© 1972, The Beate Klarsfeld Foundation
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had decided to act without anyone running any risks. Lischka was not going to be killed.

We began to get ready by studying the quite professional plans that Beate had made. She had taken moving pictures of Lischka in Cologne, and we watched them at the house of a screenwriter we knew. The operation seemed childishly simple. On the film, the street on which Lischka lived appeared deserted. It would be impossible not to recognize Lischka because of his height. Beate gave us many other details, such as the time Lischka usually left his house and the exact layout of the place.

We perfected our scenario, but we still lacked one partner. Eli thought of an ideal one:

"I know a Jewish doctor who can put our patient to sleep without harming him."

It happened that this fellow, the meekest of the meek, knew judo, as so many meek persons frequently do. We made an appointment with him at the Edmond Fleg Center on rue de l'Eperon, where he practiced.

About 1 or 1:30 in the afternoon, we went to the practice room. The first person we encountered in that place, where normally there are only Jews, was an impressive-looking Japanese judo expert. We watched him enviously and wished we could recruit him. The longer we stayed, the more we wanted to learn judo.

Our new friend, whose name was David, explained that to put someone to sleep one had to act very quickly. He showed us several judo holds, but the first time he put one on Eli it was he who took a fall, perhaps because he weighed less. After that exhausting physical training session, which lasted about a quarter of an hour, we went to lunch. There was no hope, we decided, of anesthetizing Lischka; the only recourse was a blackjack. Eli said he had one and showed it to us, but it seemed ridicuously [sic] small.

"You don't know anything about blackjacks," Eli said rather touchily. "With a little one like this you could knock out a mammoth."

Since none of us knew how to use one, we had to agree.

Our arsenal now consisted of two blackjacks. I should add, however, that one soon became useless. At the hotel the night before the kidnapping, Eli was practicing swinging the blackjack, which he had made himself. It head flew off, miraculously missing a superb mirror on the armoire, and hit the floor of the room
© 1972, The Beate Klarsfeld Foundation
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