Letter to Dad - One Hidden Child 6/4/09

My dad was a hidden child during the holocaust in a convent in Brussels, Belgium. We recently received this e-mail for someone looking for him...


To Whom It May Concern



I was a Hidden Child in Brussels, Belgium from 1942 to 1944, hidden
along with 5 other Jewish children by a brave Belgian widow called
Madame Villain. We used to call her "MEME". I was then called Betty (
my real name was Rebeccca). I would like to honour Madame
Villain through her grandchildren since her two children died,
unfortunately. For that purpose I am now looking for my play companion
at that time. His name is ALBERT TYBERG or SPIELBERG. The last I heard
about him is that he went to "America".

Is there any way that I could post his name on all the organizations
that have links with former hidden children? Perhaps he has listed
himself in one of those organizations?



Please let me know as soon as you can, since nobody is getting any
younger, or inform me of other E-mails that I can contact to find him,
or allow him to contact me.

From Tracy - 1/26/09

There's plenty of people in the world who disappoint you. I must say that Mr. Tyberg is one of the rare people who has never disappointed me, and I doubt he's done so to any of his loved ones. Every time I entered his home he welcomed me with a smile, and usually a funny comment. He was never thoughtless, never had an unkind word to share. Maybe it seems like I am describing all the things Al Tyberg was not, but these uncommon traits are those which made him a great man. I for one will never forget his unique character, for it is one that stands out among a sea of ordinary men.

Entry 7 - From Calvin - My dad's oldest friend

Your grandfather was the Chazzan at a rather large synagogue in Montreal. Unfortunately two synagogues merged and the Chazzan of the other synagogue got the position. Your grandfather subsequently was the Chazzan at my bar mitzvah at another synagogue owned and run by the chief Rabbi of Montreal. Shortly afterwards, he was called to a New York synagogue. Your father had to complete his year at Sir George Williams University. My sister had recently married and moved away. So it was arranged that your father would stay with us. He became for a time the brother that I never had. I remember he had to write an essay on witchcraft for some course, which he discussed with me. He read some magazines put out by the Jews for Jesus movement and also by the world wide church of God. The latter took the Tanakh seriously and observed our holidays. I remember that as a consequence we had a major discussion about the verse in Isaiah, which Christians translate as a virgin will conceive. We stopped off at a book store run by the Anglicans (Episcopalians) and checked translations. We finally confirmed that the Hebrew word at the time actually meant "young woman" and not the modern term virgin. Jewish authorities feel that this term actually refers to a prophecy about the coming of King Hezakiah. I didn't see your father for some time afterwards, but kept in touch and my first wife and I were invited to attend the wedding of your father and his first wife. Your grandparents were very upset about this marriage and your grandmother had threatened not to come. Her eyes were red at the wedding. Subsequently your Father and Mother visited with me when I came to a conference in New York and then I think at some point visited with me in
Montreal. I called your father when my father died about 15 years ago and we kept in touch. I was very glad that my younger son, Ben and I had the opportunity to visit Feb 2007, that your parents stayed with us at the time of his high school reunion and that they and your brother came to my first wife's unveiling.

-Calvin  
November 30th, 2008

Entry 6 - Remembering Mr. T

Taken from Amy's blog.

Sarah’s dad was known as Al by most but Mr. T to me. I think most of you remember Mr. T, the 1980s icon who “pittied the fool.” Mr. T on TV was big and burly however, I thought the name would fit Sarah’s dad well, who was quite the opposite- tall and lanky.

Having know Sarah for nearly 18 years, over the years, I grew close to her family. Her parents had always taken time to get to know their daughter’s friends and better yet you could tell that they enjoyed having us over. Mr. T would always find a reason to go into Sarah’s room when she had friends over just to talk to us and crack a few jokes, that was Mr. T.

On the contrary, Mr. T had a very intellectual side. If you walked into the house and looked to the left, the books shelves were filled with all his books. I’m sure he read every last one. In writing this, I think I know where Sarah gets her passion for learning. I recall, riding my bike to Sarah’s house (in the days before having a driver’s license), I noticed an unfamiliar face in the Tyberg house. Mr. T had invited a Jehovah’s Witness who was visiting door to door to discuss theology. Who does that?! Only Mr. T.

I have always considered Sarah’s family to be my family. Not many people can say they have eaten lunch with their friend’s parents, went on vacation with their friend’s family, went to work with their friend’s father, and even knew their friend’s extended family and went to their grandfather’s 2nd wedding. To not fly home to pay my respects to a man would I would consider to be like a second father was out of the question. That's how much Mr. T and Rose mean to me.
Some say it's being a mensch, but that's just how I am. I've always considered family and friends to be the two most important things in my life. For me the Tybergs represent both.

I am thankful for the years I did get to know Mr. T, however saddened that he had to leave so soon. I know his pain and suffering is over now. The healing process is long but the Tybergs are a close family who I know will find comfort in each other and Judaism to get them through.

I have composed a few of my fondest memories of Mr. T

1. Mr T. building Sarah’s jungle gym which up until college we still used (even though a piece of wood fell on his head when he built it, he kept building)
2. The greeting I got when I walked through the door “Why Amy!!”
3. Lighting Chanukah candles with the Tybergs
4. The sound of Kiddush on Friday nights
5. Picking up the cats even though they didn't want to be bothered. He loved them so much and I guess found enjoyment in tormenting them!
6. Having lunch with Mr. T and Rose while waiting for Sarah to come home from college
7. His obsession with rubbing alcohol. I was klutzy and alcohol was the solution to any crape or bruise
8. The priceless pouty look on his face when he retired. He wanted to go back to work so badly
9. Spending the day with Sarah and Mr. T at his work…we got to wear goggles and he bought us hot chocolate from the vending machine
10. The many times we got lost driving to our yearly trip to Manasquan Beach…well actually all the times we got lost

Mr. T, you will be surely missed!!

-Amy
June 30th, 2008

Entry 5 - Symbolic, A Sign? I hope so.

While this journal is meant to hold very near and dear memories of my dad, it is an experience that I recently had that finally encouraged me to open up this journal that Martin started, and add to it.

Five years ago, when my best friend’s mother died, she told me of a beautiful story of her aunt, her mother’s sister, leaving New Jersey after the funeral and being greeted by a beautiful butterfly in the airport. She took this to be a symbol of her sister still being around and watching over them. I, too, thought it was beautiful and contemplated if it could be possible or if it was just a optimistic outlook on life and death. However, shortly after my father passed and the birds chirped loudly in “my dad’s tree,” my mother and I noticed, among all of the beautiful gold, New Jersey finches, was a beautiful blue jay, perhaps the king of the tree. A few months later during the month of October and the Jewish holiday, Sukkot, the Rebbitzen, the Rabbi’s wife, of the Chabad Center of Monroe, caught eye of a blue jay that had flown into the Sukkah with which my father always played a large part in building. The Rebbitzen explained that the bird was so close by that she could feed it. She believes that it was my dad stopping by to check out the Sukkah. J

On October, 25^th, 2008, exactly 4 months after my dad died, the Jewish service of unveiling the tombstone took place. It was a warm, sunny, fall day. Shortly after the service was about to end, I looked up and I noticed a baby blue jay perched on the berry tree near my dad’s grave. I did not think anyone would believe me especially since it was only minutes after the Rabbi had just finished sharing the story of the blue jay coming to visit the Sukkah. I quickly whispered what I saw to my best friend and my sister-in-law. We were all in awe.

As I was leaving for work on Wednesday morning, November 26, 2008, I noticed a blue jay around the corner from my house. I was surprised as I didn’t realize they stuck around for the winter. It put a smile on my face.

After work, the same day, I went straight to get my car inspected on route 130. While I waited for my car to finish, I reminisced about my dad taking me for my first time to get my car inspected. I remember him teasing me, as he enjoyed doing, by telling me that the inspectors were going to break my car. My dad mocked me about my car by saying “my poor baby.” After leaving the inspection station, I took a wrong turn and ended up at Floral Park Cemetary, where my dad is buried. I drove in, parked and found my father’s grave. As I approached his grave, I looked up and perched on a berry tree, directly behind his stone, was a plump, blue jay. It was almost as if it was waiting for me. I sat down at my dad’s grave and stared at this blue jay. I wondered why out of all of the berry trees along this row, why the blue jay happened to be sitting behind my dad’s grave. The blue jay was perched on this tree during the entire time that I sat in the cemetery.

I couldn’t wait to call my friends and family and tell them what had happened. Is it a coincidence? Some would absolutely say yes. Is it symbolic of my dad still being around in some way? Some people would also agree. I hope so...

Sarah

Entry 4 - Sarah's Eulogy

I’d like you all to close your eyes. Take a minute and think… when I say the word empathetic, who comes to mind?

For me, it is my dad.

Why, you may ask?

My father knew when a person was feeling sad or down. He was the person that my brothers and I went to for comfort and security in addition to my mom, of course. He was the person most people found easy to talk to because he really listened and felt for people.

A few summers ago, my dad started giving lemonade to the mailman. My dad felt for the mailman who had to walk around all day in the scorching heat. Whenever it approached 1:00, my dad would keep an ear open for the mail box to bang so that he could rush out with a cold glass of lemonade or ginger ale. .

When I found my third cat, 13 years ago, and my mom refused to let him stay in the house even in the cold, harsh winters, my dad built a cat house for Frisky. This was no ordinary cat house. It had a carpet, insulation and two light bulbs on the top to supply heat. It reached 70 degrees in that house. Again, my dad felt for my cat and wanted to make him comfortable if he couldn’t stay in our house.

That's who my dad was... he felt everyone's pain, sadness and discomfort, no matter who you were and wanted to make it all go away.

My dad taught me to be empathetic and to always put myself in other people’s shoes.

My dad loved to garden. When you pass a garden or plant vegetables, think of my dad.

If you ever travel through New Brunswick, NJ, where my dad worked for 15 ½ years as an Analytical Chemist and loved every single minute of it, think of my dad.

If you ever pass or eat at a Nathan’s Famous, where my dad worked many, many years ago and never stopped talking about their French fries, think of my dad.

When you see a mailman on a hot, summer day, think of my dad. Maybe even give him or her a lemonade.

You were all very, very special to my dad and I thank you for that.

Sarah Tyberg Levine

June 25th, 2008

Entry 3 - My Dad's Struggle: Martin's Eulogy

My dad was a humble servant of Hashem. He worked tirelessly for the Chabad in Monroe to help build its foundations. I am thankful and relieved Hashem finally took him and ended his suffering.

The last year had been especially difficult during the chagim. Last Yom Kippur was the first time I witnessed my once very physically strong father sit down during the nillah service because of fatigue from the cancer. I was depressed to see this. I will miss sitting with him on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur in shul. This past Succot, he still had enough strength to build a sukkah in his backyard for friends and family to enjoy, as he had always done as far back as I can remember. I will miss building the sukkah with him. Now I will build my own just as he had taught me to fulfill the mitzvah. After he began chemotherapy in Nov, he immediately became very sick. As a result, he spent Chanukah this year in a hospital bed. I will miss lighting the candles with him and reciting the brachot. He spent this past Purim in bed. After going to listen to the reading of the megillah, I returned home to recite it for my dad in his bedroom while he lay in bed. I will miss sitting with him in shul to listen to the reading as he followed in his own little megillah scroll. On Pesach, he was in the hospital for the stem cell transplant. Randy, Sarah, and I went to the hospital to conduct a small seder with my mom and dad. My dad was too weak to lead so I lead the seder that night and sang the songs to try to bring a feeling of yontif to him. I will miss being in my parents’ home on Pesach when my dad led the seder with enthusiasm and delight. This past Shavuot, my dad lay confined to a bed, deeply depressed after coming home from the hospital knowing the transplant had failed and the cancer was rapidly attacking his body. After returning home from shul that day, I leyened the Asseret Hadibrot for him. He listened but he had trouble focusing. I will miss Shabbat dinner with him and my mom erev Shabbat and more recently with Sarah, Randy, Mark, and Micah and I will miss sitting with him Shabbat afternoon to discuss the Dvar Torah, some posuk that interested him in the Parshat, current events, or some issue that I was dealing with.

My dad taught me many things and he did so by example. He taught me the importance of tzedakah. He taught me the importance of avoiding lashon hara, to always be mindful of what you say to avoid hurting others. We discussed this often. He taught me to be kind and thoughtful of others, to be respectful of everyone. He taught me to make one’s life meaningful by helping others without any expectation for anything in return. He was always helping others in both his professional and personal life. For my Bar Mitzvah, he taught me the niginot, the cantillation of the Torah reading. My grandfather, his father, was a chazan who taught him and my dad was very proud to teach me and to listen to me in shul, and I hopefully, Gd willing, will one day be able to teach my children. My dad taught me to garden and to love the soil and to appreciate what Hashem has created for us. My dad taught me an appreciation for math and science. He always sat with me to teach me something. When I was in 4^th grade, he sat me down and began teaching me Algebra. My dad was a problem solver, he always like to work on problems. I took a liking to this as well and he would talk to me with pride about how his brother, Uncle Bill, had become an electrical engineer. He always joked that when Uncle Bill came over, he would give me a Calculus problem to solve. My dad inspired me to go into engineering. My dad taught me to love books. Every year, I enjoyed going to the local book fair together and perusing through all the books. My dad taught me many things.

There are numerous things for which I will miss him. We will all deeply miss him.

Martin Tyberg

June 25th, 2008