The Sunflower_ On the Possibilities and - Wiesenthal, Simon copy

DOROTHEE SOELLE
I have two contradictory replies to that which Simon Wiesenthal asks himself and us all.
This contradiction is in Wiesenthal's narrative itself—between his “No, I cannot forgive
you, the nice young German man and SS murderer” and “Yes, I can believe your remorse,
absolvo te, go in peace”—in the silent departure, in the questioning of the other prisoners,
and the visit to the elderly mother. Everywhere, one senses the no, and the necessity of
finding a yes.
Perhaps, as a German, I have the least right to say something other than no. As a Christian,
whether I wish it or not, I am always as an heir to the Jewish tradition; I cannot separate
myself from yes. I would like to tell of an encounter with a professor of German literature;
perhaps this will clarify what I mean. In the late 1960s, I learned that this professor, whom I
greatly respected and revered for his sensitivity and receptive spirit, had not only been a
Nazi but had even participated in a book burning. I couldn't fathom this, and visited him at
his apartment to learn the truth. Why did you do this, who commanded it, did you know
which books were burned: were Alfred Döblin's, were Kafka's? I wanted to know exactly. It
was an excruciating few hours. He didn't protect himself, but he did insist on the distinction
between books and people—which, naturally, was the underlying issue during every moment
of our conversation.
When I asked where he stood now, he wept. He stammered something that I didn't
understand. Only the word “forgiveness” was unspoken, implicit. And then something utterly