6o Man's Search
for Meaning
death. I thought that it would doubtless be more to the
purpose to try and help my comrades as a doctor than to
vegetate or finally lose my life as the unproductive laborer
that I was then.
For me this was simple mathematics, not sacrifice. But
secretly, the warrant officer from the sanitation squad had
ordered that the two doctors who had volunteered for the
typhus camp should be "taken care of" till they left. We
looked so weak that he feared that he might have two addi
tional corpses on his hands, rather than two doctors.
I mentioned earlier how everything that was not con
nected with the immediate task of keeping oneself and
one's closest friends alive lost its value. Everything was sacri
ficed to this end. A man's character became involved to the
point that he was caught in a mental turmoil which threat
ened all the values he held and threw them into doubt.
Under the influence of a world which no longer recognized
the value of human life and human dignity, which had
robbed man of his will and had made him an object to be
exterminated (having planned, however, to make full use
of him first—to the last ounce of his physical resources)—
under this influence the personal ego finally suffered a loss
of values. If the man in the concentration camp did not
struggle against this in a last effort to save his self-respect,
he lost the feeling of being an individual, a being with a
mind, with inner freedom and personal value. He thought
of himself then as only a part of an enormous mass of
people; his existence descended to the level of animal life.
The men were herded—sometimes to one place then to
another; sometimes driven together, then apart—like a
flock of sheep without a thought or a will of their own. A
small but dangerous pack watched them from all sides, well
Experiences in a Concentration Camp 61
versed in methods of torture and sadism. They drove the
herd incessantly, backwards and forwards, with shouts,
kicks and blows. And we, the sheep, thought of two things
only—how to evade the bad dogs and how to get a little
food.
Just like sheep that crowd timidly into the center of a
herd, each of us tried to get into the middle of our forma
tions. That gave one a better chance of avoiding the blows
of the guards who were marching on either side and to the
front and rear of our column. The central position had the
added advantage of affording protection against the bitter
winds. It was, therefore, in an attempt to save one's own
skin that one literally tried to submerge into the crowd.
This was done automatically in the formations. But at
other times it was a very conscious effort on our part—in
conformity with one of the camp's most imperative laws of
self-preservation: Do not be conspicuous. We tried at all
times to avoid attracting the attention of the SS.
There were times, of course, when it was possible, and
even necessary, to keep away from the crowd. It is well
known that an enforced community life, in which attention
is paid to everything one does at all times, may result in an
irresistible urge to get away, at least for a short while. The
prisoner craved to be alone with himself and his thoughts.
He yearned for privacy and for solitude. After my transpor
tation to a so-called "rest camp," I had the rare fortune to
find solitude for about five minutes at a time. Behind the
earthen hut where I worked and in which were crowded
about fifty delirious patients, there was a quiet spot in a
corner of the double fence of barbed wire surrounding the
camp. A tent had been improvised there with a few poles
and branches of trees in order to shelter a half-dozen
corpses (the daily death rate in the camp). There was also a
shaft leading to the water pipes. I squatted on the wooden
62 Man's Search for Meaning
lid of this shaft whenever my services were not needed. I
just sat and looked out at the green flowering slopes and
the distant blue hills of the Bavarian landscape, framed by
the meshes of barbed wire. I dreamed longingly, and my
thoughts wandered north and northeast, in the direction of
my home, but I could only see clouds.
The corpses near me, crawling with lice, did not bother
me. Only the steps of passing guards could rouse me from
my dreams; or perhaps it would be a call to the sick-bay or
to collect a newly arrived supply of medicine for my hut—
consisting of perhaps five or ten tablets of aspirin, to last for
several days for fifty patients. I collected them and then did
my rounds, feeling the patients' pulses and giving half-
tablets to the serious cases. But the desperately ill received
no medicine. It would not have helped, and besides, it
would have deprived those for whom there was still some
hope. For light cases, I had nothing, except perhaps a word
of encouragement. In this way I dragged myself from patient
to patient, though I myself was weak and exhausted from a
serious attack of typhus. Then I went back to my lonely
place on the wood cover of the water shaft.
This shaft, incidentally, once saved the lives of three
fellow prisoners. Shortly before liberation, mass transports
were organized to go to Dachau, and these three prisoners
wisely tried to avoid the trip. They climbed down the shaft
and hid there from the guards. I calmly sat on the lid,
looking innocent and playing a childish game of throwing
pebbles at the barbed wire. On spotting me, the guard hesi
tated for a moment, but then passed on. Soon I could tell
the three men below that the worst danger was over.
It is very difficult for an outsider to grasp how very little
value was placed on human life in camp. The camp inmate
Experiences in a Concentration Camp 63
was hardened, but possibly became more conscious of this
complete disregard of human existence when a convoy of
sick men was arranged. The emaciated bodies of the sick
were thrown on two-wheeled carts which were drawn by
prisoners for many miles, often through snowstorms, to the
next camp. If one of the sick men had died before the cart
left, he was thrown on anyway—the list had to be correct I
The list was the only thing that mattered. A man counted
only because he had a prison number. One literally became
a number: dead or alive—that was unimportant; the life of
a "number" was completely irrelevant. What stood behind
that number and that life mattered even less: the fate, the
history, the name of the man. In the transport of sick pa
tients that I, in my capacity as a doctor, had to accompany
from one camp in Bavaria to another, there was a young
prisoner whose brother was not on the list and therefore
would have to be left behind. The young man begged so
long that the camp warden decided to work an exchange,
and the brother took the place of a man who, at the mo
ment, preferred to stay behind. But the list had to be cor
rect! That was easy. The brother just exchanged numbers
with the other prisoner.
As I have mentioned before, we had no documents;
everyone was lucky to own his body, which, after all, was
still breathing. All else about us, i.e., the rags hanging from
our gaunt skeletons, was only of interest if we were assigned
to a transport of sick patients. The departing "Moslems"
were examined with unabashed curiosity to see whether
their coats or shoes were not better than one's own. After
all, their fates were sealed. But those who stayed behind in
camp, who were still capable of some work, had to make use
of every means to improve their chances of survival. They
were not sentimental. The prisoners saw themselves com
pletely dependent on the moods of the guards—playthings