On the train, the prisoners are crowded together, some dying, some still alive. Eliezer cannot distinguish between the survivors and those who are dead; there is no difference in their appearance. Eliezer himself is emotionally indifferent: what difference does it make if he dies today, tomorrow, or the next day? He calls to his father, who is huddled motionlessly nearby, but he does not move. The train stops in the middle of a field, and the SS orders all the corpses to be thrown out of the cars. The survivors in the wagon, knowing this means more room for them, rejoice. Volunteers strip clothing from the bodies and toss the corpses out onto the frozen field. Two men approach Eliezer’s father, believing him to be dead. Eliezer slaps his father as hard as he can, and his eyes move slightly. The men move away. After twenty bodies are thrown from the wagon, the train resumes its slow journey through the snow.

One day, as the train passes through a German town, a workman tosses a piece of bread into Eliezer’s car. A stampede ensues as dozens of starving men fight for a few crumbs while the German workmen watch, amused. Eliezer notes the savageness of the scene: