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148 18 End of Our Czech Family Camp The remaining population of five to six thousand people, those above forty or those not yet accepted for a work group, were overwhelmed with fear. Many lay motionless on their beds. The younger and more mobile men of the hospital were gone and we filled our beds with new patients, who felt abandoned in their barracks after their doctors and house elders had left. In some barracks, there was chaos with the strongest reigning over the more helpless; I would not have dared to enter those barracks alone. The order of our world, as unfair and cruel as it had been before, had broken down. The elder of the camp called for a final selection based on Mengele’s order that all those from age sixteen to forty-five appear. We watched the last examinations. An SS officer, whom I had never seen before and did not think was a physician, presided. He was highly impatient and hit people with his truncheon when they tried to join the selection if either their age or physical condition were not appropriate. This all took place inside a now empty barracks but the gates were left open, guarded by a couple of KAPOs. I discussed the situation with my father as we walked slowly toward the gate to watch the procedure. He shook his head; he knew that he would not pass as fit for heavy work. I wondered if I should try to smuggle him into a group of selected workers or whether it was even possible. It would give him a slim chance to leave this doomed sector of the camp. He refused; he was afraid of endangering me and really his only wish was to stay with my mother to the last moment. He wondered why I wasn’t trying to get out. I could have passed this last selection but Mengele could be extremely cruel if his orders were not obeyed and Otto, who was well-known and visible, had been told to remain with his regular staff. Bernie and I were the last two of the regular staff. 149 The food supply in the camp had been irregular and people were fighting, ready to kill, for their poor rations, although most were too weak to do anything. At least the hospital had enough bread and we could protect those who found shelter there. After sunset, I met with Willy Schönfeld. We found a cool spot in the shadow of the hospital building, sat down on the dusty ground and talked straight with each other. We knew what was happening and agreed to avoid the usual well-meaning rejections of reality. We had no time to talk of miracles, last moment changes, the sudden end of the war or any of the other soothing expressions of hope we had told each other during our most desperate moments. Willy had no chance to appear before the selecting physicians. On one side of his neck there was a large package of tuberculous lymph glands protruding and visibly swollen. He was weakened by illness and his movements were slow. This tall man with the large head looked awkward. He wondered why I had not left. It certainly was not clear to me what had moved me to stay at that critical time. Did I not want to leave my parents, Otto, Willy, the hospital? These might all have been factors in my decision. Looking back over that fateful week, I think that I was still following orders, afraid of the consequences if I’d been caught, although it was unlikely that anyone would have cared if I’d appeared at a selection of workers. I told Willy that I felt that I did best when I went with the tide and he seemed to understand me. We were both sure that the end of the family camp was close. We talked about our past work, our hidden manuscripts on graphology, our common interest in the psychological importance of work as well as the pathogenic effects of an unsuitable work situation on one’s identity. We discussed the role of work-ideal and how people in various phases of their life idealized certain kinds of work in their fantasies. Here we were at the bottom of human existence, where the value of people and the only justification for their being allowed to live was measured by their potential for hard labor, yet we still...

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