The Strategy of the Two Faces: The Paradox of the Seder and the Anatomy of Ghetto Silence

Official Invitation to the Final Passover Seder (April 1, 1942) - An official invitation card printed in Polish, issued and hand-signed by Janusz Korczak (Dyrektor), inviting prominent guests to the solemn Passover Seder (Uroczystość Sederowa) held on Wednesday, April 1, 1942, at 5:30 PM. This extraordinary artifact represents a vital material pillar of Korczak’s strategy of artificial positivism and psychological resilience. In the lower postscript (P.S.), Korczak writes a reassuring message meant to guarantee a brief moment of escape from the ghetto terror: „Uroczystość trwać będzie nie dłużej niż godzinę. Forma wypracowana przez lat wiele. Ręczymy za pogodną, piękną, krzepiącą godzinę życia” (The ceremony will last no longer than an hour. A form developed over many years. We guarantee a cheerful, beautiful, and heartening hour of life). Forensically, the typography of the header serves as the ultimate proof of the unchanging "Core" (Rdzeń) of the institution’s identity. Even though the orphanage had been physically uprooted and crammed into the Śliska/Sienna complex, the text defiantly states: „DOM SIEROT” Śliska 9 (dawniej Krochmalna 92). By explicitly pairing the forced ghetto address with the parenthetical tribute to their historic home („formerly Krochmalna 92”), Korczak completely rejected the spatial reality of the occupation. To the very end, in every print and linguistic habit of the bursists, the moral and physical core of the children’s republic remained permanently anchored at Krochmalna 92.

In the study of Janusz Korczak’s final months inside the Warsaw Ghetto, traditional biographies frequently gloss over the deep, agonizing psychological friction that defined his daily existence. Writers operating decades after the war often romanticize the "Old Doctor" as a saintly, unwavering monolith of peace. My methodology represents a sharp break from this tradition—a deliberate, uncompromising "battle against the rectangle" of standard biographical frameworks. By returning strictly to raw primary sources, original manuscripts, and the physical micro-history of the ghetto’s administration, we dissolve these soft myths.

Among the rarest items in this historical puzzle is a two-page letter written by Korczak on April 2, 1942, addressed to Dr. Natalia Zandowa (Zylberlast-Zand) at the Główny Dom Schronienia (Main House of Shelter) located at 39 Dzielna Street.

To map the distance between Sienna 16 (where Korczak’s Dom Sierot was then forced to reside) and Dzielna 39 is to map the physical and moral geography of the ghetto's descent into hell. Dzielna 39 was the notorious "house of foundlings"—a disease-ridden, corruptly managed shelter where abandoned children died by the dozens every day. In February 1942, in a desperate, heroic move to inject human dignity into this graveyard, Korczak officially took over the educational supervision of Dzielna 39. Working ramię w ramię with him as a medical consultant was Dr. Natalia Zandowa, a world-class neurologist and dedicated pre-war humanist.

The Illusion of Two Faces: The Secret Exhaustion

Korczak’s letter to Dr. Zandowa, written during the second night of the Passover Seder in April 1942, uncovers a profound psychological mechanism that Dr. Zofia Szymańska and other contemporary observers identified: the strategy of the two faces.

To Dr. Zandowa, who, as a physician, knew the brutal reality of his failing body, Korczak drops his public guard. He writes from his bed on Sienna Street, consumed by fever and bone-deep fatigue:

„...chociaż bolała głowa, bolały plecy i nogi, i ręce, i kaszel męczył – nie mogłem iść do łóżka, ale udawałem zdrowego i wesołego, żeby dzieciom i gościom nie było przykro. – I znów zmęczyłem się, a w nocy nie wypocząłem.”

"...even though my head ached, my back, legs, hands, and arms hurt, and the cough was tormenting me – I could not go to bed, but pretended to be healthy and cheerful, so that the children and guests would not feel sorry. – And once again I grew exhausted, and during the night I found no rest." 

This was Korczak's hidden face—the nighttime martyr. Wracked by hunger-induced edema and heart failure, he spent his nights hauling heavy, overflowing latrine buckets from the children’s dormitories to spare his exhausted staff, spitting blood into the margins of his Diary.

But as dawn broke, a radical metamorphosis occurred. Korczak would put on his frayed but tidy Polish military uniform, mask his agony, and step out onto the streets of the ghetto "to beg for alms." He had to appear strong, vital, and sharp. If the black-marketeers or Judenrat officials saw a dying old man, they would withhold the bread crumbs that kept the orphanage alive. Dr. Zofia Szymańska captured this superhuman mask in her own memoirs, noting that the moment the Doctor approached a child or an official, his bent spine would instantly straighten, and a warm, authoritative smile would return to his face.

The Paradox of the Seder: The Artificial Positivism

The most striking layer of the letter to Dr. Zandowa is Korczak’s deliberate application of artificial positivism. He projects a future of shared warmth, writing:

„Może przyszły Seder spędzimy razem? Bardzo tego pragnę. Może za rok będziemy blisko mieszkali? Byłoby to wygodne. – Bo teraz z Dzielnej na Sienną jest bardzo daleko.”

"Perhaps we will spend the next Seder together? I desire it very much. Perhaps in a year we will be living close to one another? That would be convenient. – For now, from Dzielna to Sienna, it is very far." 

This projection of a "next year" and an upcoming summer was a calculated pedagogical shield. Korczak knew that in an environment of total terror, the absolute destruction of hope was fatal to a child’s spirit. But this optimistic mask stands in terrifying, radical contradiction to the artistic and metaphysical choices he was making behind closed doors.

During this very Passover Seder of April 1942, Korczak hosted the elite of the ghetto—including the Jewish Council chairman Adam Czerniaków and his wife—for a special preview performance. He needed their financial support. But the play he chose for his children to perform was Rabindranath Tagore’s The Post Office (Dakghar).

As recorded in the memoirs of Michał Zylberberg, the choice of Tagore’s masterpiece was a quiet, metaphysical preparation for death. The Post Office tells the story of Amal, a sick, confined little boy who sits by his window, waiting for a letter from the King. In the play's climax, the King’s physician arrives, opens the windows to let the starlight in, and Amal falls into a beautiful, painless sleep. The King is Death, and the opened window is the liberation of the soul from a suffering body. While Korczak’s letters spoke of "next year" to maintain the illusion of survival, his theater taught the children how to die without fear.

The Crown Witness: The Dead Silence of July 18, 1942

The preview during the Seder led directly to the official, public premiere of the play on Saturday, July 18, 1942—just four days before the Great Deportation to Treblinka began.

This internal psychological framework is completely verified by the external, raw medical testimony of Dr. Zofia Rosenblum-Szymańska, a prominent pediatrician who closely monitored Korczak's physical decay. Szymańska's records completely strip away the romanticized myths of the Doctor's physical state, providing a clinical account of a man dying of starvation sickness (dystrofia głodowa) and advanced heart failure. She recorded that Korczak’s legs were grotesquely swollen up to his knees—a severe case of starvation-induced edema—making every step an agonizing struggle. His skin was earthy, and he was plagued by a continuous, bloody cough.

It was Dr. Szymańska who left us the most heartbreaking record of that final theatrical sequence, capturing the moment the boundary between the stage and the reality of the audience dissolved:

“With bated breath, the children waited along with Amal for the King’s letter, which was meant to bring liberation," Szymańska remembered. – "They believed with him that this wonderful letter was just about to arrive. The girl with flowers came with this news, the guard confirmed it. Amal believes them and, in expectation of liberation, falls sweetly asleep. Huddled in a dark corner of the room, the Old Doctor slouched. In his eyes lurked an abysmal sadness. We exchanged a firm—presumably last—handshake, without words.”

My father, Pan Misza (Michał Wasserman-Wróblewski), and my mother, Lunia Rozental, were present in the audience for both the Seder preview and the final July 18 performance. The emotional shock wave that ripped through the room was total and unendurable. As my parents vividly recalled, when the final curtain fell on the sleeping Amal and the stage went dark, a dead, heavy silence descended upon the entire hall. No one clapped. Not a single hand was raised to applaud.

This absolute absence of applause, witnessed by my parents, this shared and paralyzing silence, was for the adult guests present a far more powerful and devastating blow than the play itself. It was the moment of collective, terrifying comprehension. Every adult in that room instantly understood the coded verdict. Korczak had not staged a theatrical performance; he had directed an artistic rehearsal for the impending liquidation. He had accustomed his children to the concept of the transition into the dark, transforming the terror of the cattle cars into the peaceful sleep of Amal. The words of artificial positivism in his letters were completely unmasked by the heavy, shared silence of the theater. Three weeks later, Korczak, Wilczyńska, and their 239 children marched in perfect, silent order to the Umschlagplatz, carrying the calm dignity of Amal straight into the stars.

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On the Occupation Stamps of Janusz Korczak´s "Dom Sierot": A Forensic Analysis of Postal Originals and the Micro-History of Ghetto Bureaucracy

On the Occupation Stamps of Janusz Korczak´s "Dom Sierot": A Forensic Analysis of Postal Originals and the Micro-History of Ghetto Bureaucracy

Introduction: Breaking the Rectangle of Second-Hand Biographies

For many decades, the historiography surrounding Janusz Korczak (Henryk Goldszmit) and his wartime orphanage, Dom Sierot, has suffered from a profound methodological inertia. Most biographies and popular studies published long after the war rely on a self-referential circle of secondary sources, memoirs, and narratives reshaped by time. My own research, published on these pages, represents a fundamental break from this tradition—a deliberate, uncompromising "battle against the rectangle" of standard biographical frameworks. My unique key to understanding Korczak does not pass through the lens of what others have written; it is rooted strictly in the meticulous, forensic study of raw, original archive documents and early monographs. I return directly to the physical source, decoding the anatomy of the paper, the ink, and the handwriting so the authentic voices can speak without postwar filters.

This rigorous return to the primary source reveals a vital, often misunderstood distinction regarding how wartime documents survived the annihilation of the Warsaw Ghetto. It is a historical fact that almost the entire written heritage of Dom Sierot burned during the destruction of the city. Apart from the monumental, buried underground caches known as the Ringelblum Archive (Oneg Shabbat), which saved fragmented testimonies of ghetto life from the flames, only two narrow streams of Korczak's wartime paperwork reached the modern world. Understanding the physical nature of these two streams changes everything we know about the orphanage's iconography.

The Two Streams: Carbon Copies vs. Postal Originals

The first and most famous stream of documentation survived through the sheer heroism of my father, known to the children as Pan Misza and Pan Jerzy - Igor Newerly (Korczak’s secretary for several years). Korczak’s wartime letters, official petitions, and notes saved from 16 Sienna Street in the Little Ghetto in Warszawa were literally sealed inside the concrete walls of the orphanage, "Nasz Dom" (Our Home), in the Bielany district, outside the ghetto.

However, there is a crucial technical catch: the documents saved by Pan Misza are carbon copies (copies written through carbon paper). Because they were secondary duplicates kept for the institution’s internal files, no official postal or administrative stamps were ever applied to them. They are completely bare of ink markings.

Therefore, a vital rule emerges for the modern researcher: any wartime document of Dom Sierot that bears actual, physical ink stamps—such as postal markings, censorship marks, or address seals—must come from an entirely different, external second stream. These are postal originals: rare pieces of outgoing international correspondence that actually left the burning ruins of the ghetto, crossed oceans, and survived in private family collections or foreign archives across the Americas. By analyzing these stamped originals, we can, among other things, reconstruct the dynamic timeline of the institution's forced displacements and the desperate psychological strategies of its leadership.

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The Chronology of Displacement: From Krochmalna to Chłodna and Sienna/Śliska

A meticulous reading of the physical stamps allows us to establish a precise timeline of the orphanage’s tragic topography during the occupation. The institution underwent three distinct phases, each marked by a specific administrative, geographical, and stemplar reality:

1. The Krochmalna 92 Phase (Pre-Ghetto to November 1940): The historic, modern home of the orphanage. In November 1940, with the official sealing of the Warsaw Ghetto, this building was designated to the "Aryan" side, forcing an immediate, brutal eviction.
2. The Chłodna 33 Phase (November 1940 to October/November 1941): The orphanage was crammed into the building of the former Roesler Merchant School. This was a highly volatile period. As our newly discovered documents show, the staff remained at this location much longer than previously assumed by general historiography, maintaining operations here deep into the autumn of 1941.
3. The Sienna 16 / Śliska 9 Phase (October/November 1941 to August 1942): When the Germans altered the ghetto boundaries once again, cutting Chłodna Street out of the Jewish district, Korczak was forced to move his two hundred children a second time, settling them at Sienna 16 / Śliska 9, where they stayed until the final march to the Umschlagplatz.

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Case Study 1: The Irka Waffel Postcard (The Start of the Chłodna Phase, November 1940)

The first profound example of a postal original is a card sent on November 27, 1940 (preserved in the Ghetto Fighters' House Archive, No. 37997), by Irka Waffel. Irka was a former ward who, by 1939, had become a bursistka (a senior student and junior educator) at Dom Sierot. She addressed the card to her close friend and fellow former ward, Helenka Lewi (Chaje), who had managed to emigrate to Buenos Aires, Argentina, right before the war.

This card was sent precisely during the chaotic weeks of the initial forced eviction from Krochmalna. The frantic need to update the institution's official address on outgoing mail led to a fascinating forensic discovery: the creation of a stamp hybrid.

Rather than ordering a professionally engraved new stamp—impossible during the sudden displacement—the staff took the old, pre-war rubber stamp of Dom Sierot / Krochmalna 92 and manually attached a crude bottom row reading „obecnie Chłodna 33” (currently Chłodna 33). The physical impression betrays this makeshift operation. The upper rows show crisp, elegant, factory-carved lettering. The added bottom row utilizes a completely different, blocky typeface from a cheap, modular office stamping kit. Furthermore, the rubber used for the added row was poorer and more porous; it absorbed and transferred the purple ink differently, leaving a significantly thicker, blurred, and uneven print.

To cross the Atlantic, this card had to pass through a brutal, two-tiered censorship machine: the internal, black ink checkpoint of the JUDENRAT WARSCHAU (which issued the blank form and marked it with a tiny, rectangular black stamp of clearance) and the large, circular, red ink stamp of the German military censorship (Kriegszensur) under the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht.

Knowing that any mention of the starvation, terror, or the fact that Janusz Korczak had just been arrested by the Gestapo and was sitting as a political prisoner in the Pawiak Prison would cause either the black or red censor to destroy the card, Irka smuggled a brilliant psychological lie onto the paper: „A u nas w Domu Sierot wszystko nadal w porządku” (And here in the Orphans' Home, everything is still in order).

The word „nadal” (still/continually) was a masterpiece of semantic smuggling. To the censors, it sounded boring and stable, guaranteeing safe passage. To Helenka in Argentina, who knew the Krochmalna address was gone, it was a coded manifesto of resilience: „They took our building, they took our Doctor to prison, but the moral order he built inside us stands untouched. We are still here.”

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Case Study 2: The Korczak & Stefa Postcard (The Peak of the Chłodna Phase, September 1941)

The ultimate confirmation of this forensic pattern, and a vital key to the timeline, is found in a second spectacular postal original: a postcard written and signed personally by Janusz Korczak and Stefania Wilczyńska on September 10, 1941, addressed to a former ward, Leon Gluzman, in Ottawa, Canada.

The date on this card—September 10, 1941—is of immense chronological importance. It provides hard documentary evidence of exactly how long the orphanage managed to cling to the Chłodna 33 location before the Germans executed the final border shrinking that pushed them toward Sienna Street.

On the message side, we see the exact same purple hybrid stamp with the thick, unevenly inked line „obecnie Chłodna 33” appended to the elegant pre-war Krochmalna frame. The address side features the identical printed header of the JUDENRAT WARSCHAU, the same small, black internal Jewish censorship stamp, and the large, red military Nazi censorship disk in the center.

The Strategy of Self-Censorship (Autocenzura)

The most brilliant and heartbreaking element of this document is not the stamps, but the calculated text written by Korczak. By September 1941, the Warsaw Ghetto was engulfed in total, catastrophic starvation. People were dying by the thousands daily in the streets. Yet, looking at the card, Korczak deliberately hides the general famine and the systemic horror gripping the ghetto. Instead, he applies a rigorous layer of self-censorship (autocenzura), tailoring his words specifically to slip through both the Jewish and German checkpoints while still conveying an urgent plea for help to the outside world. He writes:

„Prosimy, o ile możesz, o paczki żywnościowe pod adresem Dom Sierot Warszawa, Chłodna 33 dla dzieci niedomagających / słabszych, ozdrowieńców po przebytej chorobie /.”

(We ask, if you can, for food parcels under the address Dom Sierot Warszawa, Chłodna 33, for children who are ailing / weaker, convalescing after illness.)

By framing the request for food parcels strictly around "convalescing children recovering from illness," Korczak disguised a desperate cry for basic survival as a targeted, routine medical necessity. He knew that an open admission of general starvation would be immediately flagged and destroyed by the censors as negative propaganda against the German administration. This clinical, neutral phrasing was a deliberate psychological shield—an act of strategic self-censorship that allowed his appeal to successfully cross the Atlantic, reach Leon Gluzman in Ottawa, and alert former wards to send life-saving packages to the children of Chłodna 33.

The card contains the rare, conjoined signatures of both pillars of the home: "Henryka Goldszmit (Korczak) i Stefa". Graphologically, the document perfectly mirrors the calligraphic profile we have established for the Doctor. In the main text, the lowercase „r” consistently collapses into a sharp, rapid, Latin „V” (as seen in the words sierot, porządku, or chorobie). However, the capital „K” in the salutation „Kochany Leonie!” and in his signature „Korczak” reveals the fascinating dualism of his motor habits, executed in one continuous, large, sweeping movement of the hand, fluidly rolling into the lower loop without lifting the pen from the paper.

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Case Study 3: The Final Metamorphosis – The Sienna 16 / Śliska 9 Phase (1942)

The ultimate, definitive proof of this continuous stamping practice is found in an extraordinary, late-war document issued under the umbrella of the ŻSS (Żydowska Samopomoc Społeczna – Jewish Social Self-Help) and its Wydział Opieki nad Dzieckiem (Child Care Department). This artifact reveals the final, heartbreaking transformation of Dom Sierot's physical stamp bureaucracy, acting as the definitive "missing link" of our forensic timeline.

[THE EVOLUTION OF THE HYBRID STAMP]
Phase 1 (Pre-Nov 1940):   [DOM SIEROT / Krochmalna 92]
Phase 2 (Nov 1940-1941):  [DOM SIEROT / Krochmalna 92] + appended ["obecnie Chłodna 33"]
Phase 3 (Late 1941-1942): [DOM SIEROT / Krochmalna 92 (crossed out)] + appended ["obecnie Śliska 9"]

When the Germans altered the ghetto sectors for the second time in late autumn 1941, cutting Chłodna Street out of the Jewish district, Korczak’s orphanage was forced to move to its third and final location: the complex of the Berson and Bauman Children's Hospital at Sienna 16 / Śliska 9.

Instead of manufacturing a brand-new seal for this final eviction, the forensic evidence proves that the staff recycled the exact same pre-war rubber matrix for a third time. On this late-war document, the original factory lettering of „Krochmalna 92” is still physically present in the center, but it has been brutally crossed out with a heavy, manual stroke of ink. Directly beneath this cancellation, the old line of „obecnie Chłodna 33” was removed, and a crude new row was appended using a completely different, utilitarian office typeface: „obecnie Śliska 9” (currently Śliska 9).

This forensic chain of custody—moving from a pristine pre-war mark, to a double-row hybrid on Chłodna Street, and finally to a defaced, triple-row assembly on Śliska Street—serves as a tragic material echo of the institution's shrinking world. The stamp itself became a living casualty of the ghetto’s geography, morphing with every forced relocation until the final march to the Umschlagplatz.

Conclusion

By shifting our focus away from the "rectangle" of secondary literature and looking directly at the ink, the rubber variants, the timeline markers, and the hidden semantics of self-censorship, we uncover a raw, unedited chronicle of survival. These documents are material survivors of a destroyed world. They prove that while the carbon copies hidden by Pan Misza preserved the literary thoughts of the Doctor, it is these stamped, scarred postal originals that preserve the living, pulsing mechanics of Dom Sierot's heroic timeline and its quiet, intellectual resistance against the boundaries of the ghetto.

Figure 1. The "Round Stamp Bluff" Certificate (September 9, 1940) - An official certificate typewritten in Polish and German, dated September 9, 1940, authorizing the transportation of inventory and livestock to the main orphanage at Krochmalna 92 following the seasonal closure of the Summer Colony in Czaplowizna (Wawer municipality). This document represents the crucial "Phase 0" of Janusz Korczak’s administrative warfare against the German occupation apparatus. Although the Towarzystwo „Pomoc dla Sierot” (The Aid to Orphans Society) had already been officially dissolved by Nazi decrees, Korczak masterfully utilized the defunct organization’s large circular ink seal (okrągła pieczęć) on the left. Knowing that the German military mind structure deeply revered the Rundstempel as an absolute, state-sanctioned mandate, Korczak used this "dead" legal facade as a psychological shield to pass military checkpoints and secure food and logistics for his children.

Figure 2. The Irka Waffel Postcard – The Launch of the Chłodna 33 Phase (November 27, 1940) - The sender’s section (Absender) of an official international postcard blank issued by the Warsaw Jewish Council, handwritten by bursist (junior educator) Irka Waffel and postmarked November 27, 1940, addressed to former ward Helenka Lewi (Chaje) in Buenos Aires, Argentina. This document captures the immense logistical shock of the orphanage’s forced eviction from its lifelong home. The header features the official printed mark JUDENRAT WARSCHAU, a small, rectangular black ink stamp indicating internal Jewish postal censorship clearance. The centerpiece reveals the precise anatomy of the hybrid address stamp. To manage the sudden relocation, the pre-war rubber matrix of „DOM SIEROT” / Krochmalna 92 was manually altered by appending a crude bottom row reading „obecnie Chłodna 33” (currently Chłodna 33). The original address is heavily struck out with two purple ink lines. Typographically, the upper pre-war rows of the stamp display elegant, crisp factory lettering, while the added line - „obecnie Chłodna 33”- utilizes a rough, blocky typeface from a cheap office stamping kit. The poorer, more porous quality of the added rubber row caused it to absorb and transfer the ink heavily, resulting in a noticeably thicker, blurred impression.

Figure 3. The Korczak & Stefa Postcard – The Peak of the Chłodna 33 Phase (September 10, 1941) - The complete address side (Postkarte) and message side of an official international postcard written and signed by Janusz Korczak and Stefania Wilczyńska, dated September 10, 1941, sent from the Warsaw Ghetto to former ward Leon Gluzman in Ottawa, Canada. The date of September 10, 1941, serves as critical documentary evidence establishing the extended timeline of the orphanage's survival at the 33 Chłodna location before its final displacement to Sienna Street.

Both sides feature the exact same purple hybrid stamp analyzed in the Irka Waffel card, with the thicker, blocky office-kit typeface „obecnie Chłodna 33” appended below the elegant pre-war Krochmalna 92 matrix. The address side features the printed JUDENRAT WARSCHAU header, a small rectangular black ink stamp of the internal Jewish council's censorship, and the large circular red ink emblem of the German military censorship (Kriegszensur) under the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht. The document reveals Korczak's brilliant strategy of self-censorship (autocenzura); to bypass the strict double censorship and avoid confiscation for negative propaganda, he deliberately hid the catastrophic ghetto famine, framing his urgent plea for food parcels as a routine medical necessity for "ailing children and convalescents recovering from illness." The document features the rare joint signatures of the home's founders: "Henryka Goldszmit (Korczak) i Stefa". Graphologically, the text showcases Korczak's classic V-shaped lowercase "r", the distinctive macron bar over the lowercase "m" in „dnia 10/IX”, and his signature capital "K" in „Kochany” and „Korczak”, executed in a single, continuous, sweeping motor movement. The card also bears an archival scar of an addressing error, where it was mistakenly written „U.S.A. / America”, instead of Canada.

Figure 4. The Final Metamorphosis – The Sienna 16 / Śliska 9 Phase (July 15, 1942) - An official invitation typewritten in Polish, dated July 15, 1942, issued by the Dyrektor Domu Sierot for a theatrical performance of Rabindranath Tagore's „The Post Office” held on Saturday, July 18, 1942, featuring a legendary, poetic review by the ghetto poet Władysław Szlengel. This tragic artifact represents the final transformation of the orphanage's stamp bureaucracy, recorded just three weeks before the final liquidation in August 1942. The upper left corner features the letterhead of the ŻSS (Żydowska Samopomoc Społeczna). Directly beneath, the forensic evidence reveals the ultimate recycling of the pre-war rubber matrix. The sacred „RDZEŃ” text of „Krochmalna 92” is still physically visible in the center, but it has been defaced and crossed out with a heavy, manual stroke of ink. Below this cancelled line, a crude new row has been appended: „obecnie Śliska 9”. The typewritten text exhibits the exact same mechanical fingerprint found in Figure 1—the overlapping letters following the diacritics ś and ć—proving that the staff managed to save and transport their original, broken office typewriter through every single stage of their displacement, until the very end.