From Trelleborg to the Shores of Haifa: A Visual Diptych of the S/S Ulua (Chaim Arlosoroff).

Taken just weeks apart in early 1947, these two photographs form a striking visual record of hope, defiance, and the struggle for freedom aboard the Aliyah Bet vessel S/S Ulua—renamed Haim Arlosoroff upon approaching the coast of Mandatory Palestine.

I. The Wake of Departure (Late January 1947)

In the first photograph, captured shortly after the S/S Ulua departed Trelleborg, Sweden, on January 24, 1947, a group of young Jewish Holocaust survivors gathers near the stern against the biting winter chill. Bundled in heavy overcoats, jackets, and headscarves, they huddle together for warmth while the ship’s white wake cuts across the dark northern waters behind them. Despite the cold, the atmosphere on deck is filled with relief and youthful optimism. Having finally left behind the strict surveillance and bureaucratic containment of the Swedish transit camps, these young men and women—among them Lolek Majerowicz and Chaim Kozieniecki—smile and laugh together, believing they are sailing directly toward a new, free life in Eretz Israel. There were 650 when they left Sweden. Most of them came to Sweden by the UNRRA White Boat mission during summer 1945.

II. The Clash off the Coast (February 1947)

The second photograph freezes the brutal reality that awaited them at the end of their voyage. Now renamed Haim Arlosoroff and carrying over 1,300 survivors from Sweden and Italy, the vessel is pinned down off the coast of Haifa by the towering steel hulls of British Royal Navy destroyers. The open, carefree deck of January has vanished, replaced by intense claustrophobia and defiance. Packed shoulder-to-shoulder along the railings, the passengers brace against the churning surf, wielding long wooden poles to repel British boarding parties while a white cross pennant flies above the crowd. Twice, the survivors successfully fought back the marines—a clash in which Chaim Kozieniecki was wounded—before the surrounded ship steered straight toward the Bat Galim beach and ran aground, ending their journey in the detention camps of Atlit and Cyprus.

February 24, 1947. Trelleborg harbor. Sweden. On the right of the quay, the chartered SJ train with third-class carriages. To the left is the stern of the refurbished S/S Ulua. In the background, survivors embark on the ship. (SHMA Archives, photographer unknown).

Bat Galim, Haifa (February 1947). Surrounded by British Royal Navy destroyers, the Haim Arlosoroff (formerly S/S Ulua) steers straight toward the Bat Galim shoreline to run aground, allowing survivors from Sweden and Italy to attempt reaching the coast before British marines seize the vessel.

Bat Galim, Haifa (February 1947). Surrounded by British Royal Navy destroyers, the Haim Arlosoroff (formerly S/S Ulua) steers straight toward the Bat Galim shoreline to run aground, allowing survivors from Sweden and Italy to attempt reaching the coast before British marines seize the vessel.

Again behind Barbed Wire. Cyprus (1947). Having survived the Nazi camps and escaped the bureaucratic containment of post-war Sweden, the young S/S Ulua passengers endure months of British detention in Cyprus before finally reaching the shores of Eretz Israel.

British Internment Camp, Cyprus (1947). Following the grounding at Bat Galim, the uninjured passengers—including Lolek Majerowicz and the 650 survivors from Sweden—were transferred to British detention camps in Cyprus, trading the post-war quarantine of Sweden for barbed-wire internment in the Mediterranean.

The Stutthof–Neustadt Convoys: From the Flensburg Surrender Corridor to the Final White Boats

On May 10, 1945, the German vessel Homberg departed from Flensburg with approximately 1,360 emaciated former concentration camp prisoners on board. Who were they? Most were former inmates of the Neuengamme (N) concentration camp near Hamburg and Stutthof (S) near Danzig. Many from Stutthof arrived by sea. See the map.

Archival A.E.F. DP-2 registration records and Swedish medical files reveal a distinct, interconnected group of Holocaust survivors who passed through the Stutthof concentration camp before reaching Sweden in the spring and summer of 1945. Their paper trail illuminates two critical evacuation corridors: the chaotic Baltic barge crossings into Flensburg in April–May 1945, and the final, meticulously cataloged UNRRA White Boat transports departing Lübeck in late July 1945.

1. The Final White Boats and the "Neustadt 77XX / 95XX" Series (July 25–26, 1945)

The very last two White Boats to leave the Lübeck Transit Center (T.C. Lübeck) on July 25, 1945, were the S/S Kastelholm (reserved primarily for children) and the M/S Rönnskär, which docked in Malmö the following day. Among the final passengers aboard M/S Rönnskär was a cohesive group of survivors liberated by the Allied forces in the Neustadt-Glewe camp in early May 1945, all previously inmates of Stutthof. What is special about former Neustadt prisoners is that in the group that was transferred from Stutthof concentration camp were Jews that came from east and from the west. That means from Baltic countries and from Germany.

In Lübeck, these survivors were assigned registration numbers falling into the 77XX and 95XX series, which were subsequently transcribed onto their Swedish Inresekort (Entry Cards) prefixed with the letter "L":

• Henny Lewenberg (No. L/7716) and Sara Lewenberg (No. L/7715): Sisters from Libau (Liepāja), Latvia. As documented in Henny’s DP-2 form and her subsequent Swedish emergency hospital (beredskapssjukhus) medical chart in Örebro (Patient No. 1455/45, bearing her photograph), they survived the Libau Ghetto (1941–1943), the Riga camp, and Stutthof (arriving August 8, 1944) before being liberated in Neustadt on May 5, 1945. Their parents were murdered in Riga, and their sister Lydia died of typhus in Neustadt just days after liberation. Following their arrival in Malmö on July 26, 1945, the surviving sisters were transported by train to Örebro for medical care.
• Sara Mastbaum (No. 7734): Born in Łódź in 1930, deported to Auschwitz during the liquidation of the Łódź Ghetto on August 27, 1944, transferred to Stutthof, and liberated in Neustadt on May 3, 1945. After her quarantine in Sweden, she joined the largest organized youth exodus via Calais to Mandatory Palestine in May 1946.
• Chaim Kozieniecki (No. 9516) and Leon Majerowicz (No. 9519): Both prisoners of the Łódź Ghetto (Litzmannstadt), Auschwitz, and Stutthof. In February 1945, ahead of the advancing Soviet army, they were forced onto a death march and evacuated aboard a crowded barge across the Baltic Sea for nearly ten days to Neustadt, where they were liberated by the American Army.
• David Rosenstein (No. L/9529): The final passenger on the official manifest, a German Jew from Berlin deported to Riga in October 1942 and later to Stutthof—separated from his wife Rita (28) and four-year-old son Jonas—whose file formally closes the M/S Rönnskär roster. He does not know, or actually does not want to know, the fate of his wife and son and writes in A.E.F. DP-2 card that there are 2 persons dependent on him and he marks it with!

2. The Flensburg–Padborg Bottleneck and the Gray Zone of Evacuation (April–May 1945)

Months prior to the organized July transports from Lübeck, an earlier wave of Stutthof inmates reached Sweden through the strategic border corridor of Flensburg and Padborg (Denmark). Starting in mid-April 1945, thousands of Stutthof prisoners were loaded onto river and sea barges—such as the barge Ruth, on which just over 700 of 1,060 inmates survived the crossing—landing directly in the port of Flensburg.

Situated immediately adjacent to the Danish border, Flensburg held immense geopolitical significance in May 1945: it served as the final seat of the Nazi government under Karl Dönitz (the Flensburg Government) and the site where the German capitulation negotiations took place. Simultaneously, this border bottleneck became the convergence point where sea evacuees from Stutthof met survivors arriving by land via German "ghost trains" (spöktåget) and the Swedish Red Cross White Buses, before being ferried to Malmö aboard vessels like the S/S Homberg on May 11, 1945.

This chaotic convergence also exposed a dark, unintended consequence of the rescue operations. Alongside rescuing camp inmates, the official mandate of the White Buses expedition included evacuating Tysklandssvenskar—German citizens of Swedish descent (primarily Swedish-born women married to German men and their children). Exploiting this legal evacuation and the administrative confusion in Flensburg, retreating German soldiers and officials and probably concentration camp guards. As confirmed by British intelligence reports and survivor testimonies from ships like the S/S Homberg, camp guards mixed directly with the evacuees. Arriving in Malmö without papers, these perpetrators received the exact same blue police stamp ("Saknade legitimationshandling" — lacked identity documents) as their victims, inadvertently turning neutral Sweden into a post-war sanctuary for war criminals.

3. Archival Anatomy of the "Neustadt" DP-2 Cards and T.C. Lübeck Statistics

A closer inspection of the A.E.F. DP-2 registration forms reveals vital geographic and bureaucratic distinctions that prevent historical misidentification:

• Which Neustadt? Clarifying the Northern German Location: The handwritten notation "Neustadt" in the top corner of these cards refers specifically to Neustadt-Glewe (a subcamp of Ravensbrück located in Mecklenburg, northern Germany, roughly 100 kilometers east of Lübeck), as well as the nearby coastal town of Neustadt in Holstein on the Bay of Lübeck (where the Cap Arcona tragedy occurred). Because "Neustadt" is one of the most common town names in Central Europe, this northern German camp must not be confused with other Nazi camp locations bearing the same name—such as Neustadt in Oberschlesien (Prudnik, a subcamp of Auschwitz), Neustadt an der Waldnaab (near Flossenbürg in Bavaria), or Neustadt in Sachsen.
• Unique Corner Annotations ("Neustadt" vs. "Kinderheim"): The practice of inscribing the specific camp origin directly in the upper corner of the DP-2 card was exceptionally rare in the Lübeck Transit Center (T.C. Lübeck) bureaucracy. Aside from the Stutthof survivors marked with "Neustadt", the only other group to receive an analogous corner designation were the surviving women and children from Barrack 211 in Bergen-Belsen, whose cards were distinctly marked in the top right corner with the word "Kinderheim".
• The Final Number (L/9529) and T.C. Lübeck Totals: David Rosenstein’s registration number, L/9529, represents the absolute highest and final sequential number issued on these specific Swedish UNRRA entry cards, formally closing the White Boat mission to Sweden. Within the broader scope of post-war European relief, official statistics compiled by the Lübeck Transit Center (T.C. Lübeck) record that a staggering total of 93,330 individuals were processed and dispatched through its facilities to various destinations following the end of the war.

The main part of the people who were transported during the UNRRA White Boat Mission came from Bergen-Belsen. However, when the stream of DPs that wanted to come to Sweden for hospital care and rehabilitation diminished, the Swedish chief of the Transit Hospital in Lübeck decided to let other survivors from Bergen-Belsen be included in the quota of 10 000. Likely, the number of DPs that came to Sweden never reached this quota of a total of 10,000 and stayed at 9,330. The Swedish authorities introduced the so-called Lübeck number, the letter L, and the number. It just concerns the Holocaust survivors who arrived with UNRRA's White Boats.

Several DP-2 Cards are shown above. All of them that have an L-number above 9500 are also marked with Neustadt. These DP-2 cards were issued on July 23, 1945, the day of arrival at Swedish Transit Hospital, where all former inmates were registered and hospitalized until the day of departure. In the upper-left corner, there is the DP-1 number from the very first registration as DPs. The L-number in the upper left corner is the number from the Swedish Entry card (Inresekortet) that was also filled out and issued in Lübeck. In the lower part, in red, are the name of the White Boat, "Rönnkär," and the departure date, here July 25, 1945. The passengers' list, the list of former inmates of the concentration camps, transported on the White Boats, always included the L-number.

After arrival in Sweden, the medical card (Läkarkort) was issued to all the former inmates who arrived by White Boats. They were different at different Hospitals. Numerous hospitals had, on the cards, almost all possible numbers, including DP-1, DP-2, L-, and local hospital registration numbers. The L-number from the Swedish Entry card (Inresekortet) was the one that was most frequently included in the registration number.

The very last two White Boats that left Lübeck on July 25, 1945, were S/S Kastelholm and M/S Rönnskär. S/S Kastelholm was reserved for the children, while the last DPs, among others from the Neustadt DP camp, were transported on M/S Rönnskär.

Epilog: Ghetto in Lodz - Auschwitz - Stutthof - .........

Lolek Majerowicz and Chaim Kozieniecki left Sweden on January 24, 1947, aboard the vessel S/S Ulua, traveling together with 650 other survivors from Sweden to Eretz Israel—or, as it was called at the time, the British Mandate of Palestine. The ship, which departed from Trelleborg, changed its name to Haim Arlozoroff upon reaching the coast of Israel. British marines attempted several times to board and seize the vessel to divert it to Cyprus, where the British had established internment camps. The survivors fought back and succeeded twice in repelling the boarding attempts. During these clashes, Kozieniecki was wounded. Finally, the surrounded ship steered straight toward the beach and ran aground. The British eventually managed to board. The wounded, among them Kozieniecki, were taken to the Atlit camp south of Haifa. Lolek Majerowicz and the 650 others from Sweden and Italy were transported by prison ship to Cyprus. Kozieniecki managed to escape from Atlit and went into hiding on a kibbutz.

Visual Description & Emotional Contrast

• Young Survivors on the Open Deck: Gathered near the stern of the vessel, a group of roughly fifteen young Jewish Holocaust survivors—men and women in their late teens and early twenties—stand close together against the open sea. Dressed in heavy winter overcoats, jackets, caps, and headscarves to ward off the biting January chill, they huddle together for warmth and companionship.
• Expressions of Hope and Relief: Unlike the grim, claustrophobic tension of the later confrontation off the coast of Haifa, the mood here is distinctly lighter. Several of the young passengers are smiling, laughing, and playfully jostling one another near the center of the group, radiating a sense of relief and anticipation. Having finally left behind the strict bureaucratic containment of the Swedish border camps, they are sailing toward what they hope will be a free life in Eretz Israel.
• The Wake of Departure: Behind them, a tall mast with taut rigging rises against a pale, wintry sky, while the ship's white wake cuts across the choppy, dark blue-green waters—symbolizing their physical break from Europe.
• Narrative Significance: Placed alongside the dramatic photograph of the British naval boarding attempt off Haifa, this image forms a powerful visual before-and-after diptych. It captures the innocence, youth, and optimism of the 650 survivors from Sweden—including Lolek Majerowicz and Chaim Kozieniecki—at the very start of their voyage, moments before their ship changed its name to Haim Arlosoroff and sailed directly into the blockade of the British Royal Navy.

This colorized archival photograph captures the chaotic and dramatic confrontation aboard the Aliyah Bet ship S/S Chaim Arlosoroff (formerly S/S Ulua) off the coast of Haifa in February 1947.

Key Visual Elements & Scene Description

• Crowded Decks and Defiant Passengers: The foreground and central elevated deck of the refugee vessel are packed tightly with Jewish Holocaust survivors. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder along the railings, they face outward toward the sea, bracing against the interception. Several individuals on the upper deck hold long wooden poles or improvised staves to fend off boarding parties, while one figure stands prominently near the center holding a staff flying a white flag marked with a cross (likely a medical or truce pennant amidst the chaos).
• British Naval Interception: Flanking the Chaim Arlosoroff on both sides are the towering, grey-white steel superstructures of British Royal Navy warships. On the left, a British destroyer maneuvers dangerously close through the churning white surf, its upper decks lined with naval personnel watching the confrontation. To the right, the massive hull and bridge of a second British vessel press directly alongside the refugee ship, attempting to pin it down and deploy marines onto the deck.
• Lower Deck Activity and Rigging: In the lower foreground, passengers wearing caps and heavy winter coats move amidst tangled rigging, ropes, and wooden planking. The weathered textures of the ship's exterior, exposed pipes, and makeshift wooden barriers underscore the vessel's improvised conversion into a transport ship carrying over 1,300 survivors—including Lolek Majerowicz and Chaim Kozieniecki—from Sweden and Italy toward the shores of Mandatory Palestine.
• Atmosphere and Composition: The colorization brings warmth to the passengers' clothing—reds, browns, and muted blues—contrasting sharply against the pale, blinding glare of the British warships and the calm, pale blue horizon of the Mediterranean Sea. The composition conveys intense claustrophobia and defiance, freezing the exact moment before the Chaim Arlosoroff steered directly toward the Bat Galim beach to run aground.

Voices from the Era of the Furnaces: The First Wartime Memoirs and the Wishful Illusion of Korczak’s Survival - 239.

Paulina Appenszlak photo from her pre-war journalist card and Pan Misza (Michal Wasserman Wróblewski) in September 1944, when in the Polish Army after liberating Praga.

Korczak´s wartime memoirs. On October 1, 1943, in the pages of the Jerusalem political and literary biweekly „W drodze” (Year 1, No. 13), one of the absolute first post-mortem memoirs appeared, written by the prominent Warsaw journalist Paulina Appenszlak (left). Exactly half a year after Appenszlak's text, as a Polish officer with a rifle in his hand, Korczak´s co-worker, Pan Misza (Wasserman Wróblewski) published an article in „Nowe Widnokręgi” (April 15, 1944, Year 4, No. 8) subtitled "Memoirs of the Last Years of Life").

Writing about Janusz Korczak in the realities of the 21st century is inevitably burdened with post-war pathos, monumental hagiography, and myths that have accumulated over decades. The common narrative is often dominated by the sheer drama of the deportation to the Treblinka death camp—the final journey through the streets of the sweltering Warsaw Ghetto and the boarding of the cattle cars at the Umschlagplatz. Meanwhile, much earlier, during the ongoing Second World War and the Holocaust, when the smoke over the extermination camps had not yet cleared, two unique articles were published. They were written by people who knew the Old Doctor personally and intimately, alongside the stark realities of the ghetto and the daily struggle for the survival of the children in the Orphans' Home.

On October 1, 1943, in the pages of the Jerusalem political and literary biweekly „W drodze” (Year 1, No. 13), one of the absolute first post-mortem memoirs appeared, written by the prominent Warsaw journalist Paulina Appenszlak. She had managed to leave Poland in the very first days of the German occupation. After reaching Tel Aviv, deeply moved by the first horrific news of the ghetto's liquidation, she began writing down her memoirs, which soon became the foundation for the first wartime biography of Korczak, titled „Doktór pozostał” ("The Doctor Remained", Tel Aviv, 1944). In her 1943 Jerusalem article, sketching the grim reality of the Orphans' Home, Appenszlak made a profoundly honest confession about the moral paralysis and distance she, as a mature woman and editor, felt before the Doctor's austere, monastic gaze in Warsaw. She remembered him as a secular monk whose attic room on Krochmalna Street resembled a monastic cell, and whose silence acted upon adults as a living pang of conscience.

An almost identical portrait, though painted from a completely different frontline perspective, was sketched by Michał Wróblewski („Pan Misza”). Pan Misza's wartime fate has been meticulously documented in other chapters of this book; at this point, the crucial fact is that after his dramatic escape from the Warsaw Ghetto, he joined the ranks of the 1st Polish Army. Exactly half a year after Appenszlak's text, as a Polish officer with a rifle in his hand, Pan Misza published an article in Moscow's „Nowe Widnokręgi” (April 15, 1944, Year 4, No. 8) subtitled „Wspomnienia z ostatnich lat życia” ("Memoirs of the Last Years of Life"). Much like the Jerusalem publicist, Pan Misza opened with the dramatic question: “Monk or hermit?”, unerringly invoking the same ascetic archetype of the Doctor in his working green apron. As an educator at the Orphans' Home and an eyewitness to Korczak's struggle for existence, he provided the official, harrowing number of 239 murdered children of the Orphans' Home—a number he had systematically reported earlier to the CENTOS organization, which managed the allocation of funds, food, and medicine for the orphanages inside the ghetto.

At the exact same time his account of the "Monk" was being printed in Moscow, Pan Misza was holding a weapon as a frontline soldier. As the only witness-educator to survive and enter the ruins of the capital with the army, he must have felt an unimaginable shock. A few months earlier, in September 1944, he had personally stood on the grounds of the Różyczka Colony in Gocławek, and subsequently, on January 17, 1945, in front of the burned-out, empty building of the Orphans' Home at 92 Krochmalna Street. These memoirs show how, during the very same tragic period, from two opposite ends of a warring world, the exact same Korczakian truth demanded a voice through the mouths of a journalist and a soldier.

Parallel to these tragic accounts of the Doctor's death, persistent rumors of his alleged survival circulated throughout occupied Europe and beyond for nearly three years. An example of this wartime hope, which fed on the lack of precise information, is the New York publication of the English translation of King Matt the First (Matthew the Young King), prepared by Marian Kister, the owner of the pre-war Warsaw publishing house „Rój”. In January 1945, during the very same days Pan Misza was entering the ruined streets of Warsaw, an unconfirmed, sensational dispatch from the Overseas News Agency reached New York. It claimed that the Polish underground had managed to rescue Korczak from the death train at the last moment and that he was hiding safely in liberated Lublin. Deeply moved by this news, Kister made an immediate decision: he ordered the distribution of the already completed book to be halted and had a special, blue page pasted into every copy, addressed to the American reader. The content of this note expressed a fragile, desperate hope that the Doctor had survived, according to news from one of the press agencies. Today, we know that this was merely a tragic illusion of the era of the furnaces.

The full texts of these historical documents and the records of the wartime press from 1943–1945 form an invaluable, raw foundation upon which the reconstruction of those days rests.

Pierwsze wojenne wspomnienia i mit ocalenia Korczaka (Jerozolima 1943 – Moskwa 1944)

Pisanie o Januszu Korczaku w realiach XXI wieku nieuchronnie obciążone jest powojennym patosem, pomnikową hagiografią i mitami, które narastały przez dekady. W powszechnej narracji często góruje dramatyzm samego momentu deportacji do obozu śmierci Treblinka – ostatnia droga ulicami upalnego warszawskiego getta i załadunek do bydlęcych wagonów na Umschlagplatz. Tymczasem o wiele wcześniej, podczas toczącej się wciąż II wojny światowej i Zagłady, gdy dym nad obozami jeszcze nie opadł, ukazały się dwa unikalne artykuły. Zostały one napisane przez ludzi, którzy osobiście i z bliska znali Starego Doktora oraz realia getta i codziennej walki o przetrwanie dzieci w Domu Sierot.

1 października 1943 roku na łamach jerozolimskiego dwutygodnika polityczno-literackiego „W drodze” (rok 1, nr 13) ukazało się jedno z absolutnie pierwszych pośmiertnych wspomnień autorstwa wybitnej warszawskiej dziennikarki Pauliny Appenszlak. Udało jej się opuścić Polskę w pierwszych dniach niemieckiej okupacji. Po dotarciu do Tel Awiwu, poruszona pierwszymi straszliwymi wieściami o likwidacji getta, zaczęła spisywać swoje wspomnienia, które stały się fundamentem wydanej wkrótce pierwszej wojennej biografii Korczaka pt. „Doktór pozostał” (Tel Awiw, 1944). W swoim jerozolimskim artykule z 1943 roku, kreśląc surową rzeczywistość Domu Sierot, Appenszlak zdobyła się na niezwykle szczere wyznanie o moralnym paraliżu i dystansie, jaki jako dorosła kobieta i redaktorka czuła przed surowym, mniszym spojrzeniem Doktora w Warszawie. Zapamiętała go jako świeckiego zakonnika, którego pokój na poddaszu Krochmalnej przypominał mniszą celę, a jego milczenie działało na dorosłych jak żywy wyrzut sumienia.

Niemal identyczny, choć pisany z zupełnie innej perspektywy frontowej, portret nakreślił Michał Wróblewski („Pan Misza”). Losy wojenne Pana Miszy zostały szczegółowo udokumentowane w innych rozdziałach niniejszej książki; w tym miejscu kluczowy jest fakt, że po dramatycznej ucieczce z warszawskiego getta znalazł się on w szeregach 1. Armii Wojska Polskiego. Dokładnie rok po tekście Appenszlak, jako polski oficer z karabinem w ręku, opublikował  na łamach „Nowych Widnokręgów” z 15 kwietnia 1944 roku (rok 4, nr 8, Moskwa) – artykuł z podtytułem „Wspomnienia z ostatnich lat życia”. Podobnie jak jerozolimska publicystka, Pan Misza zapytywał dramatycznie na wstępie: „Mnich czy pustelnik?”, bezbłędnie przywołując ten sam ascetyczny archetyp Doktora w roboczym, zielonym fartuchu. Jako wychowawca w Domu Sierot i naoczny świadek walki Korczaka o byt, podał on urzędową, wstrząsającą liczbę 239 zamordowanych dzieci Domu Sierot, liczbę, którą systematycznie raportował wcześniej do organizacji CENTOS zajmującej się m.in. przydziałami funduszy, jedzenia i lekarstw dla sierocińców w getcie.

To dokładnie w tym samym czasie, gdy w Moskwie drukowano jego relację o „Mnichu”, Pan Misza trzymał w ręku broń jako żołnierz frontowy. Jako jedyny świadek-wychowawca, który przeżył i wkroczył z wojskiem do ruin stolicy, musiał poczuć nieprawdopodobny wstrząs. Kilka miesięcy wcześniej, we wrześniu 1944 roku, stanął osobiście na gruntach Kolonii Różyczka w  Gocławku, a następnie 17 stycznia 1945 roku przed wypalonym, pustym budynkiem Domu Sierot na Krochmalnej 92. 

Te wspomnienia pokazują, jak w tym samym tragicznym okresie, z dwóch krańców walczącego świata, ta sama korczakowska prawda domagała się głosu ustami dziennikarki i żołnierza.

Równolegle z tymi tragicznymi relacjami o śmierci Doktora, przez blisko trzy lata w okupowanej Europie i poza nią krążyły uporczywe pogłoski o jego rzekomym ocaleniu. Przykładem tej wojennej nadziei, która karmiła się brakiem precyzyjnych informacji, jest wydanie w Nowym Jorku angielskiego przekładu Króla Maciusia Pierwszego (Matthew the Young King), przygotowane przez Mariana Kistera, właściciela przedwojennego warszawskiego wydawnictwa „Rój”. W styczniu 1945 roku, dokładnie w tych samych dniach, kiedy Pan Misza wkraczał do zrujnowanej Warszawy, do Nowego Jorku dotarła niepotwierdzona, sensacyjna depesza od Overseas News Agency. Głosiła ona, że polskiemu podziemiu udało się w ostatniej chwili wykraść Korczaka z pociągu śmierci i że ukrywa się on bezpiecznie w wyzwolonym Lublinie. Poruszony tą wiadomością, Kister podjął natychmiastową decyzję: nakazał wstrzymać dystrybucję gotowej już książki i dokleić do każdego egzemplarza specjalną, niebieską stronę skierowaną do amerykańskiego czytelnika. Treść tej noty wyrażała kruchą, rozpaczliwą nadzieję, że Doktor przeżył wg. wiadomości z jednej z agencji prasowych. Dziś wiemy, że była to jedynie tragiczna iluzja epoki pieców. 

Pełne teksty tych historycznych dokumentów oraz zapisy wojennej prasy z lat 1943–1945 stanowią bezcenny, surowy fundament, na którym opiera się rekonstrukcja tamtych dni.