Thekabarnews.com—Nazi guards thought they were killing a man in 1942. When they took him to a concentration camp, they shaved his head, took off his coat, and tattooed the number 119,104 on his skin instead of his name. Then they discovered a document with years of psychiatric research, his theories, and his life’s work tucked in the lining of his jacket.

They ripped it apart and put it in the fire, which made the deed final for them. The man in front of them was nothing more than a body ready to die. He had no job, no dignity, and no words, but they were completely wrong.

That prisoner was Viktor Frankl, and although the Nazis took everything from him, they were unaware that this experience would lead him to discover a truth that would later help millions of people cope with sorrow.

A choice that caused him everything

Frankl’s life in Vienna had been considerably different just a few months before. He was a well-respected psychiatrist with a flourishing practice. He had just married the lady he loved and had a visa to the United States, which was the most crucial thing. The visa promised safety, freedom, and life itself—but it protected only him, not his parents.

If he left, authorities would almost certainly send his parents back to their home country. He would have the same destiny as them if he stayed. As Frankl thought about what to do, he saw a chunk of marble on his father’s desk. The Nazis had saved it from a synagogue they had demolished. It bore a single commandment carved into it: “Honor your father and mother.” Frankl allowed his visa to expire, but he remained in the area, and soon after, he received a knock at the door.

Frankl transferred to Theresienstadt, then to Auschwitz, and finally to Dachau. The Nazis built the camps not only to kill people but also to break their spirits. Nine people slept on a wooden bunk. They lived on soup and bits of bread that were watery. They worked in cold muck until their legs could not take it anymore. But as a doctor, Frankl started to observe something that made him uneasy.

For the weakest, death did not always come first. Strong men fell apart in just a few days. Some people, weak, thin, and scarcely able to stand, somehow made it through. He understood that the gap was not in physical strength. It was important.

Camp physicians called the slow giving up to death “give-up-itis.” It followed a sad pattern. A man stopped cleaning, and then he stopped getting out of bed. Finally, he did something that sealed his fate: he smoked his cigarettes.

Cigarettes were money in the camps. People could swap them for soup, which ensured they would live. He did not believe in tomorrow anymore when he lit his cigarette. He usually died within 48 hours. Frankl held on to a quote from Nietzsche: “He who has a why to live for can suffer nearly any how.”

A quiet act of defiance

Prisoner 119,104 started a silent revolt. He would rewrite it in his head if he could not save his text. As he trudged barefoot through the snow and endured beatings from the guards, Frankl fled inward. He imagined himself instructing students in Vienna’s academic lecture halls about the psychology of life in concentration camps. Frankl made himself think about a future that did not exist yet.

He thought of his wife, although he did not know if she was still alive. But he talked to her in his head, imagined her smile, and held on to their love. That love was an anchor that no guard could take away. Frankl started to assist other people in finding their anchors.

He crawled to the men on the ground and asked, “What awaits you?” One of them had a daughter who lived in another country. The other carried an unfinished book. Frankl told them that their lives were not yet over. That reminder sometimes gave them everything they needed to get through one more roll call.

The Allied forces liberated the camps in April 1945, and when Frankl left the prison, he weighed only 85 pounds, with his ribs straining against his skin. Frankl gained his freedom and then learned the terrible news: the Nazis had killed his wife, his mother and father had died, and he had lost his brother. Everyone he had stayed for—everyone who had given his pain a reason—had gone. He was all by himself. He could have given up at that point. Frankl, on the other hand, sat down and started to write.

Almost no one read the book he wrote

Frankl put the manuscript back together after nine days of intense work. He wrote down his pain, his sadness, and his thoughts, adding something that no theory could ever replace: living proof. He called it Man’s Search for Meaning.

Frankl did not want to be famous. He intended to publish it without giving his name, just his prisoner number: 119,104. Publishers first turned it down because they thought it was too dark. They said the world wants to forget about the conflict. But the book did find readers.

A sad widow found the strength to carry on. A businessman who went bankrupt found optimism after failing. A depressed student found a purpose to live. The book sold millions of copies and reached readers in several languages through translation. It spread to many countries and generations. The Library of Congress later said that it was one of the most important books in American history.

Frankl died in 1997. He earned a pilot’s license, climbed mountains, remarried, and raised a daughter in his final years. He lived a life full of significance that he had labored to define. But the novel was not his best work.

From the camps, he learned a lesson: you can steal everything from a person, including their health, their family, and even their freedom. But you can always choose how to feel in any situation.

The Nazis sought to turn Viktor Frankl into a number. He demonstrated that our choices, not our circumstances, define us.