44 Man's Search
for Meaning
hour, the three shrill blows of a whistle tore us pitilessly
from our exhausted sleep and from the longings in our
dreams. We then began the tussle with our wet shoes, into
which we could scarcely force our feet, which were sore
and swollen with edema. And there were the usual moans
and groans about petty troubles, such as the snapping of
wires which replaced shoelaces. One morning I heard some
one, whom I knew to be brave and dignified, cry like a
child because he finally had to go to the snowy marching
grounds in his bare feet, as his shoes were too shrunken for
him to wear. In those ghastly minutes, I found a little bit of
comfort; a small piece of bread which I drew out of my
pocket and munched with absorbed delight.
Undernourishment, besides being the cause of the gen
eral preoccupation with food, probably also explains the
fact that the sexual urge was generally absent. Apart from
the initial effects of shock, this appears to be the only ex
planation of a phenomenon which a psychologist was
bound to observe in those all-male camps: that, as opposed
to all other strictly male establishments—such as army
barracks—there was little sexual perversion. Even in his
dreams the prisoner did not seem to concern himself with
sex, although his frustrated emotions and his finer, higher
feelings did find definite expression in them.
With the majority of the prisoners, the primitive life and
the effort of having to concentrate on just saving one's skin
led to a total disregard of anything not serving that purpose,
and explained the prisoners' complete lack of sentiment.
This was brought home to me on my transfer from
Auschwitz to a camp affiliated with Dachau. The train
which carried us—about 2,000 prisoners—passed through
Vienna. At about midnight we passed one of the Viennese
railway stations. The track was going to lead us past the
Experiences in a Concentration Camp 45
street where I was born, past the house where I had lived
many years of my life, in fact, until I was taken prisoner.
There were fifty of us in the prison car, which had two
small, barred peepholes. There was only enough room for
one group to squat on the floor, while the others, who had
to stand up for hours, crowded round the peepholes. Stand
ing on tiptoe and looking past the others' heads through
the bars of the window, I caught an eerie glimpse of my
native town. We all felt more dead than alive, since we
thought that our transport was heading for the camp at
Mauthausen and that we had only one or two weeks to live.
I had a distinct feeling that I saw the streets, the squares
and the houses of my childhood with the eyes of a dead
man who had come back from another world and was look
ing down on a ghostly city.
After hours of delay the train left the station. And there
was the street—my street! The young lads who had a num
ber of years of camp life behind them and for whom such a
journey was a great event stared attentively through the
peephole. I began to beg them, to entreat them, to let me
stand in front for one moment only. I tried to explain how
much a look through that window meant to me just then.
My request was refused with rudeness and cynicism: "You
lived here all those years? Well, then you have seen quite
enough already!"
In general there was also a "cultural hibernation" in
the camp. There were two exceptions to this: politics and
religion. Politics were talked about everywhere in camp,
almost continuously; the discussions were based chiefly on
rumors, which were snapped up and passed around avidly.
The rumors about the military situation were usually con
tradictory. They followed one another rapidly and suc
ceeded only in making a contribution to the war of nerves
46 Man's Search for Meaning
that was waged in the minds of all the prisoners. Many
times, hopes for a speedy end to the war, which had been
fanned by optimistic rumors, were disappointed. Some men
lost all hope, but it was the incorrigible optimists who were
the most irritating companions.
The religious interest of the prisoners, as far and as soon
as it developed, was the most sincere imaginable. The depth
and vigor of religious belief often surprised and moved a
new arrival. Most impressive in this connection were im
provised prayers or services in the corner of a hut, or in the
darkness of the locked cattle truck in which we were
brought back from a distant work site, tired, hungry and
frozen in our ragged clothing.
In the winter and spring of 1945 there was an outbreak of
typhus which infected nearly all the prisoners. The mortal
ity was great among the weak, who had to keep on with
their hard work as long as they possibly could. The quarters
for the sick were most inadequate, there were practically no
medicines or attendants. Some of the symptoms of the dis
ease were extremely disagreeable: an irrepressible aversion
to even a scrap of food (which was an additional danger to
life) and terrible attacks of delirium. The worst case of
delirium was suffered by a friend of mine who thought that
he was dying and wanted to pray. In his delirium he could
not find the words to do so. To avoid these attacks of de
lirium, I tried, as did many of the others, to keep awake for
most of the night. For hours I composed speeches in my
mind. Eventually I began to reconstruct the manuscript
which I had lost in the disinfection chamber of Auschwitz,
and scribbled the key words in shorthand on tiny scraps of
paper.
Occasionally a scientific debate developed in camp.
Once I witnessed something I had never seen, even in my
normal life, although it lay somewhat near my own
professional interests: a spiritualistic seance. I had been
invited to at-
Experiences in a Concentration Camp 47
tend by the camp's chief doctor (also a prisoner), who knew
that I was a specialist in psychiatry. The meeting took place
in his small, private room in the sick quarters. A small
circle had gathered, among them, quite illegally, the war
rant officer from the sanitation squad.
One man began to invoke the spirits with a kind of
prayer. The camp's clerk sat in front of a blank sheet of
paper, without any conscious intention of writing. During
the next ten minutes (after which time the seance was ter
minated because of the medium's failure to conjure the
spirits to appear) his pencil slowly drew lines across the
paper, forming quite legibly "
VAE
V
." It was asserted that
the clerk had never learned Latin and that he had never
before heard the words "vae victis"—woe to the van
quished. In my opinion he must have heard them once in
his life, without recollecting them, and they must have been
available to the "spirit" (the spirit of his subconscious
mind) at that time, a few months before our liberation and
the end of the war.
In spite of all the enforced physical and mental primi-
tiveness of the life in a concentration camp, it was possible
for spiritual life to deepen. Sensitive people who were used
to a rich intellectual life may have suffered much pain
(they were often of a delicate constitution), but the damage
to their inner selves was less. They were able to retreat from
their terrible surroundings to a life of inner riches and
spiritual freedom. Only in this way can one explain the
apparent paradox that some prisoners of a less hardy make
up often seemed to survive camp life better than did those
of a robust nature. In order to make myself clear, I am
forced to fall back on personal experience. Let me tell what
happened on those early mornings when we had to march
to our work site.