Pedagogy of the Locker: Respecting Child Privacy in Janusz Korczak’s Homes.

Bedroom in Dom Sierot (the Orphans’ Home on Krochmalna Street).

Bedroom in Dom Sierot (the Orphans’ Home on Krochmalna Street).

In Korczak’s orphanages, bedrooms deliberately contained no cabinets or bedside furniture to maintain absolute cleanliness, space, and hygienic order. There was also no space for such.

In Dom Sierot (the Orphans’ Home on Krochmalna Street), individual drawers—officially called boxes (kasetki)—were located at the bottom of the library shelves in the main hall (Sala Rekreacyjna). Janusz Korczak viewed the kasetka (individual drawer) as an inviolable space that upheld a child's dignity, privacy, and right to personal property. Children saw these boxes as "my whole kingdom" for storing personal treasures.

Drawers (Boxes) equipped with hinges in Our Home at Bielany

Pedagogy of the Locker: Respecting Child Privacy in Janusz Korczak’s Homes
In Korczak’s orphanages, bedrooms deliberately contained no cabinets or bedside furniture. This design choice maintained absolute cleanliness, maximized space for children's beds, and ensured strict hygienic order. Because the bedrooms lacked the space for personal storage, a system of individual drawers and lockers was created within the shared common areas. This arrangement directly reflected Korczak's deep pedagogical respect for each child's privacy and personal boundaries.

Drawers (Boxes) in the Orphans’ Home on Krochmalna Street
At the Orphans’ Home at 92 Krochmalna Street, the bedrooms on the upper floors contained only rows of identical iron beds. The entire personal and material life of the children was centered on the ground floor. Individual drawers—officially called boxes (kasetki)—were located at the bottom of the library shelves in the main hall (Sala Rekreacyjna). Every child had one personal drawer (kasetka) without a key or a special latch. This was the only fully autonomous space for each child. They kept their most precious "treasures" there, such as marbles, stamps, letters, and family keepsakes. No one else—neither educators nor peers—had the right to look inside without the owner's explicit permission.

Lockers in "Our Home" in Bielany
When the modern building of "Our Home" (Nasz Dom) in Bielany opened in 1928, designed with the direct input of Janusz Korczak, the rule of empty bedrooms that contained only rows of identical iron beds was preserved. However, the system for storing personal belongings was somewhat technically upgraded. Pan Jerzy-Igor Newerly, Korczak's close associate and secretary, was a skilled carpenter and manual crafts instructor at the facility before starting his career as a writer. He personally designed and built modern, modular lockers for the children. Newerly’s lockers were grouped together in a single shared area. They were designed as vertical, compact storage units that optimized space. Each specific section or box was assigned to an individual child.

Both solutions—the boxes at Krochmalna Street and the lockers in Bielany—were one of the key elements of Korczak’s pedagogy.

Slogans vs. Reality: How Moscow-Leaning Wards Distorted the Legacy of Korczak´s Dom Sierot.

Ida Merżan, 1st from the right, Basia Szejnbaum (Abramow-Newrly), 2nd from the left. 

Ida Merżan, 3rd from the left, Rywka Boszes, 1st from the left. Goclawek - Summer Camp.

"Not radicalized" Bursa students in front of the 92 Krochmalna.

Slogans vs. Reality: How Moscow-Leaning Wards Distorted the Legacy of Korczak´s Dom Sierot.

In debates surrounding Janusz Korczak—particularly among contemporary educators—certain accusations tend to resurface like a boomerang. Written down once, they are now mindlessly repeated as definitive proof of the alleged flaws in his educational system.

Ida Merżan, a former ward and later an educator at the Orphans' Home (Dom Sierot), described the Old Doctor’s interactions with older alumni and student wards (bursiści) in her memoirs. From her account, as well as from the personal recollections of my father, "Pan Misza" (Michał Wróblewski / Waserman), a dramatic picture emerges of their meetings at the orphanage on Krochmalna Street. It was there, in the late 1930s, that incredibly harsh accusations were leveled against Korczak. They targeted the methods used during the so-called "seven good years"—the stable period that most children spent inside the orphanage. These attacks were agonizing not only because of their substance, but also due to their delivery—they were violent, aggressive, and hostile. Korczak privately confided to Pan Misza that he wanted to stop attending these alumni meetings altogether, as they led to nothing but shouting and bitter arguments.

The older wards who had become radicalized and joined the communist movement in the late 1930s did more than just spread propaganda about "how wonderful life was in Soviet Russia"—they turned on Korczak himself. They accused him of neglecting the children's practical welfare, treating them as "guinea pigs," and using the Orphans' Home merely as a "scientific laboratory." They asked with deep resentment: "What was the point of all the constant weighing, measuring, spilling of salt, and embroidered napkins, when afterward—at the age of fourteen—nothing but hunger, cold, and poverty awaits us past the orphanage threshold? Children leave here too early, unprepared for life, without work, thrown into a brutal world." This is how Ida Merżan recorded their confrontational questions in her book, Wspomnienia o Januszu Korczaku (Memoirs of Janusz Korczak, Warsaw, Nasza Księgarnia, 2nd ed., 1989).

However, it must be fiercely emphasized that Merżan only described a handful of rebellious, vocal wards. Their aggressive stance in no way reflected the views of the many other non-communist alumni and educators. Yet, this single description of a Moscow-aligned group spread rapidly. Worse still, it survived the decades and became deeply entrenched in the minds of post-war critics.

This heavily cited quote about children leaving "too early and unprepared for life" is a profound distortion of reality. Ironically, even those "Moscow-leaning wards" knew this to be false. The truth about the extensive practical training and life skills the children actually received is well documented in other personal memoirs by alumni, as well as in the concrete, empirical data preserved in the official Reports of the "Aid for Orphans" Society (Towarzystwo „Pomoc dla Sierot”).

Granted, organizations existed in pre-war Poland that attempted to merge Zionism with leftist or communist ideologies, though they remained a minority and were often distinct from the mainstream Zionist movement. The most notable among them were Histadrut, Poalej Syjon, and the leftist youth movement Hashomer Hatzair. It was precisely these radical political currents of the era that fueled that unjust, Marxist assault on the painful yet heroic work of the Old Doctor.

From My Own World of Memories: Janusz Korczak’s 1923 Lecture at 31 Karowa Street in Warszawa.

On the left side of the photograph is the circular building of the Hygienic Society. In the background,  hotels, Europeiski, and Bristol.

On the right side of the photograph is the circular building of the Hygienic Society. In the background, across the Vistula River—seemingly as an extension of Karowa Street—stood Korczak’s gymnasium on Brukowa Street, which is now Okrzei Street.

The building of the Hygienic Society in May 2026.

From My Own World of Memories: Janusz Korczak’s 1923 Lecture at 31 Karowa Street in Warszawa.

It took me many years to realize that the lecture hall of the Hygienic Society on Karowa Street in Warsaw—where I often went in the 1950s for children's morning matinees—was the very same hall where Janusz Korczak delivered his pre-war lectures. It is a beautiful, high-ceilinged room with a balcony, quietly preserving the echoes of long-lost ideals.

On March 4, 1923, inside the building of the Polish Hygienic Society at Karowa 31, Janusz Korczak gave a lecture entitled "The World of a Child's Memories." From my childhood memories, I vividly remember my father, "Pan Misza" (Michał Wróblewski / Waserman), constantly repeating Korczak’s teachings on the vital importance of a "hygienic lifestyle". After the war, my father began every single day exactly as he did during his time as a ward and staff member at the Orphans' Home: with mandatory morning calisthenics. This simple, daily routine was a living, physical footprint of Korczak’s discipline, which my father carried through the hell of the ghetto and the war into our post-war home.

An Oasis of Public Health: Karowa 31

The Warsaw Hygienic Society (later the Polish Hygienic Society) was founded in 1898 on the initiative of a group of passionate social activists, hygienists, and educators. Their goal was singular—to promote public health, maternal protection, and child hygiene within society. For Korczak, a pediatrician and educator, it was the perfect and most prestigious platform in the capital.

Built between 1913 and 1915, the building at Karowa 31 miraculously survived World War II and still stands today. It housed a rich library with a reading room, modern scientific and practical research laboratories, and the aforementioned amphitheater-style lecture hall.

Pre-war photographs of this area show the home of the Warsaw Hygienic Society with the rear of the Visitandines Church on the left, and the silhouettes of the luxurious Hotel Europejski and Hotel Bristol in the background. On the right side of the photograph, you can see the circular building of the Hygienic Society itself. In the background of the image, across the Vistula River—seemingly as a direct extension of Karowa Street—stood Korczak’s gymnasium on Brukowa Street (now renamed Okrzei Street). It was in this interconnected setting that Warsaw’s intelligentsia gathered to listen to the Old Doctor.

A Silent Witness to Crisis: The Poster and 1923 Hyperinflation

The surviving poster advertising this specific lecture is a fascinating historical artifact. What immediately catches the eye is the admission cost printed at the very bottom: 2100–3000 Polish marks. This astronomical sum hides a harsh and dramatic economic reality from early 1923. Poland was experiencing a catastrophic financial crisis and galloping hyperinflation, just before Władysław Grabski’s currency reform and the introduction of the złoty. The currency was losing value by the day—in March 1923, 3,000 marks was by no means a fortune; it was merely equivalent to the price of a few loaves of bread or a modest restaurant dinner. These tickets, sold at locations like the Workers' Bookstore on Wspólna Street 17, were purely charitable. Every bit of proceeds from the lecture was destined to help rescue the youngest.

The event was organized by the "Nasz Dom" (Our Home) Society. A care and educational facility for working-class children had already existed in Pruszków since November 15, 1919, founded by Maryna Falska, Janusz Korczak, and Maria Podwysocka. In 1923, the official "Nasz Dom" Society was established with the overriding goal of organizing permanent material aid for the Pruszków institution.

The Marshal’s wife, Aleksandra Piłsudska, became actively involved in the society’s work and fundraising, including through lectures like this one on Karowa Street. Thanks to these combined efforts, the tickets bought "with a generous hand" by Warsaw residents, and the unwavering backing of trade unions, immense funds were soon raised to purchase a plot of land in the Bielany district. This paved the way for the construction of their legendary new home shaped like an airplane, designed by architect Zygmunt Tarasin in close consultation with Janusz Korczak. In 1928, "Nasz Dom" could finally spread its wings and move from Pruszków to Bielany.

Korczak’s March 1923 presentation on Karowa Street was one of those small bricks used to build the safe haven of the Bielany airplane—a world that, just a decade and a half later, would brutally collide with the nightmare of war.

"Give the Child a Little Joy": The Paradox of Children’s Day on Chłodna Street Column.

The Chłodna Street Column was close to the bridge and the intersection of Chłodna and Żelazna streets.

The posters on Chłodna Street Column were passed daily by Dr. Korczak and his trusted co-worker, "Pan Misza" (Michał Wasserman Wróblewski), as they navigated the perilous streets to keep their orphanage alive. The column stood as a silent witness to a community using its final weeks of existence to assert the dignity of its children. Only two months later, in July 1942, the Great Deportation would begin. The trains rolling out from the Umschlagplatz would carry the children of the Dom Sierot, the young singers from the Femina Theater, and over 350,000 others down the green-inked rail line to the gas chambers of Treblinka.

Below is the transcribed overview of the advertising column, followed by a historical commentary that explains the dark paradox of Cafe Sienna 16 sharing a building with Korczak's Orphanage.

1. English Transcription of the Poster Column (Top to Bottom)

Top Section (Entertainment & Dining):

• Topmost poster:

  at ALBATROS (CHŁODNA 24)
  M. MIKSNE WITH THE STAR IN KAZI[E]

• The poster directly below (Artistic Cafe advertisement):

  FROM MAY 2ND OF THIS CURRENT YEAR
  CAFE SIENNA 16
  PRESENTS A BRILLIANT NEW NOVELTY!

Middle Section (Children's Holiday & CENTOS Collection):

• Upper-right charity poster (featuring a drawing of a child on the right):

  ... CHILDREN'S [HOL]IDAY
  ... [LAG] BAOMER
  [PUB]LIC
  STREET COLLECTION
  HELP THE CHILD
  WITH A GENEROUS HAND!

• Narrow strip in the center (featuring a framed graphic of a child's face):

  GIVE THE CHILD
  A LITTLE JOY

• Poster on the left (in Yiddish and Polish, announcing a theater/cinema opening):

  OPENING
  [Yiddish text: "Cinema... Eternal Joy"]
  SLISKA 44 (Cinema / Theater at 44 Śliska Street)
  ...
  [At the bottom of this poster, the Polish slogan is repeated:]
  HELP THE CHILD WITH A GENEROUS HAND!

Bottom Section (The Main Large Campaign Poster):

• The well-preserved large poster at the bottom:

  ... CHILDREN'S HOLIDAY
  ... [BA]OMER ...
  PUBLIC
  STREET COLLECTION
  HELP THE CHILD
  WITH A GENEROUS HAND!

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"Give the Child a Little Joy": The Paradox of Children’s Day on Chłodna Street Column.

The Chłodna Street Column: A Physical Blueprint of the Ghetto’s Final May. In the geography of the Warsaw Ghetto, few places carried a more intense concentration of trauma, contrast, and daily visual friction than the intersection of Chłodna and Żelazna streets. It was here that an "Aryan" thoroughfare cut through the Jewish quarter, dividing the territory into the Large Ghetto and the Small Ghetto. To bridge the gap, a massive, wooden footbridge was erected—a structure that became a tragic symbol of the occupation. Standing near the base of this bridge, close to the stone walls and the checkpoint, was an ordinary advertising column.

A surviving photograph of this specific column from May 1942 reveals a jarring, agonizing paradox plastered in layers of paper. It serves as an unvarnished blueprint of the ghetto’s dual reality, showing how close the infrastructure of survival was to the landscape of indifference.

Underneath the shadow of the bridge, two completely irreconcilable worlds were forced to coexist. Glued to the top of the column were advertisements for the ghetto's high-end nightlife: Albatros at Chłodna 24 and Cafe Sienna 16, which proudly announced a "brilliant new novelty" for May 2nd. What makes this image profoundly tragic is the physical topography behind it: Cafe Sienna 16 operated inside the exact same building at Sienna 16 that housed Dr. Janusz Korczak’s Orphans' Home (Dom Sierot) after they were evicted from 92 Krochmalna Street and later from 33 Chłodna Street.

Behind the interior walls of that single building, Korczak, Stefania Wilczyńska, and their staff engaged in a grueling daily battle to find a single scrap of bread for their swollen, starving children. Meanwhile, right past those walls, Cafe Sienna served cakes and fine liquors to the ghetto’s affluent elite—wealthy smugglers, profiteers, and high-ranking officials—who gathered to listen to an orchestra conducted by Marian Neuteich. Dr. Korczak was acutely aware of the luxury unfolding just beyond his walls; he would regularly step inside the cafe, walking straight up to the tables of wealthy patrons to look them in the eye and demand a "charity tax" for his dying children.

But the lower half of the Chłodna Street column tells another story—a story of desperate, organized defiance. In May 1942, the column was literally flooded with posters screaming: “Powszechna Kwesta Uliczna. Pomóż Dziecku hojną ręką!” (Public Street Collection. Help the Child with a Generous Hand!) alongside strips reading "Give the child a little joy."

These posters were part of a massive, ghetto-wide mobilization for the Children’s Day Celebration. Because the German apparatus had condemned the ghetto's youth to biological extermination, treating them as "non-productive consumers," the Central Technology for Orphan Care (CENTOS) and the local school boards fought back through spiritual resistance. They organized "Children’s Months" during the harsh winters to beg for scraps, but spring brought the official Children’s Holiday, deliberately synchronized with the traditional festive day of Lag ba-Omer. In 1942, it fell precisely on May 5th.

On that Tuesday in May, the streets around the Chłodna column witnessed a heartbreaking spectacle. CENTOS organized street collectors to gather a "grosz for the child" from a population that had almost nothing left to give. The centerpiece of the day was a massive children's showcase held inside the Femina Theater at Leszno 35.

Historical records from that exact day reveal the crushing weight of the event. While Nazi camera crews patrolled the ghetto, forcing selected, healthy-looking children to eat pastries for a propaganda film, a real, devastating scene unfolded inside the theater. Abraham Lewin, a teacher and chronicler for the Oneg Shabbat underground archive, recorded that the packed hall wept openly as a children's choir, dressed in clean clothes, sang songs about spring, sunshine, and freedom. They sang to honor their peers who had already died of starvation, while just outside the theater doors, the bodies of more children lay on the pavement. Adam Czerniaków, the Chairman of the Judenrat, noted the day in his diary with characteristic, haunting brevity: "The film crew continues to take pictures. Extreme misery."

These very posters on Chłodna Street were passed daily by Dr. Korczak and his trusted assistant, "Pan Misza" (Michał Wasserman Wróblewski), as they navigated the perilous streets to keep their orphanage alive. The column stood as a silent witness to a community using its final weeks of existence to assert the dignity of its children. Only two months later, in July 1942, the Great Deportation would begin. The trains rolling out from the Umschlagplatz would carry the children of the Dom Sierot, the young singers from the Femina Theater, and over 350,000 others down the green-inked rail line to the gas chambers of Treblinka.

By preserving the image of this column, we refuse to allow the Holocaust to be reduced to an abstract study of logistics or bureaucratic systems. The papers on the wall near Chłodna Street prove the material reality: that even on the brink of total annihilation, a battle of words, art, and desperate mercy was fought for the soul of every child.

The posters on Chłodna Street were passed daily by Dr. Korczak and his trusted assistant, "Pan Misza" (Michał Wasserman Wróblewski), as they navigated the perilous streets to keep their orphanage alive. The column stood as a silent witness to a community using its final weeks of existence to assert the dignity of its children. Only two months later, in July 1942, the Great Deportation would begin. The trains rolling out from the Umschlagplatz would carry the children of the Dom Sierot, the young singers from the Femina Theater, and over 350,000 others down the green-inked rail line to the gas chambers of Treblinka.

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