Finding Roots in Poland
Sometimes the most meaningful discoveries come when you least expect them. On a trip to Poland in 2009, I uncovered the true story of my grandfather, Ignatius Matusiak, who left his village in 1909 at age eighteen to start a new life in America. This journey deepened my faith, stirred my heart, and reconnected me with my roots in ways I could never have anticipated.
I had traveled much of the world, but I had never explored my roots. The task seemed so overwhelming that I never gave it much thought. But in May 2009, when Sue and I decided to take a two-week tour of Eastern Europe, I felt excited—especially since our focus would be Poland, the homeland of my maternal grandfather, Ignatius Matusiak.
The appeal of Poland was fourfold: we had never been there; it was part of my ancestral background; I had always wanted to visit Auschwitz; and some dear friends had highly recommended the trip.
Until then, the only things I knew about my grandfather came from my mother: his name, that he came to America on “the boat,” and that he lied about his age—saying he was eighteen when he was really fifteen—to avoid being denied passage. Those scanty facts hardly seemed like enough to begin a genealogical search.
A Shattering Visit to Auschwitz
Our first stop was Krakow. From there, we toured Auschwitz-Birkenau. The experience was far more intense than I could have imagined.
For the first time in my life, I sobbed uncontrollably. Perhaps it was my Christian faith, or my German heritage on my father’s side. Perhaps it was the horrifying exhibit of human hair, piled four to five feet deep in a room sixty feet long and fifteen feet deep. We were told that this much hair was clipped from bodies every single day.
Or perhaps it was everything—the gas chambers, the crematoria, the knowledge that 10,000 human beings were exterminated daily. If ever anything could test my faith, it is wondering how and why God did not intervene more quickly. My faith has not faltered, but I know I’ll have questions for Him someday.
A Chance Discovery
On our last afternoon in Krakow, we decided to look up my mother’s maiden name in the phone book. After a lengthy search, we found one Matusiak listed at a craft and jewelry shop just steps from our hotel. Surely God was putting us in touch with relatives! But when we visited, the owners were out of town. We left notes for them but never heard back.
Unwilling to give up, I emailed my assistant in Connecticut. She quickly found my grandfather’s death record, showing a birthdate of July 25, 1894. Then, searching Ellis Island records, she discovered that an “Ignatius Matusiak” had arrived in 1909 at age eighteen—his death record showed he later told people he was only 15 in 1909 but he had accurately declared he was 18 on his journey to the U.S. His last place of residence in Europe was listed as Bulowice, only thirty miles away.
We extended our stay one night and prepared for a journey we knew would be remarkable.
In Bulowice
Our driver took us to Bulowice, a quaint town nestled in the rolling hills of western Poland—less than five miles from Auschwitz. I shuddered to think of what my grandfather might have faced had he stayed.
The driver led us first to the Catholic church. The priest was reluctant to help until, at my request, he initially checked records for 1894 and found nothing, but I then asked him to check 1891. Suddenly, his expression changed. There was Grandpa—born July 25, 1891, in that very village! The record listed his parents, grandparents, godparents, and even the midwife who delivered him.
We photographed the entry and toured the church where he was baptized. I felt a deep sense of God’s providence—standing where Ignatius had been baptized 118 years earlier.
A Providential Journey
Next, our driver took us to the cemetery, where we found over twenty Matusiak gravestones. Then he insisted we meet the mayor of Bulowice, who welcomed us into his home. After refreshments, the mayor personally drove us to the site where my grandfather had been born. The original house had burned down, but the neighboring woman—well into her nineties—remembered the Matusiak family and told us of relatives who emigrated to America.
Finally, we visited the home of the oldest living Matusiak in town. Though she had not known Ignatius personally, she recognized the family name and believed she was related. She and her family hosted us warmly, sharing more stories and family connections.
As we left, the mayor gave Sue a lapel pin with the name of his town and kissed her hand. What an extraordinary twenty-four hours!
Lessons from the Past
One stunning revelation emerged: Ignatius had not lied about his age to board the ship. He truly was eighteen. Instead, he lied later, subtracting three years from his age for reasons we can only guess. Perhaps it was love—when he met my fifteen-year-old grandmother, he may have declared himself younger so their age gap wouldn’t stand in the way.
But the most powerful impression I carried away was this: in 1909, three years before the Titanic sank, an eighteen-year-old boy left everything he knew behind to pursue liberty and opportunity in America. Millions like him made that same sacrifice, and I thank God my grandfather was among them.
He never returned to Poland, though he wrote letters and sent money to family members he left behind. My enriched recollection of him is that of a happy man, proud of the family he raised in his America.