Hidden Heroes

I knew Simon Dyk as my maternal great-grandfather, or Opa. In my memory, he was an old man with a curved back who would often sit quietly working on something intricate or playing the organ before my cousins and I were shushed to go outside and play. I remember his wife—my Gremmy, Oma Ida Dyk—as a sparky, spunky great-grandmother with a great big twinkle in her eye and a deep smile.

I also knew Simon and Ida to be heroes of the Dutch resistance during World War II. Opa Dyk was involved as a master forger whose work saved countless lives. There were stories of trains and night raids, including one particularly bold and amazing tale.

Late one night, Opa was creating counterfeit paperwork at home. Suddenly, there was pounding at the door. Gremmy and Opa realized it would soon open and the Germans would be in the room. 

Opa quickly lifted Gremmy onto the table, using her skirt to cover the evidence of his work. The Germans burst into the room to find Opa passionately kissing Gremmy. The two quickly separated, pushing her skirt down hurriedly.

Opa explained with false modesty that he had not heard the pounding at the door, having been so wrapped up with his wife. Embarrassed, the soldiers did not think to ask Gremmy to move off the table. They briskly searched the house, found nothing, and eventually left.

This and other stories filled my childhood imagination and left me wondering: How could my quiet, organ-playing, clock-fixing, stooped Opa be the dashing hero of these tales? I concluded something dramatic happens to people during times of war and great stress. People like my Opa magically became someone heroic.

I’m now convinced that my Opa didn’t become some suave and debonair underground operator through a magical transformation triggered by the surrounding stress and war. It was the result of him making choices that were then affected and amplified by events beyond his control, choices made based on his beliefs and an understanding about life held long before the war started. 

My Opa’s choices and the Graf’s kindness led him to do greater and more amazing things than he would have ever thought possible at the onset of his story. No doubt, in the middle of the chaos of war, he asked the question many of us are asking now: How did I get here?

During the pandemic, Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram have provided insight into the thoughts and actions of others. Social media serves as a front-row seat to observe the evolution and de-evolution of the people around us, with full audience participation.

When looking at the current viral social media phenomena—the nightly pot salutes at the beginning of the pandemic, the fundraising drives and charity initiatives, and creative projects like Zoom choirs, for example—it is clear that the initiators didn’t decide to do something heroic. They decided to do something because they acted on their core beliefs and an understanding about what makes work and life good.

Their actions were influenced by the choices they made and by the people and events surrounding them, as well as the influence of social media. Similarly, many CLAC members I know have shared stories that have resulted from choices they’ve made throughout the pandemic. 

Some, though financially worried themselves, have fundraised for colleagues who are undergoing cancer treatment. Another helped a coworker return to their country of origin to care for family negatively affected by COVID. Another prepared and delivered food to a colleague in quarantine who doesn’t have family nearby, despite the risk of exposure. The list goes on.

This year has been hard. There will be stories and truths from this time that will be exposed for many years to come. Many will horrify us and leave us with immense grief, but it will be important to share and carry them together. Likewise, there will emerge astonishing stories of heroism, both deliberate and accidental, that haven’t yet gripped our social media streams.

We are not yet near the end of this pandemic. There will be more to be told, experienced, and shared. 

Going forward, how does what you currently understand and believe affect your choices? Does the possibility that your actions may be seen as heroic affect your decisions? 

Like many of us today, my Opa faced events that he never could have imagined, and he became an inadvertent hero by acting on his beliefs and not a desire for glory. Craving heroism and achieving it are two different things—and in the end, it’s out of our hands whether history sees us in that light.

Photo: The Dyk family, with Simon and Ida seen in the back row