The Sunflower_ On the Possibilities and - Wiesenthal, Simon copy

Our gaze roamed the crowds on the pavements looking anxiously for any face we might
recognize, although some kept eyes on the ground, fearing to encounter an acquaintance.
You could read on the faces of the passersby that we were written off as doomed. The
people of Lemberg had become accustomed to the sight of tortured Jews and they looked at
us as one looks at a herd of cattle being driven to the slaughterhouse. At such times I was
consumed by a feeling that the world had conspired against us and our fate was accepted
without a protest, without a trace of sympathy.
I for one no longer wanted to look at the indifferent faces of the spectators. Did any of
them reflect that there were still Jews and as long as they were there, as long as the Nazis
were still busy with the Jews, they would leave the citizens alone? I suddenly remembered
an experience I had had a few days before, not far from here. As we were returning to camp,
a man whom I had formerly known passed by, a fellow student, now a Polish engineer.
Perhaps understandably he was afraid to nod to me openly, but I could see from the
expression in his eyes that he was surprised to see me still alive. For him we were as good
as dead; each of us was carrying around his own death certificate, from which only the date
was missing.
Our column suddenly came to a halt at a crossroads.
I could see nothing that might be holding us up but I noticed on the left of the street there
was a military cemetery. It was enclosed by a low barbed wire fence. The wires were
threaded through sparse bushes and low shrubs, but between them you could see the graves
aligned in stiff rows.
And on each grave there was planted a sunflower, as straight as a soldier on parade.
I stared spellbound. The flower heads seemed to absorb the sun's rays like mirrors and