Latest / The Story of Poland: A Nation That Refused to Disappear — Fexingo History / Janusz Korczak and the Children of the Warsaw Ghetto
Transcript
- Lucas: You know, we've covered so many dramatic moments in Polish history — battles, uprisings, constitutions. But today I want to talk about someone who doesn't fit any of those categories. A man who never led an army or signed a treaty, but who, in his own way, embodied something deeply Polish and deeply human. Luna: Who are we talking about? Lucas: Janusz Korczak. Born Henryk Goldszmit in 1878 or 1879 — even his birth year is a little fuzzy. He was a pediatrician, a children's author, and above all, an educator. But his real fame comes from what he did in the Warsaw Ghetto during the Holocaust. He ran an orphanage for Jewish children, and when the Nazis came to deport them to Treblinka in August 1942, he refused every offer to save himself and walked with them onto the train. Luna: I've heard that story. It's one of those moments that just... stops you. Lucas: Absolutely. But here's the thing — Korczak's life was extraordinary long before that final march. He was a pioneer of children's rights, decades ahead of his time. He believed children should be treated with dignity, that they should have a voice in their own education and even in the running of their institutions. In his Warsaw orphanage, Dom Sierot, he established a children's court where kids could judge each other — and themselves — for infractions. He published a newspaper written entirely by children. All of this in the early 1900s. Luna: A children's court? How did that work? Lucas: It was remarkably simple. Any child could bring a complaint against another child or even against an adult. The court would hear the case, and the 'judges' were children. Korczak himself was subject to it — he once wrote about being 'sentenced' by a child for being too strict. The goal wasn't punishment, it was teaching responsibility and fairness. He called it a 'moral gymnasium'. Luna: That is so far ahead of its time. I had no idea. Lucas: Korczak was also a celebrated author. His book 'King Matt the First' is a children's classic — it's about a young king who tries to reform his kingdom with the help of children. It's essentially a parable about his educational philosophy. The book is still in print in Poland and has been translated into many languages. But despite his fame, he turned down multiple opportunities to emigrate. He had offers to go to Palestine, to Switzerland, but he felt his place was with the children of Warsaw. Luna: And then the war came. Lucas: Yes. When the Nazis invaded Poland in 1939, Korczak was 61. He could have left — friends urged him to flee to the Soviet zone or abroad. But he refused. He even refused to wear the Star of David armband at first, not out of defiance but because he considered it humiliating. He was arrested for that, briefly, but released. When the Warsaw Ghetto was sealed in November 1940, his orphanage was forced to move inside. He and his staff — including the remarkable Stefania Wilczyńska, his longtime collaborator — kept the orphanage running despite starvation, disease, and constant fear. Luna: How did they manage? Lucas: With incredible resourcefulness. Korczak used his fame to get food and medicine. He organized secret lessons, concerts, even a theater. He kept diaries, which survived and were later published. They show a man who was utterly devoted to maintaining a sense of normalcy and dignity for the children, even as the ghetto was being systematically destroyed. In his last diary entry, dated August 4, 1942, he wrote: 'I am watering the flowers. My bald head in the window. A brick is aiming at it. That doesn't matter.' Luna: That is heartbreaking. Lucas: Then came the Great Action, the mass deportations from the ghetto to Treblinka that began on July 22, 1942. By early August, about 250,000 Jews had been sent to their deaths. On August 5, the Nazis came for Korczak's orphanage. There are several accounts of what happened next. A German officer recognized Korczak and offered to let him stay behind — he was a famous author, after all. But Korczak refused. He lined up the children, about 200 of them, and led them through the streets to the Umschlagplatz, the deportation square. Witnesses say the children walked in orderly rows, holding hands, some carrying toys or books. Korczak led the way, holding a child in each hand. Luna: I've heard that story too. But I've also heard that it might be a bit romanticized. Lucas: That's a fair point. Some historians have questioned the details — did the children really sing? Did the Germans really salute? What we know for certain is that Korczak and his staff chose to stay with the children until the end. We have multiple eyewitness accounts, including from members of the Jewish police and other ghetto residents, that confirm his refusal to save himself. The exact choreography of the march may have been embellished in postwar retellings, but the core — the moral choice — is solid. Luna: So his legacy is secure, then. Lucas: It's complicated, actually. In Poland, he's revered as a national hero. There are schools and streets named after him. But there's also a certain tension. Korczak was Jewish, but he was also deeply Polish — he wrote in Polish, he identified with Polish culture. During the Communist era, the regime tried to downplay his Jewishness and present him as a universal humanist. More recently, there's been debate about how much his story has been appropriated by Polish nationalism, sometimes at the expense of acknowledging the full horror of the Holocaust. Luna: What do you mean by 'appropriated'? Lucas: Some critics argue that Korczak's story has been used to present Poles as victims and rescuers, rather than as perpetrators or bystanders. For example, the fact that he was a Pole of Jewish origin is sometimes used to suggest that antisemitism was not widespread, or that Poles and Jews suffered equally. That's a distortion. Korczak's heroism should be honored, but not weaponized to whitewash Polish complicity or to minimize the specific genocide of Jews. His story is about one man's moral courage, not about national innocence. Luna: So how should we remember him? Lucas: As a human being who made an impossible choice. He didn't see himself as a martyr. He once said, 'A child's life is worth more than all the principles in the world.' In the end, he lived by that. He could have survived — he was offered escape multiple times, even by the Nazis themselves. But he chose to stay with the children. That's not a comfortable story for anyone. It doesn't give us a simple moral. It just asks us to think about what we would do in his place. Luna: I think that's the most honest way to tell it. Lucas: Korczak's orphanage in the ghetto was not the only one. There were other educators who did similar things, often without any recognition. But his story became emblematic because of his fame and the dramatic nature of his death. There's also a memorial in Yad Vashem, where he's recognized as one of the Righteous Among the Nations. And his educational writings are still studied. In a way, he's more relevant now than ever, as we think about children's rights, about the role of educators, about how to maintain humanity in the face of inhumanity. Luna: It makes me think about how we teach history. The facts are important, but so is the meaning we take from them. Lucas: Exactly. And Korczak himself would have appreciated that. He was always more interested in the inner lives of children than in abstract theories. So maybe the best way to honor him is not with monuments, but by listening to children, by taking them seriously. That's a legacy that doesn't need any embellishment. Luna: I'd love to read his book 'King Matt the First' now. Lucas: It's wonderful. And it's surprisingly dark in places — it doesn't shy away from the realities of power and failure. Korczak never pretended that childhood was a simple paradise. He knew it was a time of struggle and growth. And he respected that struggle. That, I think, is what made him a great educator. Luna: Next time, maybe we could talk about Stefania Wilczyńska? She seems like an incredible figure in her own right. Lucas: Absolutely. She deserves her own episode. But for now, let's leave it here. Janusz Korczak — a man who insisted that even in the shadow of death, children deserve a childhood.