche, but I could do it! Just as I was about to wriggle out of my attacker‘s grip, another assassin approached the fighters from behind and slammed the hard barrel of his weapon against Mosche‘s head. He fell to the ground and with him all my hopes of escape. It was useless, there were just too many of them.

 

As the leader yelled something I couldn‘t understand, I was pushed forward. My four friends and I were taken upstairs to the second floor. Out of the corner of my eye I could still see how the bleeding Mosche was pulled ungently to his feet and dragged in another direction by four of the attackers. I had to watch inactively as they led him away.

 

When we reached the top, we all had to sit down in a row against the wall. It must have been an absurd picture to see five adult men sitting next to each other in only their underwear and tied together by their feet. In front of them were four assassins pointing Kalashnikovs at them. As I looked to the side, I met the gaze of Josef, the wrestling judge, who less than five minutes ago was trying to warn us. He looked at me, exhausted, shook his head barely perceptibly, and looked down at the ground. He had to be feeling the same despair I was.

 

A few minutes later, we all flinched. Another shot had been fired. An uneasy feeling crept over me that this one had been fatal. And I was to be proven right. Only a few moments later, the door of the second floor was ripped open and the four assassins returned with another five hostages in tow. My heart sank a bit deeper in my chest when I realized that they were my friend Mosche‘s wrestling protégés and a couple of the weightlifters. The five men looked distraught and I even recognized a tear running furtively down one of them‘s face. The bad feeling in the pit of my stomach grew even stronger when I couldn‘t find Mosche in the group. Questioningly, my eyes darted back and forth between the athletes until Joseff Romano, one of the weightlifters, spoke up angrily. “They shot him!”, he shouted. One of the assassins tried to silence him with a punch, but he just kept talking, looking me in the eye. “One of the wrestlers fled and Mosche tried to do the same to him. And then they just shot him and left him outside to die!” With those words, he turned and lunged at the attacker who had just tried to silence him. He was so enraged that he even managed to wrest the gun from the man. But only seconds later, he was gunned down by another.

 

Staring in disbelief at the barely alive man in front of me, I watched as his blood slowly spread across the floor of the small apartment at 31 Connolly Street. Only yesterday we had sat together in this living room and spent a nice evening. And now one of our athletes died in front of our eyes and none of the nine of us could do anything to help him. I grimaced painfully and closed my eyes. There was no way I could watch him die. Slowly I let my head sink against the wall behind me. It was pleasantly cool. I thought of Mosche and how his lifeless body lay outside the door we walked in and out of every day. I thought of his wife and his newborn son, who would now grow up without his father. Only yesterday he had proudly shown me a photo of him after I had bought a small Olympia cuddly toy for my own daughter. Inevitably, my thoughts drifted to her and my wife Ankie, who I had recently married. I was incredibly relieved that they were both safe far away from here. I tried to hold onto that thought and block out the situation around me. The two men who managed to escape would get help and then they would get us out of here. I was quite sure of that.

Connolly Street 31

Munich

Conollystrasse 31 is part of the Olympic Village of the 20th Olympic Games in 1972 and was the site ...

from Elli G.,   Fakultät für Tourismus - Hochschule München - Digitales Marketing & Management

 

The athletes of the Israeli team housed in an apartment at Connollystraße 31 during the 20th Olympic Games. This is where the men were attacked and held by the assassins during the negotiations.

The Negotiation

Issa

 

Everything had worked out just as Issa had imagined. At first, he had feared that someone would notice them breaking into the Olympic Village and become suspicious. But they were well prepared; everyone was wearing sports clothes and training bags so as not to attract attention. Even the American athletes they had met along the way were still helping the men over the fence and chatting with them. Issa had long known that the German government had made a mistake. They wanted to make the games as peaceful as possible and keep up appearances for the cameras and the rest of the world. The public was not supposed to see armed security guards, only friendly personnel who were supportive of the spectators. Almost perfect for Issa and his men. It had thus been an easy game for them to get into the village and to the athletes‘ accommodation. He had been involved in construction work for the Olympic Village months earlier and knew the way to 31 Connolly Street blind.

 

Not even half an hour later, he was standing in front of the apartment entrance in his beige suit and hat, waiting. The hostages were upstairs on the second floor, guarded by one of his men. Around him were reporters and the so-called Olys, the security personnel, but none of them dared to speak to him. Then suddenly a young woman dressed as an Oly came walking over to him. She introduced herself in English as his mediator and extended her hand to him. He took it and introduced himself to her again in German. Surprise flashed briefly in the young woman‘s eyes, but she quickly regained her composure. He knew that she had not expected him to speak her language so well, but he had already lived in Germany for a long time.

 

A little later, the politicians arrived. One introduced himself as Hans-Dietrich Genscher. He was the German Minister of the Interior and thus a high-ranking figure in the government. Also on the spot was Walter Tröger, the mayor of the Olympic village, and Manfred Schreiber, the police chief. Issa saw the tension in their faces. Good, he thought to himself, he outranked them. He had full control. Now all he had to do was negotiate properly. The politicians already knew his demands. He wanted the Israeli government to release over than 200 prisoners in exchange for the nine hostages. If that did not happen by 9:00 a.m., he would start killing. One hostage every hour.

 

Genscher and Tröger were clearly nervous. Issa could tell they had no idea how to handle the situation. Only the policeman kept his overstrain better hidden. He eyed Issa closely with his arrogant look, as if he was thinking about how best to overpower him. But Issa quickly took the wind out of his sails. He slowly reached into the jacket of his suit and took out the fragmentation bomb that each of his men had with them. He skillfully showed it to Schreiber casually, looking him deeply in the eye. But the policeman remained firm. He stared back and declared: “You can name any amount, Issa. We will make it happen. We just want the hostages to be safe.” Issa shook his head. He obviously did not understand that they all could not be bought. It was their faith and the urge for revenge that motivated them to do this. “I would die for this mission”, was all he said. He quickly realized that Schreiber had never dealt with a martyr like him before. He didn‘t know how to negotiate with suicide bombers. Genscher didn‘t understand either. Desperately, he addressed Issa and tried to persuade him to take the place of the hostages. But Issa only looked at him angrily. No one could take the place of the Israelis. It was they who deserved his revenge and no one else.

 

The politicians exchanged desperate glances among themselves. And that‘s when Issa realized he had won. They had finally understood that it was pointless to negotiate. Genscher closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath, then looked Issa straight in the eye. “We need more time to negotiate with the Israeli government.” Issa suppressed a grin and instead just nodded. “Twelve o‘clock”, he said. Then he nodded to the gentlemen, turned and disappeared inside the apartment.

 

“You're just going to wait until we get tired and then take us by surprise”, Issa yelled from the apartment‘s balcony. “But we won‘t go along with that!” (Süddeutsche Zeitung: Das Ende auf dem Rollfeld, p. 3) Angrily, he slammed the door. It was already late afternoon when Issa was pacing up and down the small room. They played with him. Every time the allotted time threatened to run out, they would come back and ask for more time. Negotiations with Israel would be ongoing, they said. But Issa knew that this was just a game played by the government. It wanted to keep him on the rack until he made a mistake. And he couldn‘t take that risk. He had to make a new proposal to show the Germans an exact plan. A plan according to his rules.

 

After much deliberation, he explained to the politicians that he and his men demanded an airplane in which to escape, thus moving the exchange of hostages to another country. He knew it was a bold proposal. From the Germans‘ point of view, it was immoral to leave the hostages to their own devices, and yet Issa also knew that they would be relieved if they could shift some of the responsibility away from them. And he was right. A little later, they agreed to get him a plane to Cairo. In return, all the three politicians wanted was to see the hostages and make sure they were all okay. Issa would gladly grant them this wish. 

Olympic tower in fog
Olympic tower in fog

The last performance

André

Shortly after I heard the leader of the hostage-takers yell something I couldn‘t understand from the balcony, he came back into the small, by now very stuffy room in a rage and slammed the door so loudly that Josef next to me flinched. The more time passed, the more restless the suited man became. Meanwhile, I still avoided lifting my eyes so that I wouldn‘t have to see the blood on the floor. They had taken the body of the athlete away in the meantime, but the image had already burned itself into my mind. I didn't know how much time had passed since we had been sitting next to each other on the floor, but it felt like an eternity. Again and again my thoughts slid to my family. And again and again I prayed silently that I would be allowed to see them again soon.

 

After a while, after the man in the suit had left the small room every now and then, he came back and headed straight for me. Full of fear, I wrenched my eyes open and pressed my heels against the wall, but the man grabbed me by my undershirt and yanked me up. Then he dragged me out onto the balcony. A light breeze blew through my sweaty hair and I squinted against the bright light. The sun was so low by now that it must already be late afternoon.

 

“Are you all right?”, I heard a voice ask in English from downstairs. I turned my gaze to the entrance of 31 Connolly Street and recognized three men in dark suits. Around them stood reporters and Olys from the Olympiadorf, all of whom had gathered here in front of their apartment to observe the situation. I had seen two of the men before at the opening ceremony, though I couldn‘t remember exactly who they were. I nodded slowly, still too shocked to speak. “Are you and your colleagues all right?”, the man asked again. What was I supposed to answer him? Of course, we were all unwell, but we were unharmed. At least those of us who were left. I nodded again slowly. Just as I was about to reply, I felt a blow on the back of my head and was pushed back into the apartment, where I had to take my original place. My legs shook a little as I slid down onto the floor next to Josef.

Tower Airport Fürstenfeldbruck
Tower Airport Fürstenfeldbruck

A Fatal Mistake

Issa

Everything was already decided. It was to start at 9 o‘clock in the evening. Exhausted, Issa leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes for a brief moment. He had the situation under control again. He hadn‘t endured weeks of tough training in the middle of the Libyan desert for nothing. He was prepared. All he had to do now was keep his nerve, and then they would achieve their goal and help the Black September sympathizers to freedom.

 

Then suddenly one of his comrades shook him by the shoulder. Excitedly, he pointed to the television in the small apartment, on which constant live reports from the Olympic village were being played. At first Issa didn‘t understand what his colleague wanted him to do, but the longer he looked, the more his anger rose. The camera crews showed the shelter at 31 Connolly Street from the outside. But that wasn‘t all; it showed how several police officers tried to penetrate the building‘s roof through air shafts and windows to get inside.

 

He couldn‘t believe it. They were trying to double-cross him. And to think they had the nerve to assume he would be so stupid as not to follow the news. Enraged, he grabbed his rifle, stepped out onto the balcony and yelled at the cops to abort the mission immediately or he would kill two of the hostages on the spot. He bent over the railing of the balcony and looked up. Directly above him, he caught sight of one of the policemen and caught his gaze. He was seething with rage. The policeman immediately retreated and he could still hear him warning his colleagues to abort the mission as soon as possible.

 

From now on Issa would be more careful. He had become so suspicious that he would monitor every move of the German government. He demanded a helicopter to take him to the airport and a bus to take him to the helicopter. He would no longer allow his enemies to trap him.

Airport Fürstenfeldbruck

Maisach

View over the airfield of the military airport Fürstenfeldbruck, which has a long history since 1934. ...

from Elli G.,   Fakultät für Tourismus - Hochschule München - Digitales Marketing & Management

 

The assassins fled together with the hostages in two helicopters from the Olympic Park to the airport in Fürstenfeldbruck.

The Deadly End

André

In the interim, a whole day had passed. I didn‘t know the exact time, but the sun had already set. The man in the suit and his colleagues had loaded us into a large bus, which just crawled the short distance to the helicopters. Shortly before, the three men in the dark suits had joined us. They had told us about the plan to fly out to Cairo and negotiate further there. They had asked us if that was all right with us. I wonder what answer they had expected from us. When we all nodded, I looked one of the men straight in the eye. I saw mercy in his gaze before he quickly turned away. He was still assuring us that he would do everything in his power to save us. But his words barely reached me.

 

When the bus stopped barely 300 meters away, we were grabbed rudely by the shoulders and pushed toward two helicopters. We were split up with four of the assassins each. Josef was sitting next to me again, which calmed me down in a strange way. He had already been by my side all day and thus we became silent allies. The man in the suit was also in our helicopter. His stern expression was transfixed as he was the last to join us and we finally took off.

 

In the air, I thought of Ankie again. How she must feel at that moment. Was she sitting in front of the TV watching the whole situation? Was she trying to distract herself from the terrible situation with our daughter? Was she afraid? All I knew was that I was afraid. In the beginning, the situation was so surreal that I didn‘t really understand what was happening. But by now it was clear to me that all of our lives depended on the mood of our tormentors. They decided whether we were allowed to live or had to die.

 

The flight was about 20 minutes. Then we hovered in the air for a few seconds before landing at the Fürstenfeldbruck airport. I caught a glimpse down and saw the large air base from above. The airfield‘s observation tower was illuminated by several floodlights, but it still felt like a ghost town. Only the crowds in front of the closed gates didn‘t really match the atmosphere.

 

As we finally landed, everything happened very quickly. Issa and one of his accomplices jumped out of the helicopters, the rest of our captors paused in front of the machines to point their guns at us. As if any of us would try to escape in an open, unprotected square, whose gates were firmly locked after all. I watched the two running men as they made their way to the waiting plane. An uneasy feeling crept over me. There were no lights burning in the plane, nor did it look as if it would be ready to take off at any moment. Would the Germans really dare to move the delicate situation abroad just like that? And would our government allow it?

 

Suddenly, a scream shattered the silence of the night. I turned my head toward the plane and froze. Issa‘s face was contorted with rage as he ran back toward us. Then came the sound of gunfire. I couldn‘t place exactly where they were coming from, but I instinctively ducked away. Someone screamed, the other assassins quickly hid under the helicopters. Below me, I felt several explosions make the world tremble. Hand grenades, I thought. Then it went dark. Someone must have hit the searchlights. A deathly silence followed.

 

I didn‘t know how long it was silent. I sat in the dark hold, clutching the bar I had been holding onto during the flight, counting Josef‘s heavy breaths beside me. My heart was beating so loudly that I had to start over at least eight times already. Then suddenly one of the gates squeaked and two huge tanks rolled onto the empty airfield. Relief flooded through me. Finally, they were there. Finally, the help I had been longing for all along was coming. Below me I heard a low murmur, then a curse. In the helicopter next to me, one of the attackers came out of hiding. Panic-stricken, he looked around, then reached into his pocket, pulled out something I couldn‘t see at first glance, and threw it inside the helicopter next to me. To my friends. For a short moment the world was standing still, then a deafening bang sounded and everything went up in flames.

 

I couldn‘t comprehend what had just happened. I wanted to look away, but at the same time I could not move my head, could not close my eyes. Next to me I heard Josef let out a suppressed sound, then I felt him press his knee against my leg. Tears streamed down my cheeks and I didn‘t realize I hadn‘t been breathing until I made a choked gasp. Suddenly, a hooded person jumped into the helicopter in front of us, gun pointed directly at our heads. It was time, I still thought. As if in slow motion, I saw my counterpart‘s finger slowly curl. The deafening shots, which were aimed at me and my friends, were the last thing I heard.

Airport Fürstenfeldbruck
Airport Fürstenfeldbruck

The onsequences of the Assassination Attempt

After the tragedy, the terrorists escaped; three were hit by sniper bullets while still at the airfield, including the leader Issa. The other three were arrested about an hour later by German police officers.

Since the local fire department refused to extinguish the fire at the airfield until the assassins were caught, they kept the flames of the helicopter burning and did not put them out until an hour after the incident. As it would later turn out during the autopsy, one of the hostages, weightlifter David Berger, was fighting for his life at the time. He was spared the assassin‘s hand grenade, but died of smoke inhalation during the fire.

At the beginning, the story was still circulating among the reporters that all of the hostages were fine. They stood in crowds outside the closed doors of the airport, fighting for any information they could get. Whether it was true or not. This, and the daring statement of a spokesman, meant that the hoax was on the news for a full four hours and went around the world. Everywhere people celebrated the liberation of the Israelis. Only the families of the hostages were cautious. The wives of the athletes wanted to wait until their husbands contacted them personally. But the calls stopped forever. At 3:15 in the morning of September 6, 1972, the false statement was corrected, all hostages were said to have died during the liberation operation at the airport.

 

A total of 80,000 people attended the funeral ceremony for the eleven Israeli victims and a German policeman who lost his life because of a stray bullet. Finally, the head of the International Olympic Committee Avery Brundage took the stage and spoke the famous words, “The Games must go on.” The Games then resumed with only one day of interruption.

 

The German government had made many unforgivable mistakes on that September 5, 1972. They had not only forgotten to turn off the TV in the hostages‘ apartment, they had additionally aborted the planned rescue operation shortly before the helicopters arrived. The police officers were afraid for their lives and unanimously decided that they would leave the aircraft and leave the hostages to their own devices. In addition, they had failed to give the order for the tanks to leave from the Olympic Village for the airport in Fürstenfeldbruck, which meant that they did not arrive there until hours later. For these reasons, and because of the Germans‘ inexperience with suicide bombers, the attacks on the 20th Olympic Games marked the birth of the GSG9 anti-terrorist unit, which specialized in freeing hostages. It was founded by Hans-Dietrich Genscher.

 

In the years following the horrific attack, various memorials were erected in Munich, such as a lamentation bar with the names of all victims in the Olympic Park in 1995, a memorial plaque in front of the apartment at Connollystraße 31 in 2012, and a place of remembrance in the Olympic Park in 2017, which displays a brief description of all those who died, including pictures, as well as original footage of the events at the time. A memorial was also erected at the airport in Fürstenfeldbruck in 1999; it is located directly at the entrance to the airfield.

 

“This ceremony should make clear that the Olympic idea is stronger than terror and violence.” – Statement on funeral service (Süddeutsche Zeitung 1972/204: Shooting in Fürstenfeldbruck, p. 2).

 

 

Monuments of the Olympic assassination attempt at the 20th Olympic Games in Munich

A total of four monuments were erected for the victims of the assassination attempt. Three of them are located in the Olympic Park where the kidnapping took place and one was built at the airport in Fürstenfeldbruck, where the incident came to a terrible end.

Names of the victims

Josef Gutfreund (wrestling judge), Amizur Schapira (athletics coach), Kehat Schorr (shooting coach), André Spitzer (fencing coach), Jaakov Springer (weightlifting judge), Mosche Weinberg (wrestling coach), David Berger (weightlifting coach), Jossef Romano (weightlifting coach), Seev Friedmann (weightlifting coach), Elieser Halfin (wrestling coach), Mark Salvin (wrestling coach), Anton Fliegerbauer (police officer).

From Maisach to the Olympia Park by bike

This is an optional return route, which takes you back to the Olympic Park via various beautiful stopovers.

Sources

Book:

Klein, Aaron J. (2007): The Avengers, Goldmann Verlag: Munich (pp. 34-95).

 

Film:

"Munich 72 - The Assassination" (2012).

 

Newspaper article:

Unknown author (1972): the end on the tarmac, Süddeutsche Zeitung (205), p. 3.5

Unknown author (1972): shooting in Fürstenfeldbruck, Süddeutsche Zeitung (204), p. 2.

 

Internet sources:

"The Games must go on" video, online at: https://www.daserste.de/information/reportage-dokumentation/vom-traum-zum-terror-muenchen-72/videos/the-games-must-go-on-100.html [03.12.2020]

Memorial plaque Connollystraße 31 Olympia assassination, online at: https://stadtgeschichte-muenchen.de/denkmal/d_denkmal.php?id=1983 [03.12.2020]

Memorial Olympiapark Olympia-Attentat, online at: https://stadtgeschichte-muenchen.de/denkmal/d_denkmal.php?id=2208 [03.12.2020]

Memorial Olympiapark Olympia-Attentat, online at: https://stadtgeschichte-muenchen.de/denkmal/d_denkmal.php?id=2259 [03.12.2020]

Olympia-Attentat - Die Geburtsstunde der GSG9, online at: https://www.focus.de/politik/deutschland/tid-7310/olympia-attentat_aid_131654.html [05.12.2020]


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Christina F.
Update: April 07, 2021

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