In the concentration camps, we discovered this whole universe where everyone had his place. The killer came to kill, and the victims came to die.

I remember, May 1944: I was 15-and-a-half, and I was thrown into a haunted universe where the story of the human adventure seemed to swing irrevocably between horror and malediction.

It used to be said that when the Baal Shem Tov came into a town, his impact was so strong, he didn't have to speak. His disciples had to dance or to sing or to preach to have the same effect. I think a real messenger, myself or anyone, by the very fact that he is there as a person, as a symbol, could have the same impact.

Wherever men and women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must - at that moment - become the center of the universe.

He main retain his human dignity even in a concentration camp. Dostoevsky said once, 'There is only one thing that I dread: not to be worthy of my sufferings'.

When a person doesn't have gratitude, something is missing in his or her humanity.