18 Man's Search
for Meaning
ing to eat, the Capos were never hungry; in fact many of
the Capos fared better in the camp than they had in their
entire lives. Often they were harder on the prisoners than
were the guards, and beat them more cruelly than the SS
men did. These Capos, of course, were chosen only from
those prisoners whose characters promised to make them
suitable for such procedures, and if they did not comply
with what was expected of them, they were immediately
demoted. They soon became much like the SS men and the
camp wardens and may be judged on a similar psychologi
cal basis.
It is easy for the outsider to get the wrong conception of
camp life, a conception mingled with sentiment and pity.
Little does he know of the hard fight for existence which
raged among the prisoners. This was an unrelenting strug
gle for daily bread and for life itself, for one's own sake or
for that of a good friend.
Let us take the case of a transport which was officially
announced to transfer a certain number of prisoners to an
other camp; but it was a fairly safe guess that its final
destination would be the gas chambers. A selection of sick
or feeble prisoners incapable of work would be sent to one
of the big central camps which were fitted with gas
chambers and crematoriums. The selection process was the
signal for a free fight among all the prisoners, or of group
against group. All that mattered was that one's own name
and that of one's friend were crossed off the list of victims,
though everyone knew that for each man saved another
victim had to be found.
A definite number of prisoners had to go with each
transport. It did not really matter which, since each of them
was nothing but a number. On their admission to the camp
(at least this was the method in Auschwitz) all their docu-
Experiences in a Concentration Camp 19
ments had been taken from them, together with their other
possessions. Each prisoner, therefore, had had an oppor
tunity to claim a fictitious name or profession; and for vari
ous reasons many did this. The authorities were interested
only in the captives' numbers. These numbers were often
tattooed on their skin, and also had to be sewn to a certain
spot on the trousers, jacket, or coat. Any guard who wanted
to make a charge against a prisoner just glanced at his
number (and how we dreaded such glances!); he never
asked for his name.
To return to the convoy about to depart. There was nei
ther time nor desire to consider moral or ethical issues.
Every man was controlled by one thought only: to keep
himself alive for the family waiting for him at home, and to
save his friends. With no hesitation, therefore, he would
arrange for another prisoner, another "number," to take his
place in the transport.
As I have already mentioned, the process of selecting
Capos was a negative one; only the most brutal of the pris
oners were chosen for this job (although there were some
happy exceptions). But apart from the selection of Capos
which was undertaken by the SS, there was a sort of self-
selecting process going on the whole time among all of the
prisoners. On the average, only those prisoners could keep
alive who, after years of trekking from camp to camp, had
lost all scruples in their fight for existence; they were pre
pared to use every means, honest and otherwise, even brutal
force, theft, and betrayal of their friends, in order to save
themselves. We who have come back, by the aid of many
lucky chances or miracles—whatever one may choose to call
them—we know: the best of us did not return.
Many factual accounts about concentration camps are al
ready on record. Here, facts will be significant only as far
as
20 Man's Search
for Meaning
they are part of a man's experiences. It is the exact nature
of these experiences that the following essay will attempt
to describe. For those who have been inmates in a camp, it
will attempt to explain their experiences in the light of
present-day knowledge. And for those who have never been
inside, it may help them to comprehend, and above all to
understand, the experiences of that only too small per
centage of prisoners who survived and who now find life
very difficult. These former prisoners often say, "We dislike
talking about our experiences. No explanations are needed
for those who have been inside, and the others will under
stand neither how we felt then nor how we feel now."
To attempt a methodical presentation of the subject is
very difficult, as psychology requires a certain scientific de
tachment. But does a man who makes his observations
while he himself is a prisoner possess the necessary detach
ment? Such detachment is granted to the outsider, but he is
too far removed to make any statements of real value. Only
the man inside knows. His judgments may not be objective;
his evaluations may be out of proportion. This is inevita
ble. An attempt must be made to avoid any personal bias,
and that is the real difficulty of a book of this kind. At times
it will be necessary to have the courage to tell of very in
timate experiences. I had intended to write this book
anonymously, using my prison number only. But when the
manuscript was completed, I saw that as an anonymous
publication it would lose half its value, and that I must
have the courage to state my convictions openly. I therefore
refrained from deleting any of the passages, in spite of an
intense dislike of exhibitionism.
I shall leave it to others to distill the contents of this
book into dry theories. These might become a contribution
to the psychology of prison life, which was investigated after
the First World War, and which acquainted us with the
Experiences in a Concentration Camp 21
syndrome of "barbed wire sickness." We are indebted to the
Second World War for enriching our knowledge of the
"psychopathology of the masses," (if I may quote a varia
tion of the well-known phrase and title of a book by
LeBon), for the war gave us the war of nerves and it gave us
the concentration camp.
As this story is about my experiences as an ordinary pris
oner, it is important that I mention, not without pride, that
I was not employed as a psychiatrist in camp, or even as a
doctor, except for the last few weeks. A few of my colleagues
were lucky enough to be employed in poorly heated first-aid
posts applying bandages made of scraps of waste paper. But
I was Number 119,104, and most of the time I was digging
and laying tracks for railway lines. At one time, my job
was to dig a tunnel, without help, for a water main under a
road. This feat did not go unrewarded; just before Christ
mas 1944, I was presented with a gift of so-called "premium
coupons." These were issued by the construction firm to
which we were practically sold as slaves: the firm paid the
camp authorities a fixed price per day, per prisoner. The
coupons cost the firm fifty pfennigs each and could be ex
changed for six cigarettes, often weeks later, although they
sometimes lost their validity. I became the proud owner of a
token worth twelve cigarettes. But more important, the cig
arettes could be exchanged for twelve soups, and twelve
soups were often a very real respite from starvation.
The privilege of actually smoking cigarettes was reserved
for the Capo, who had his assured quota of weekly coupons;
or possibly for a prisoner who worked as a foreman in a
warehouse or workshop and received a few cigarettes in
exchange for doing dangerous jobs. The only exceptions to
this were those who had lost the will to live and wanted to
"enjoy" their last days. Thus, when we saw a comrade
smoking his own cigarettes, we knew he had given up faith