Marcel Sternberger worked in New York City. To get to work he took the Long Island Railroad. He did this every day.
One day a friend of his became critically ill so he went to the hospital to visit him. That took his whole morning so he had to take the noon train back to work—a train he had never been on before in his entire life. He didn’t like the crowds. He got into the car. It was shoulder-to-shoulder and no empty seats. When suddenly, one guy realizing he just about missed his stop, jumped and bolted out the door. Voila! Right there and there was a seat for Marcel Sternberger. He sat down.
The guy next to him was reading a paper. It happened to be a Hungarian newspaper. Marcel Sternberger had been to Hungary numerous times. He knew Hungarian. He began to kind of read over this guy’s shoulder and then he said, “Sir, I see you’re looking on the want ads. Are you looking for a job?”
The guy said, “No. I am looking for my wife.”
“I don’t understand,” said Sternberger.
The man began an incredible story. He said, “In the Second World War, I was taken by the Nazis to help bury the German dead in the Ukraine. They took me away from my wife. After I was finished, I went home and my wife was taken, I thought, perhaps to a concentration camp to Auschwitz. I never saw my wife again.
“I live with this hope that she was rescued. You see, we lived in Debrecen in Hungary. We were happy. In Auschwitz almost 2 million people were killed. Still I cling to this hope that somehow, she may have been rescued by the Allied soldiers… Maybe somehow she found her way to the United States… Maybe even here in New York. I’m looking for her today in the want ads.”
As Marcel Sternberger listened to the story, something sounded familiar and he couldn’t quite put a finger on it and after a few minutes he said, “Oh, I wonder…”
Marcel took out from his wallet a crumbled piece of paper and opened it up. There was a name on it: Maria.
Marcel said to the man, “Sir, where did you say you were from?”
“Debrecen in Hungary.”
Marcel taught the city was familiar. He had met a certain Maria at a party about six months before. She said she was from Hungary, from the city of Debrecen. She said her husband had been taken by the Nazis in the Second World War. And that she didn’t know what happened to him.
And he thought in his mind, “I just wonder… Her name was Maria Paskin…” And there on the piece of paper was her phone number.
“What’s your name?” Marcel asked.
“Bela Paskin.”
“Sir, would you get off with me at the next stop?”
The stranger named Bela Paskin did. They got off at the next stop. Marcel walked over to a telephone booth and dialed the number. He kept Bela away from him. He said, “Hello.”
A woman answered the phone. She said hello.
“Ma’am, who is this?”
“My name is Maria,” she said.
“Maria, do you remember me? My name is Marcel Sternberger. I met you at a party about six months ago. You told me about your experiences in Europe and missing your husband. Can you tell me if you remember me?”
“Oh, certainly I remember you, sir. How are you doing?”
“Maria, what street did you live on in Hungary?” He had asked Bela before and she gave the street address and it matched.
“Maria, what’s the name of your husband?”
“Bela, sir. Bela Paskin.”
Marcel called Bela over and said, “My friend, you are about to witness the most incredible miracle in your entire life. Marcel handed Bela the phone. Bela put the phone to his ear and tears began to stream down his face and all he could say was, “Maria… Maria… Maria…”
Coincidence? Universal Mind? Or a God who writes our own life stories—who calls Himself the Author of Life? You decide.
