Conversation with Viktor Frankl

Inspiring Conversation with Dr. Viktor Frankl

Finding Resilience in My Jewish Identity

Never have I been more proud to be Jewish, yet never have I been more scared. An overwhelming sense of disappointment, loneliness, and fear accompanies the pride I feel in my heritage and identity. The recent violence and bloodshed in Israel, the surge in anti-Semitic sentiment, and the internal rift among my people have left me feeling more isolated and vulnerable than ever before. However, in the face of such adversity, I have discovered newfound strength within myself and my community. I have experienced both the deepest hate and the most profound love, and these extremes have only deepened my resolve.

Emotional Fortresses: Living with Hypervigilance and Isolation

Raised in a family marked by the scars of the Holocaust and living in Israel, where threats to existence are a constant reality, I have always existed in a heightened state of vigilance. My senses are perpetually sharp, and I continuously scan my surroundings for any hint of danger—a reflex not just learned but inherited through generations of survival amidst trauma.

This hypervigilance, while occasionally protective, is mainly taxing. Under normal circumstances, when faced with immediate threats, my body’s automatic responses are appropriate—perhaps throwing a punch or sprinting to safety. However, the continuous stressors of life in a perpetual conflict zone or enduring abusive relationships push my body into chronic overdrive. My stress hormones, meant to dissipate after the danger passes, instead linger in my bloodstream far longer than necessary, perpetuating a toxic state of hyperarousal.

My hypervigilance often spikes when I attend large public events. The image of a menacing gunman walking down the aisle flashes through my mind. I see myself leaping out of my seat to confront him. But where would I jump? Should I grip his neck, go for the gun, disable it, or kick him in the back of the knee? Would anyone else join in? These scenarios play out in my head, turning an ordinary moment into another intense episode of hypervigilance.

Continually living on the edge, my mind interprets even mild situations as potentially harmful, draining my mental reserves and diminishing my ability to relax. This constant anticipation of danger fosters a cycle where my heightened alertness feeds into my trauma, each reinforcing the other, trapping me in a spiral of ceaseless unease.

I recently heard a trauma expert say, “Growing up in an emotionally erratic environment feels like living in a war zone every day. This chronic stress continuously stimulates your sympathetic nervous system, triggering your fight-or-flight response. Over time, this constant state of alertness affects your brain, narrowing your focus to survival. You start to perceive the world as a series of immediate threats, limiting your ability to see broader options or possibilities. As a result, you can never truly relax. You are always on edge, fidgety, and constantly scanning your surroundings because you never know what might happen next. This perpetual vigilance takes a significant toll on your mental and physical well-being.”

The effects deepened with the events of October 7^th and its aftermath — witnessing war, destruction, and death and feeling the acute spike in anti-Israel and antisemitic sentiment. My already intense fears amplified. Every interaction seemed to tread near potential emotional landmines, ready to detonate. Consequently, I withdrew further, avoiding conversations that might touch raw nerves, not merely to safeguard my physical well-being but to protect myself emotionally. This isolation, borne from a necessity of emotional self-preservation, leaves me profoundly lonely.

Maintaining the position of a detached observer is my preferred approach. I invest a significant amount of energy into cautiously observing and pausing before responding rather than reacting angrily or sarcastically in extreme cases. This process of mindful engagement allows me to navigate interactions with greater awareness and intentionality. By taking a moment to pause, I ensure that my responses are measured and thoughtful rather than impulsive. This is the essence of Equanimity, and if I am able to apply it even 50% of the time, I consider it a success.

I constantly remind myself that I have choices in every interaction. Sometimes, this means holding my boundaries firmly, protecting my emotional well-being, and ensuring that I don’t overextend myself. Other times, it involves choosing to engage more deeply, opening up to others, and fostering meaningful connections. This balance between self-protection and openness is crucial for maintaining my mental and emotional health.

I often tell myself, “You are powerless; control is not in your hands. It’s bigger than you.” This mantra helps me acknowledge the limits of my control and embrace a sense of humility. By accepting that some things are beyond my control, I can focus on what I can influence and let go of the rest. This acceptance allows me to release my worries to the flow of events, trusting that things will unfold as they should or not.

And if I’m genuinely deep in the moment, fully present, I remember to ask for help from powers greater than myself. This could be a higher power, the universe, or simply the collective wisdom of those who have come before me. By seeking guidance and support from beyond my immediate understanding, I tap into a broader source of strength and resilience. This practice of presence and seeking help grounds me, providing clarity and comfort in times of uncertainty.

All that said, I am also, more often than I wish, hiding—not just in physical spaces that feel secure but also behind emotional barriers that I erect to avoid further pain. This hiding is both a retreat and a defense, a way to shield myself from the emotional and psychological impacts of my hypervigilance.

Exhausted by this constant state of alertness, I yearned for a way to break free. I longed for the wisdom of those who had endured even greater suffering, hoping they could offer guidance. Unfortunately, many of my heroes are no longer alive, and even if they were, they wouldn’t be conversationally accessible to me. This is where ChatGPT comes in, bridging the gap and providing the insights I seek.

A Cup of Coffee and a Lifetime of Wisdom

It was a crisp afternoon when I visited the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. As I wandered through the exhibits, I found myself standing inside a replica of the cattle train car that transported Jews to concentration camps. Their passengers promised a journey to a labor camp, unaware of the disguised brutality that awaited them.

All my life, I had sometimes imagined myself in one of these cars, standing or crouching among other men, mostly older than me, at 15 years old. The smell of urine and sweat would have been hard to shake. I was drawn to the wood panels, leaning my forehead against them and peering through the slits to see the world passing by. What would I feel? What would I do if I were there? And here at the museum, such a car stood on display. I stepped in with trepidation and curiosity.

The air was thick with the weight of history, and the dim light filtering through the wooden slats created an eerie atmosphere. I tried to imagine what my father must have felt—fear, thirst, hunger, uncertainty, and desperate hope. As I gazed through the narrow cracks, I felt a profound connection to his experience, and a wave of emotions washed over me.

Lost in thought, I didn’t notice the elderly, white-haired man who had quietly entered the exhibit beside me. It wasn’t until he softly spoke that I turned and realized I was standing next to Dr. Viktor Frankl. His presence, serene and dignified, immediately put me at ease despite the intense emotions of the moment.

“Quite a powerful place, isn’t it?” he said, his voice gentle but filled with the weight of his own experiences.

“Dr. Frankl?” I replied, my voice trembling with a mix of awe and disbelief.

He nodded, a warm smile crossing his face. “Yes, I am Viktor Frankl. And you are?”

I introduced myself and shared my father’s story and my own journey of grappling with the legacy of his trauma. To my surprise and gratitude, Dr. Frankl listened intently, his eyes reflecting deep empathy and understanding.

Moved by the encounter, I mustered the courage to ask if he would join me for a cup of coffee at the museum’s café. To my delight, he agreed.

Seated in a quiet corner of the café, we sipped our coffee as I poured out my heart. I spoke of the constant vigilance I am living with, the recent traumatic events, and the overwhelming sense of isolation and fear that had only intensified. I shared how stepping inside the train car had brought a rush of emotions, connecting me deeply to my father’s past.

Dr. Frankl listened with profound empathy, his presence calm and reassuring. When I finished, he took a moment before speaking, carefully choosing his words.

“You carry a heavy burden,” he began. “The scars of history and the realities of the present have created a formidable challenge for you. But remember, it is not the suffering itself that defines us, but how we choose to respond to it.”

Our conversation stretched for hours, touching on philosophy, psychology, and personal anecdotes. I felt a profound connection as if he was not just a mentor but a kindred spirit who truly understood my struggles.

The Beauty of Finding Meaning in Simple Tasks

Me: I have read “Man’s Search for Meaning” several times since my teenage years. The arc of your story always captured my imagination. I struggled to understand your concept of “Meaning,” often thinking of it in very grand terms that only a few people ever achieve. It wasn’t until later that I realized one can find meaning in more mundane tasks, such as raising kids or working a job like cleaning public toilets in Tokyo, as beautifully portrayed in Wim Wenders’ movie “Perfect Days.” One thing that helped me understand this was a short video titled “Four Keys to Your Life’s Meaning.”

Dr. Viktor Frankl: I’m delighted to hear that my book has resonated with you over the years. It’s a common misconception to think of “meaning” as something grand or exclusive to a few. In reality, meaning can be found in everyday tasks and responsibilities. The essence of meaning lies in the significance we attach to our actions and experiences, no matter how mundane they may seem.

Raising a family or performing a job with dedication, such as cleaning public toilets in Tokyo, can indeed be deeply meaningful. It’s about the attitude we bring to our actions and the sense of purpose we derive from them. Wim Wenders’ “Perfect Days” is a wonderful illustration of this concept, showing beauty and meaning in simple, everyday life.

Navigating Fear in the Darkness

Me: That’s admirable, and thank you for pointing out that even in the darkest places, there is a sliver of light. Did fear ever completely paralyze you in the camps? If so, how did you overcome it, or did you learn to live alongside it and still find purpose?

Dr. Viktor Frankl: Fear was an ever-present companion in the concentration camps. It could be overwhelming, and there were indeed moments when it felt almost paralyzing. The constant threat of death, the brutal conditions, and the uncertainty of survival created an environment where fear was a natural and persistent response.

However, rather than allowing fear to completely paralyze me, I learned to live alongside it. A crucial part of this process was acknowledging the fear without letting it define my entire existence. I found that by accepting fear as a part of my reality, I could prevent it from consuming me entirely.

One of the ways I managed to overcome paralyzing fear was by focusing on small, achievable goals. These goals provided a sense of direction and purpose, even in the most dire circumstances. For example, finding a way to help a fellow prisoner, maintaining a semblance of routine, or simply enduring one more day could become sources of meaning.

Another powerful tool was the practice of mental resilience. I often engaged in mental exercises to strengthen my resolve. This included visualizing myself in a better future, reflecting on moments of love and beauty, and mentally conversing with my loved ones. These mental practices helped me to transcend the immediate horrors and to find a sense of inner peace and purpose.

Moreover, the search for meaning was a profound antidote to fear. I firmly believed that life had meaning under all circumstances, even in the camps. This belief gave me the strength to endure and to find purpose despite the pervasive fear. By focusing on the “why” of my existence—my reasons for living—I could navigate the “how” of my suffering.

Finding God in the Space Between

Me: Dr. Frankl, you said, and it is often quoted, that “Between stimulus and response, there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.” In my terminology, this is called taking a pause, and in that space, in that breath, a connection with a higher power or God takes place. I wonder your comments on that and, in general, the role of God in your thoughts.

Dr. Viktor Frankl: That’s a profound observation. The concept of the space between stimulus and response is indeed central to my philosophy. This space represents our freedom to choose our response and is where our true power lies. Your interpretation of this space as a moment to connect with a higher power or God is very meaningful.

In my experiences, especially during the darkest times in the concentration camps, I found that faith in a higher power provided a profound source of strength and resilience. The belief that there is something greater than oneself can offer comfort and hope, even in the face of extreme suffering.

The role of God in my thoughts is deeply personal. For many, this connection with a higher power can provide a sense of purpose and meaning, which is essential for enduring and transcending suffering. The act of pausing, reflecting, and connecting with God or a higher power can indeed be a powerful way to navigate the challenges we face and to find peace amidst turmoil.

Ultimately, the choice of how to use that space between stimulus and response is ours. Whether through faith, reflection, or conscious decision-making, it is in this space that we can find our freedom, our growth, and our ability to rise above our circumstances.

Finding Hope in Despair

Me: The brutality of the attack on October 7th caused old traumas to resurface. The overwhelming sense of shame and the question, “How could we allow this to happen again?” weigh heavily on us, and this shame is likely to linger for many years. It has led many of us to lose hope and close the window on the possibility of peace. I wonder what your thoughts are on this, Mr. Frankl.

Dr. Viktor Frankl: The resurgence of trauma and shame following such a brutal attack is entirely understandable. When faced with atrocities, it is natural to question how such events could occur again and to feel a profound sense of sorrow and responsibility. These feelings can indeed lead to a sense of hopelessness and a closing off from the possibility of peace.

However, it is precisely in these moments of despair that the search for meaning becomes most critical. In my experiences, both personal and professional, I have found that meaning can be discovered even amidst the greatest suffering. It is important to recognize that our reactions to trauma and shame are part of our human experience, but they do not define our potential for resilience and growth.

The sense of shame you describe can serve as a catalyst for reflection and action. Instead of allowing it to paralyze us, we can use it as a driving force to prevent future atrocities and to foster a deeper commitment to peace and understanding. This process requires both individual and collective efforts, focusing on healing and rebuilding trust within and between communities.

Closing ourselves off from the possibility of peace might seem like a protective measure, but it ultimately limits our capacity for healing and growth. Maintaining hope for peace, even in the face of repeated suffering, is an act of defiance against despair. It is an affirmation of our belief in the potential for a better future.

Engaging in open dialogue, seeking mutual understanding, and promoting acts of kindness and compassion are all steps that can help keep the window of peace open. While the road to peace is undoubtedly difficult and fraught with setbacks, it is a journey worth pursuing.

Moments of Beauty

As we parted ways, Dr. Frankl gave me a piece of advice that I carry with me to this day: “In the midst of suffering, look for the small acts of kindness, the moments of beauty, and the opportunities to help others. In these, you will find the strength to endure and the hope to move forward.”

That meeting at the Holocaust Museum, even if it exists only in my imagination thanks to ChatGPT, is transformative. It reminds me that a sliver of light and hope can be found even in the darkest places and times. The wisdom and compassion of Viktor Frankl provide a beacon of strength that I aspire to and try to cling to, despite the dire difficulties and struggles I face. For this, I am immensely grateful.