A Legacy of Resilience: My Family’s Holocaust Story

My family’s history is deeply shaped by the events of the Holocaust—a chapter filled with unimaginable hardship, resilience, and survival. It’s a story of strength and hope, of endurance and renewal, that begins in Poland during the darkest days of World War II and continues with a fresh start in America.

Recently, I sat down with my grandpa, Stan (but we call him Grumpy), in his cozy home, watching him sip his classic Miller High Life as he shared these memories with me. Hearing him recount the experiences of his parents, my great-grandparents, brought their struggles and triumphs to life in a way I’ll never forget.

My great-grandmother, Genovefa, who grew up near Krakow, Poland, was taken from her home as a teenager and forced to work in a Nazi munitions factory. She endured what I can only imagine to be brutal conditions: hunger, a complete lack of privacy, and relentless humiliation. One horrifying memory she shared with my grandpa, and he then shared with me, was of a meal where a woman pulled a mouse out of her soup—a haunting symbol of the dehumanizing life they were forced to endure.

My great-grandfather, Tadeusz, had an equally grim experience. Growing up near Warsaw, Poland he was forced to labor on Nazi projects, possibly even forced to help build concentration camps according to my grandpa. Eventually, he was imprisoned at both Dachau and Auschwitz, wearing the infamous striped uniform. Unlike Jewish prisoners, he wasn’t tattooed, but his suffering was immense. He witnessed unimaginable cruelty daily and barely survived. When the camps were liberated in 1945, prisoners were released in small groups, only to be gunned down by Nazi guards as they fled. My great-grandfather was the sole survivor from his group—a miracle amidst unimaginable loss.

After the war, my great-grandparents met in a refugee camp in Germany, where they began piecing their lives back together. It was there they had my grandpa, Stan, and started a new chapter. Thanks to the sponsorship of a family in Westhope, North Dakota, and my great-grandfather’s skill as a tinsmith, they were able to immigrate to the United States.

In December 1949, they arrived at Ellis Island. My grandpa, just three years old at the time, recalls gazing out over the ocean and spotting a distant ship—a memory forever etched in his mind. That journey marked the beginning of a new life in America, and the foundation of our family’s life as we know today…far from the devastation of war but forever shaped by it.

This story isn’t just one of survival; it’s a testament to the strength and resilience that runs through my family. My great-grandparents endured unimaginable horrors, but they refused to let those experiences define their future.

Hearing my grandpa tell these stories reminded me of the importance of honoring where we come from and recognizing the sacrifices made by those who came before us. It’s a legacy of perseverance and strength that I hope to carry forward and pass down to future generations of the Cegielski bloodline.

My Grandpa, Stan Cegielski as a child.

My great-grandpa (Tadeusz Cegielski) pictured on the left.