Perhaps he boarded a trolley, traveled out to the home which he had seen for years in his mind, and only in his mind,
and pressed the bell, just as he has longed to do in thousands of dreams,
only to find that the person who should open the door was not there, and would never be there again.
We all said to each other in camp that there could be no earthly happiness which could compensate for all we had suffered.
We were not hoping for happiness—it was not that which gave us courage and gave meaning to our suffering, our sacrifices and our dying.
And yet we were not prepared for unhappiness. This disillusionment, which awaited not a small number of prisoners,
was an experience which these men have found very hard to get over and which, for a psychiatrist, is also very difficult to help them overcome.
But this must not be a discouragement to him; on the contrary, it should provide an added stimulus.
But for every one of the liberated prisoners, the day comes when, looking back on his camp experiences,
he can no longer understand how he endured it all.
As the day of his liberation eventually came, when everything seemed to him like a beautiful dream,
so also the day comes when all his camp experiences seem to him nothing but a nightmare.
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