Personal Historical Stories

Captured by Nazis

My grandpa lived in a small village in Poland during World War II. He used to tell us stories about his life before the war, how peaceful it was—just farming, taking care of his family, and going to church on Sundays. But everything changed when the Nazis came. He was only 19 at the time, barely an adult. One day, while he was out in the fields helping his father with the harvest, trucks rolled into the village. Soldiers marched in, shouting orders and rounding people up. Grandpa said they didn’t even have time to understand what was happening. One minute he was cutting wheat, and the next, he was being shoved into the back of a truck with a rifle pointed at his back. The ride was rough and silent. No one dared to speak. Grandpa always said that was the longest ride of his life. They were taken to a camp—not one of the big concentration camps like Auschwitz, but a smaller labor camp. The Nazis forced them to work day and night, building roads and digging trenches. He said the worst part wasn’t the hunger or the cold, but the fear. Every single day, he wondered if it would be his last. He told us about a man he met there, a Frenchman named Jacques. They couldn’t speak much of each other’s language, but they became friends anyway, sharing bits of bread or stealing moments to encourage each other. Jacques had a little harmonica, and sometimes, late at night, he’d play it softly, just a few notes. Grandpa said it was the only thing that reminded him life still had beauty. After months in the camp, Grandpa decided he couldn’t stay there any longer. He and Jacques planned an escape, even though the risk was enormous. If they were caught, it would mean certain death. One cold October night, during a guard shift change, they made their move. Grandpa said his heart was pounding so loud he was sure the guards would hear it. But somehow, they slipped through the fences and ran into the forest. They walked for days, eating roots and berries, barely sleeping. Eventually, they found a partisan group hiding in the woods. These were resistance fighters who helped them hide and get to safety. Jacques stayed with the partisans, but Grandpa managed to make it back home, though the village wasn’t the same anymore. Many people were gone, and the scars of war were everywhere. Even years later, Grandpa never forgot Jacques or the sound of that little harmonica. He said it reminded him that even in the darkest times, there’s still hope. And that’s something I’ve carried with me ever since he told me his story.

My grandmother served as a nurse during the London Blitz, helping countless injured civilians and soldiers.

During World War II, my grandmother Elizabeth worked tirelessly at St. Thomas' Hospital in London. She would often tell us stories about treating patients during air raids, with the sound of bombs falling in the distance. Despite the danger, she remained dedicated to her patients, working long shifts and sometimes sleeping in the hospital basement during particularly heavy bombing nights. Her experiences shaped not only her life but our entire family's appreciation for peace and service to others.

My great-grandfather arrived at Ellis Island with nothing but a suitcase and dreams of a better life.

In 1923, my great-grandfather Giovanni left his small village in Sicily with just $20 in his pocket. He endured a three-week journey across the Atlantic in steerage class, finally arriving at Ellis Island on a cold October morning. He worked various jobs, from shoeshine boy to construction worker, eventually saving enough to open his own restaurant in Brooklyn. His story of perseverance and determination continues to inspire our family today.