56 Man's Search for Meaning
had to stand all the way, while a few took turns at squat
ting on the scanty straw which was soaked with human
urine. When we arrived the first important news that we
heard from older prisoners was that this comparatively
small camp (its population was 2,500) had no "oven," no
crematorium, no gas! That meant that a person who had
become a "Moslem" could not be taken straight to the gas
chamber, but would have to wait until a so-called "sick
convoy" had been arranged to return to Auschwitz. This
joyful surprise put us all in a good mood. The wish of the
senior warden of our hut in Auschwitz had come true: we
had come, as quickly as possible, to a camp which did not
have a "chimney"—unlike Auschwitz. We laughed and
cracked jokes in spite of, and during, all we had to go
through in the next few hours.
W
7
hen we new arrivals were counted, one of us was miss
ing. So we had to wait outside in the rain and cold wind
until the missing man was found. He was at last discovered
in a hut, where he had fallen asleep from exhaustion. Then
the roll call was turned into a punishment parade. All
through the night and late into the next morning, we had
to stand outside, frozen and soaked to the skin after the
strain of our long journey. And yet we were all very
pleased! There was no chimney in this camp and Auschwitz
was a long way off.
Another time we saw a group of convicts pass our work
site. How obvious the relativity of all suffering appeared to
us then! We envied those prisoners their relatively well-
regulated, secure and happy life. They surely had regular
opportunities to take baths, we thought sadly. They surely
had toothbrushes and clothesbrushes, mattresses—a sep
arate one for each of them—and monthly mail bringing
them news of the whereabouts of their relatives, or at least
of whether they were still alive or not. We had lost all that
a long time ago.
Experiences in a Concentration Camp 57
And how we envied those of us who had the opportunity
to get into a factory and work in a sheltered room! It was
everyone's wish to have such a lifesaving piece of luck. The
scale of relative luck extends even further. Even among
those detachments outside the camp (in one of which I was
a member) there were some units which were considered
worse than others. One could envy a man who did not have
to wade in deep, muddy clay on a steep slope emptying the
tubs of a small field railway for twelve hours daily. Most of
the daily accidents occurred on this job, and they were
often fatal.
In other work parties the foremen maintained an ap
parently local tradition of dealing out numerous blows,
which made us talk of the relative luck of not being under
their command, or perhaps of being under it only tem
porarily. Once, by an unlucky chance, I got into such a
group. If an air raid alarm had not interrupted us after two
hours (during which time the foreman had worked on me
especially), making it necessary to regroup the workers
afterwards, I think that I would have returned to camp on
one of the sledges which carried those who had died or were
dying from exhaustion. No one can imagine the relief that
the siren can bring in such a situation; not even a boxer
who has heard the bell signifying the finish of a round and
who is thus saved at the last minute from the danger of a
knockout.
We were grateful for the smallest of mercies. We were
glad when there was time to delouse before going to bed,
although in itself this was no pleasure, as it meant standing
naked in an unheated hut where icicles hung from the
ceiling. But we were thankful if there was no air raid alarm
during this operation and the lights were not switched off.
If we could not do the job properly, we were kept awake
half the night.
The meager pleasures of camp life provided a kind of
58 Man's Search for Meaning
negative happiness,—"freedom from suffering," as Schopen
hauer put it—and even that in a relative way only. Real
positive pleasures, even small ones, were very few. I remem
ber drawing up a kind of balance sheet of pleasures one day
and finding that in many, many past weeks I had experi
enced only two pleasurable moments. One occurred when,
on returning from work, I was admitted to the cook house
after a long wait and was assigned to the line filing up to
prisoner-cook F
. He stood behind one of the huge pans
and ladled soup into the bowls which were held out to
him by the prisoners, who hurriedly filed past. He was the
only cook who did not look at the men whose bowls he was
filling; the only cook who dealt out the soup equally, re
gardless of recipient, and who did not make favorites of his
personal friends or countrymen, picking out the potatoes
for them, while the others got watery soup skimmed from
the top.
But it is not for me to pass judgment on those prisoners
who put their own people above everyone else. Who can
throw a stone at a man who favors his friends under cir
cumstances when, sooner or later, it is a question of life or
death? No man should judge unless he asks himself in ab
solute honesty whether in a similar situation he might not
have done the same.
Long after I had resumed normal life again (that means
a long time after my release from camp), somebody showed
me an illustrated weekly with photographs of prisoners
lying crowded on their bunks, staring dully at a visitor.
"Isn't this terrible, the dreadful staring faces—everything
about it."
"Why?" I asked, for I genuinely did not understand. For
at that moment I saw it all again: at 5:00
A
.
M
. it was still
pitch dark outside. I was lying on the hard boards in an
Experiences in a Concentration Camp 59
earthen hut where about seventy of us were "taken care of."
We were sick and did not have to leave camp for work; we
did not have to go on parade. We could lie all day in our
little corner in the hut and doze and wait for the daily
distribution of bread (which, of course, was reduced for the
sick) and for the daily helping of soup (watered down and
also decreased in quantity). But how content we were;
happy in spite of everything. While we cowered against
each other to avoid any unnecessary loss of warmth, and
were too lazy and disinterested to move a finger unneces
sarily, we heard shrill whistles and shouts from the square
where the night shift had just returned and was assembling
for roll call. The door was flung open, and the snowstorm
blew into our hut. An exhausted comrade, covered with
snow, stumbled inside to sit down for a few minutes. But
the senior warden turned him out again. It was strictly
forbidden to admit a stranger to a hut while a check-up on
the men was in progress. How sorry I was for that fellow
and how glad not to be in his skin at that moment, but
instead to be sick and able to doze on in the sick quarters!
What a lifesaver it was to have two days there, and perhaps
even two extra days after those 1
All this came to my mind when I saw the photographs
in the magazine. When I explained, my listeners under
stood why I did not find the photograph so terrible: the
people shown on it might not have been so unhappy after
all.
On my fourth day in the sick quarters I had just been
detailed to the night shift when the chief doctor rushed in
and asked me to volunteer for medical duties in another
camp containing typhus patients. Against the urgent advice
of my friends (and despite the fact that almost none of my
colleagues offered their services), I decided to volunteer. I
knew that in a working party I would die in a short time.
But if I had to die there might at least be some sense in my