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Almost one year later, I was to travel alone from Switzerland to Crete, to join my mother and stepfather on their honeymoon, two weeks after they had gone there. Exactly one week after their travel and one week before mine (August 5, 1973), Palestinian terrorists attacked innocent employees and passengers at Athens airport, killing three civilians and injuring fifty-five; they were a Black September suicide squad. I was seven years old. I asked a few questions. I knew I could have been there and been killed. It was clear to me that there can be no justification or forgiveness for such evil. I did fly alone to Crete, through Athens, just one week after that attack — a seven-year old resolved to fight to death if the terrorists came his way.