Munich is a film that has stayed with me days after watching it. A film which captures the massacre at the Olympics in Munich
at 1972 touches your heart in a strange way.
All through the film I just had a single thought. What was going on in the minds of the 11 Israeli
athletes who were taken hostage?
A few hours before they died, they must have been rejoicing and absorbing an overwhelming feeling of being a part of the Olympics. How they smiled and posed for the cameras, waving out to the millions who had thronged to see them. They must have imagined their proud
families watching them closely on the news and smiled.
And a few hours later they were dead.
What would the 11 athletes be thinking? You are fast asleep and you hear words of caution and fear. Suddenly someone storms into your room with guns in their hands yelling instructions at you which you fail to understand. What’s your first reaction? Is it fear? Is it confusion? Or are you just plain blank because you have no clue what is going on.
That’s the thought that has stayed with me. It’s the pain of the 11 athletes and their families. I mourned with them, pined for them as I watched the film. Even though they were total strangers to me I felt a grief never experienced before.
They died without living hundreds of joyous moments with their loved ones. They died without living their dream of actually participating at the Olympics. For they died without knowing why.