Art Zygielbaum, Brother

I’m Art Zygielbaum, Paul’s older brother.  When Paul came into this world, I, as a three year old, had already established my kingdom.  I was an only child with two loyal subjects, my parents, doing my every bidding.  Paul destroyed that.  He became the center of attention.  If there was a fight, a disagreement, or a tantrum, it was my fault.  I was the older one.  I should have known better.  But he was kinda cute and usually fun to be around.

We established a bond because we had common adversaries - our mother and father.  We plotted together.  We knew exactly where to throw a pillow so that the six foot long window shade in our room would whip up to the top with a satisfying bang-bang-bang-bang followed by our Dad coming in bellowing “Who did that? Go to sleep.”  Our mother was a bit more sympathetic.  But then there was the day she spent washing the dining room lace curtains and drying them on a rack in the back yard.  Late in the day, she put them back up.  Her good work lasted until lunch the next day.  Paul and I goaded each other into a championship tomato soup fight.  Needless to say, Mom was not amused.  We pleaded that she not tell Dad.  She didn’t.

Despite sibling rivalry, we became closer friends as we got older.  Paul was a wonderful brother, supportive, ready to advise, and equipped with a quick wit and huge store of knowledge.  We discussed science, engineering, politics, and family.  He would erupt in laughter as he told stories and reflected on our kids.

We would talk about science fiction films and their scientific validity.  Star Trek was undoubtedly the main target.  Politics was an especially rich subject.   We shared a liberal point of view.  That reflected our mutual concern about people, freedom, and the rights of everyone. 

I most appreciated the love he had for the entire family.  Paul was always there if one of us needed help or to be consoled.  He could be very opinionated.  And he usually was right. 

When my wife, Chris, and I moved to Nebraska, Paul and Michelle became the caregivers for our Mother.  It was an arduous and occasionally painful task.  I can never repay their dedication and kindness. 

When our daughter was killed in a traffic accident last November, Paul called me with the news.  He was crying.  His tears were as vital as mine.  He shared our loss as deeply as we did.

There is much written about Paul and his battle with mesothelioma.  His ideas on management and dealing with people are published and profound.  Paul was connected and consulted with major Democratic politicians at all levels of government. 

I am proud to be related to a man who was able to influence so many people.  I am proud to be related to a man who gave so much of his energy and wealth to make the lives of others better.  I am in awe of my brother and his dedication to maintain the essential freedoms and protections that make this country great and which are now under such heinous attack. 

Paul lived a rich and valuable life.  He made our lives more precious. 

We came from parents who were Holocaust survivors.  Only 10% of Jews in Poland survived.  So Paul and I are lucky to have been given life.  We carry an obligation to carryforward our parent’s legacy.  Paul has done that by being the amazing person that he was, through his children and with the love of others that was his essence.

I know I could go on and on.   Paul wouldn’t have liked that.  So what now?  I’m going to close with a poem.  It was our Mother’s favorite.  It reflects, I think, what Paul would want to say.

It was written by Merrit Malloy and entitled “Meditation before Kaddish”.

When I die
Give what’s left of me away
To children
And old men that wait to die.
And if you need to cry,
Cry for your brother
Walking the street beside you.
And when you need me,
Put your arms
Around anyone
And give them
What you need to give me.

I want to leave you something,
Something better than words
Or sounds.

Look for me
In the people I’ve known
Or loved,
And if you cannot give me away,
At least let me live on your eyes
And not on your mind.

You can love me most
By letting Hands touch hands,
By letting
Bodies touch bodies,
And by letting go
Of Children
That need to be free.

Love doesn’t die.
People do.
So, when all that’s left of me
Is love,
Give me away.

My brother, I cannot say goodbye because you will never leave me.  The love you shared is now ours to share.  The pain in our hearts will subside, I know.  The legacy you leave cannot.  Your memory is for a blessing.