Munich, Memory, and Consequence

In Munich, on a quiet hill overlooking the former Olympic Village, stands a memorial to one of the darkest days in modern Jewish history. I visited it about a year ago. The memorial overlooks the apartment building and the balcony from which one of the most iconic images of twentieth-century terrorism was taken: a member of Black September, an arm of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), face concealed with a sock, standing watch over eleven Israeli athletes and coaches during the 1972 Olympic massacre. Looking down at that scene, knowing what happened there, sent a chill through me. Not because I learned something new. Every Jew knows the story of Munich. The chill came from something else. Standing there, I realized that history does not ever recede into the past. The victims remain victims. The murderers remain murderers. And the questions raised by that balcony, by those hostages, and by the world's response – or lack of response – to their fate continue to echo more than half a century later. The passage of time has done little to dull its impact.

The Munich massacre was not merely an attack on eleven Israeli athletes and coaches. It was a test of whether Jewish lives could once again be taken with impunity. In the aftermath, Prime Minister Golda Meir reached a different conclusion. The State of Israel would pursue those responsible for the murders. Over the years, Israeli intelligence hunted down many of the planners and perpetrators. The details remain the subject of books, movies, and historical debate. The broader message, however, was unmistakable: Jewish blood is not “hefker” – a Jewish legal term for abandoned property that anyone may claim or destroy without consequence.

More than fifty years later, that same principle has returned to the center of Israeli national life.

The atrocities of October 7, 2023, shattered assumptions that many Israelis held about deterrence, security, and the intentions of their enemies. Thousands of Hamas terrorists crossed the border, murdering civilians in their homes, at a music festival, and on roads throughout southern Israel. Hundreds of hostages were dragged into Gaza. Entire communities were devastated – burnt to the ground. The scale of the trauma ensured that the events of that day would become part of Israel's collective memory forever.

Since then, Israel has pursued the leadership and operatives responsible for the attack. Many senior Hamas figures have been assassinated during the war. Others, such as Ismail Haniyeh, the head of Hamas's Political Bureau, have been targeted far from the battlefield. Haniyeh was mysteriously killed in an explosion in his hotel room in Tehran, nearly two years ago to the day. While Israel never claimed formal responsibility, few other countries are capable of that kind of operation. Headlines often focus on the tactical details, the intelligence breakthroughs, and the geopolitical implications. Yet beneath all of that lies a simpler reality. Israel is communicating that participation in mass murder carries consequences, even if those consequences arrive months or years later.

In recent months, reports have emerged of operations against individuals who directly participated in the October 7 atrocities or who played a role in holding hostages. Every week seems to bring another announcement. Another name. Another photograph.

Another chapter closed.

There is a temptation among outside observers to view these events through the lens of revenge. That is a mistake. Revenge implies satisfaction. It implies a balancing of accounts. There is no balancing these accounts. The murdered will not return home. Children who lost parents will not recover what was taken from them. Families waiting for loved ones will continue to carry their grief.

Nor is it clear that the perpetrators themselves fear death in the way that Western societies assume. Many embrace a culture that glorifies martyrdom and celebrates those who die in the cause. Their organizations and families elevate them in death just as they did in life.

And yet they cannot simply be allowed to live untroubled lives after participating in atrocities. A civilized society has an obligation to pursue those who commit mass murder. Sometimes that obligation is fulfilled in a courtroom. Sometimes it is fulfilled on a battlefield. In Israel's case, it has often involved intelligence services operating in the long shadow cast by acts of terror.

The memorial in Munich reminds visitors that history does not end when the cameras leave. The victims are remembered. The perpetrators are not forgotten. Standing there, overlooking that balcony, I was struck not by a sense of vengeance but by a sense of continuity. The generations are different. The enemies are different. The technologies are different.

The principle remains the same.

Jewish blood is not hefker.

Good things,

Ari Sacher