Man's Search For Meaning - Viktor E. Frankl

EXPERIENCES IN A CONCENTRATION CAMPfront of me, on the heap of soil which I had dug upfrom the ditch, and looked steadily at me.Earlier, I mentioned art. Is there such a thing in aconcentration camp? It rather depends on what onechooses to call art. A kind of cabaret was improvisedfrom time to time. A hut was cleared temporarily, afew wooden benches were pushed or nailed togetherand a program was drawn up. In the evening thosewho had fairly good positions in camp - the Capos andthe workers who did not have to leave camp on distantmarches - assembled there. They came to have a fewlaughs or perhaps to cry a little; anyway, to forget.There were songs, poems, jokes, some with underlyingsatire regarding the camp. All were meant to helpus forget, and they did help. The gatherings were soeffective that a few ordinary prisoners went to see thecabaret in spite of their fatigue even though theymissed their daily portion of food by going.During the half-hour lunch interval when soup(which the contractors paid for and for which they didnot spend much) was ladled out at our work site, wewere allowed to assemble in an unfinished engineroom. On entering, everyone got a ladleful of thewatery soup. While we sipped it greedily, a prisonerclimbed onto a tub and sang Italian arias. We enjoyedthe songs, and he was guaranteed a double helping ofsoup, straight "from the bottom" - that meant withpeas!Rewards were given in camp not only for entertainment,but also for applause. I, for example, could havefound protection (how lucky I was never in need of it!)from the camp's most dreaded Capo, who for more61