Four Perfect Pebbles

The day of liberation for the Blumenthals was on April 23rd, 1945. This moment is a powerful example of situational irony—a literary device in which the outcome is the opposite of what was expected. The Nazis had long held absolute power, yet in the end, they were the ones being rounded up by Soviet troops, while their former prisoners were set free. This was a day of extraordinary significance, because it meant the end of the Holocaust and the beginning of something better and new. 

The days leading up to liberation were some of the most horrific that the Blumenthals ever knew, because they were trapped in a train with many people who were dying. People had to let go of their loved ones along the way, and the Blumenthals were among the few who did not. The repetition of death on the train reinforces the memoir’s theme of Surviving in a World of Prejudice, as it demonstrates that persecution continued even when the Nazis had already lost the war. The Holocaust was not just about systematic murder—it was also about systemic dehumanization that did not stop even when defeat was inevitable.

Life in Tröbitz was bittersweet, because while the Blumenthals were free now, they had no place to call home, and they were losing Walter to Typhus. Walter carried a German-English dictionary with him until his death, a true symbol of Hope and Resilience in the Face of Adversity. Despite every disappointment, setback, and moment of extreme anguish, Walter held onto the dream of emigrating to the United States. His dictionary represents his unwavering hope for a future in America, yet it also serves as a reminder that not all survivors lived to see the lives they dreamed of. This devastating reality emphasizes that survival was not always defined by endurance—sometimes, it was determined by sheer chance, access to medical care, or an immune system weakened beyond recovery. This moment also recalls Walter’s first encounter with Nazi brutality, when he was taken to Buchenwald: He endured suffering quietly and courageously, dying in the same way that he had lived. Though tragic, his death reinforces the family’s resilience—while he does not survive, his strength and hope live on through Ruth, Marion, and Albert as they continue forward.

Walter’s family held onto his dream of emigrating to America, and it drove them like the hope that had carried them through the Holocaust. His death was an indescribable loss for the family: After being through the camps and the years of constant fear, Walter’s life was ended by a lice-borne disease, which seems so small compared to the all-encompassing hatred of the Nazis. This tragic outcome highlights the cruel irony of survival—many who endured the worst of the Holocaust were still unable to escape death when freedom was finally within reach. This was the case for many people who survived to see the end of the Holocaust. During this period, thousands of displaced Jews had to find ways to create a life from the nothing with which they were left.

The inclusion of photographs from different periods—before, during, and after the Holocaust—allows the text to blur timelines, reinforcing the idea that survival is not a singular moment but an ongoing process. While the written text of each section follows a linear narrative, the photographs often depict later moments of reflection and return, positioning memory as fluid rather than fixed. This interplay between past and present mirrors the way trauma and survival are experienced—not as neatly contained events but as ever-present realities that shape identity and understanding across time.

Photographs from this section showcase the horrors of the camps, but they primarily focus on the years following liberation. Marion and her brother are often pictured smiling, and they flourished in their new lives in Illinois. These images reflect the duality of survival—it was both a victory and an ongoing process of healing. They also each revisited the sites of their childhood in their own time and for their own reasons, and these photos demonstrate the lasting impact of the Holocaust both on those who experienced it and on history itself. This act of returning—to Bergen-Belsen, to Hoya—demonstrates how memory and history are intertwined. By revisiting the past, Marion and Albert actively work against forgetting, ensuring that their story and the stories of those lost are not erased. One photo shows the memorial blocks which symbolize “the 102,000 prisoners who were deported from the transit camp during the Holocaust years” (90). The photograph demonstrates the sheer volume of people affected by this horrific event. This stark visual reminds readers that while Marion and Albert survived, so many others did not. Their survival is not just their own—it is a continuation of those who were lost, a responsibility to bear witness and tell their stories.