It has been shown that concentration camp behavior was mainly determined by instinct. This was probably nowhere more true than in the area of the prisoner’s attitude to food. Hunger was the most terrible and most degrading scourge of the camps. Victor Frankl describes the continuous preoccupation of camp inmates, even the strongest of them, with food. Even the noblest of them, among whom we may certainly count Frankl himself, were obsessed by a longing for the time when they would again have good food, “not for the sake of good food itself, but for the sake of knowing that the sub-human existence, which had made us unable to think of anything other than food, would at last cease.”1From Deathcamp to Existentialism, Boston, 1959, p. 30.
Elie A. Cohen, in his volume on concentration camp behavior, maintains that “hunger recognized no restraints of any kind” and quotes the remark of another author that hunger “incites every kind of baseness.” He offers a striking example of the demoralizing force of hunger from a study by H.A. Bloch, The Personality of Inmates of Concentration Camps,2American Journal of Sociology, vol. LII, 1946/7. citing the case of a cultured and aristocratic British woman, French by marriage. She was noted in her former life for her “generosity, benevolence, and humanitarian interest.” But she herself told how she would look for sick inmates in the camp and would help them with their food. When, as often happened, they would refuse to eat, instead of encouraging them further, she would be only too glad to take from them whatever they would leave. With remarkable honesty, Cohen continues to say that he had chosen this example because he himself did the same thing in the sick bay of the concentration camp of Amersfoort. “I ‘helped’ the sick to eat, and, while begrudging them every bite, I would wait until they refused further food and offered me the remainder in gratitude for my ‘help.’ Nor did I take any pains to press more food on the sick prisoners.”3Human Behavior in the Concentration Camp, New York, 1953, p. 138.
Cohen gives us a poignant description of actual behavior in matters of food. When food was brought in, a wave of excitement would engulf the inmates such as one might otherwise observe only among animals. Giving an example from his own experience, he tells that when there were not enough soup bowls to go around, he could hardly contain his impatience as he waited for another man to gulp down his soup and pass on the bowl to him. Then, without being able to delay any longer until he cleaned the bowl, he would take his ration with “trembling hands.” He also describes the suspense that would come over him “when the soup was being ladled out from a ‘good kettle.’ ” Would it still be a “good kettle” when his turn came?4Ibid., p. 132. In discussing this aspect of concentration camp behavior, it is, of course, not our intention to judge or criticize. Who, in all honesty, would dare do that! The dehumanizing force of such continued hunger is not only understandable, but also natural. And yet, as we shall see, there were those who rose above such deprivations and degradations, by responding to them as religious Jews, placing the requirements of Jewish religious law above the demands of their bodies and their minds.
The dietary laws of Judaism gave rise to numerous questions concerning proper conduct with regard to food in the ghettos and the concentration camps. These questions were usually decided on the basis of the overriding force of the biblical commandment to preserve one’s life. The Torah was given for people to live by. Religious Jews who stood in line to receive their share of soup from the camp kitchen did so with the understanding that by that act they were fulfilling the divine commandment “and you shall greatly guard your life.”5This is the midrashic rendering of the first words of Deuteronomy 4:9, often used to emphasize the precedence given to the commandment of preserving and protecting life. What they were doing was demanded of them by the Torah, the same Torah for which, if need be, they were willing to give their very lives.
When there is a possible danger to life because of inadequate food supplies, a Jew is permitted to eat whatever food is available. However, in the ghettos, people whose survival was not immediately threatened by hunger asked whether they were permitted to partake of the soup from the communal kitchen, which was not kasher, in order to preserve their strength for the future, or whether they were obligated to deny themselves that soup until they were so weakened that possible immediate danger to their health would exist. In other words, does the consideration for survival override the dietary laws only when the threat is immediate, or should those laws be disregarded in the present even though the exigency might arise only at some future date? One should bear in mind that the question is not whether a law of the Torah may be broken in an emergency for one is never permitted to transgress the law. The question is: what is the law in such an emergency? The law will prescribe that in a given situation one specific law supersedes another specific law. Thus the Torah determines that in case of possible danger to life, the law of preserving one’s life takes precedence over the dietary laws. In the case under discussion, it was ruled on the basis of available halakhic source material, that the duty to preserve one’s life would obligate the questioner to make use of the opportunity to sustain his strength and health with the available food in order to be better able to meet the challenge of survival in the ghetto as it may arise in the future.6Ephraim Oshry, She’elot uTeshuvot MiMa’amakim, 4 vols., New York, 1959–75; vol. I, chapter 2.
One Buchenwald survivor tells how he once witnessed a careful halakhic explanation by one Reb Motel Zneimirovsky of Pietrokov of how one should eat food which was normally forbidden. Since according to biblical law one commits a sin only by consuming a certain measure of forbidden food, there are opinions that when one partakes of a ḥaẓi she’ur, of less than that measure, one has transgressed only a rabbinic command. Even according to the contrary opinions, a ḥaẓi she’ur is a less serious transgression.7Cf. T.B. Yoma 73b. He therefore advised that all non-kosher food should be taken in very small portions and thus the degree of transgression would be minimized.8Prager, II, p. 130.
Jews in the camps were confronted with a unique problem on Purim when part of the celebration consists of giving gifts of food to each other. How could they fulfill this mitzvah of mishlo’aḥ manot ish lere’ehu? After all, the most precious possession in the camps was the daily bread ration. Giving it away was not exactly the problem: one would receive in return a similar gift from a friend. But at the Eichenwald camp, for instance, several days’ bread ration was handed out in advance. Because of the conditions of continuous starvation, people could hardly ever control their hunger so as to be able to save a part of the ration from one day to another. To save enough bread in order to be able to give it to a fellow inmate at the right moment on Purim required heroic self-control. The Jews at Eichenwald, however, had been well trained in the art of self-control. Every Friday night they were engaged in a similar exercise. As a rule, on Friday nights the food was given out in the following order: first the soup and afterwards the bread. But before eating on a Friday night one has to sanctify the Sabbath by reciting the Kiddush. According to religious law, one could say Kiddush over the bread, but not over the soup. So some bread had to be saved during the week to be available on the Sabbath eve at the time when the soup was given out. Only one who has some idea of the demoralizing power of hunger in the camps may be able to realize the magnitude of the effort that such self-control demanded. Because of their weekly Sabbath discipline, the slave laborers at Eichenwald were able to fulfill the commandment of mishlo’aḥ manot to each other with joy on Purim.9Ibid., p. 164.
The problem of halakhically permitted food arose with special sharpness in the camps at the time of the Pesaḥ festival. In normal circumstances, in memory of the Exodus, all ḥameẓ (leavened bread) is forbidden. But what was one to do according to the halakhah in a concentration camp on Passover? Of course, it could have been ruled quite simply that if one did not eat the meagre bread ration for the eight days of the festival, the threat to life was immediate. Yet numerous Jews were hesitant to eat ḥameẓ on Pesaḥ. The decision of one Yoshua Alterman on the last Pesaḥ of the war in the camp at Waldenburg has been preserved. Very likely he was not a rabbi, but a plain Jew who — like so many in Eastern Europe — was learned in the Torah. He told his fellow prisoners: “Though it is Pesaḥ, you are all obligated to eat ḥameẓ, the leavened bread of the camp. I, however, am strong enough. I must not, for I can do without it.” His friends, who only reluctantly accepted his decision, were now confronted with another problem. Ushering in the festival in the evening, the traditional Seder night, they would have to recite Kiddush, the prayer of sanctification for the day. Wine, over which Kiddush is normally said, was of course not available at Buchenwald for the Seder. As we have seen, in the absence of wine, one may recite the Kiddush over bread on a Friday night, but was it conceivable that one should start “the festival of unleavened bread” with Kiddush over ḥameẓ?!10Ibid., p. 155. An entirely different light was thrown on this problem in another part of the Holocaust empire. A young man had decided that under no circumstances would he eat bread on the Seder night but would keep the evening bread ration for the next day. He was, however, advised by a Talmid Ḥakham, a talmudic scholar in the camp, to eat his bread ration immediately upon receiving it. Since there is a biblical prohibition even against having ḥameẓ in one’s possession at all during Passover, it was better for him to get rid of the bread as soon as possible.11Unger, p. 319.
Even in the death camps many Jews performed the elementary, essential act of eating with disciplined behavior in obedience to the guidance of the Torah. Nowhere was this willingness to submit to the discipline of the halakhah more movingly expressed than in a special prayer, composed in the concentration camps, which was said prior to eating ḥameẓ on Pesaḥ. In many communities, especially in Eastern Europe, it used to be customary to say a short devotional formula prior to the fulfillment of a divine commandment. It began: “I am prepared and ready to fulfill this commandment…as it is written in Thy Torah…” These words were also used at various points in the Seder service itself. But in the camps, where there was no possibility of fulfilling any of the requirements, they prayed prior to eating the bread:
“Our Father in Heaven! It is open and known before You that it is our will to do Your will to celebrate the festival of Pesaḥ by eating matzah and refraining from leavened bread. With aching heart we must realize that our slavery prevents us from such celebration. Since we find ourselves in a situation of Sakkanat Nefashot, of danger to our lives (should we not eat this bread), we are prepared and ready to fulfill Your commandment, ‘And thou shalt live by them (by the commandments of the Torah), but not die by them;’ and we are warned by Your warning. ‘Be very careful and guard your life.’ Therefore we pray to you that You maintain us in life and hasten to redeem us that we may observe Your statutes and do Your will and serve You with a perfect heart. Amen!”12Eliav, p. 186.
From the Kaldiz labor camp, which was a branch of Buchenwald, comes a typical story about the camp atmosphere at the approach of the Pesaḥ festival. It was in the spring of 1945. The German armies were being beaten on all fronts and there was hope in the hearts of the prisoners. Hope and fear: would they be able to hold out to the end that seemed so near? But the immediate challenge that loomed especially large before a group of ḥasidim was how to get through eight days of Pesaḥ without eating any bread. Since matzah was, of course, not to be had, their idea was to exchange their daily bread ration for soup. There were always prisoners who were willing to enter into such a transaction. However, when Pesaḥ came, the law of supply and demand became operative and the price of the soup rose out of all proportion to its actual value. Those Jews who were resolved to observe the Pesaḥ festival — even beyond the requirements of the halakhah — paid the exorbitant price for some thin soup. For the eight days of the festival they gave up their bread ration. Their already weakened physical condition declined further, but at the same time their spiritual alertness and energy reached unexpected heights. They prayed; they sang the traditional festival melodies; they rejoiced with the mitzvah of celebration. Without paying any attention to the guards, they arranged daily communal services in the camp. They recited the Hallel, the hymns of praise, and sang ḥasidic melodies together. One of the survivors makes the comment: “It may well be that their determination not to partake of bread, notwithstanding the starvation, equipped them with strength beyond that of other camp inmates.”13Prager, II, p. 154.
There existed a clear realization among many Jews of the terrible impact of the trial by hunger. As one of them put it: “In the camps people lose the divine image. All the thoughts, all the desires, all talk and all the quarrels, all the dreams and all the visions — everything centered around the single subject: bread, soup, margarine.”14Ibid., I, pp. 68, 150. It was understood that when one reached that stage one had lost one’s human status. It should, however, be borne in mind that in Judaism human dignity is inseparable from the sanctity of the divine, for man was created in the image of God. This is the secret of his humanity. To guard that image, to live in a manner which is worthy of it, is his responsibility on earth. Nothing could threaten the Ẓelem Elohim, the Divine Image, more than hunger. Seeing himself as the bearer of God’s image gave many a Jew the strength to retain his humanity in the midst of starvation. And every time his wretched meal was handed to him, he performed what in the conditions of the camps was an act of supreme self-discipline by pausing before eating it in order to say the berakhah:
“Blessed art Thou Eternal, our God, king of the Universe, who brings forth bread from the earth.
Blessed art Thou Eternal, our God, king of the Universe, by whose word everything comes into being.”