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| Nałęczów, where Korczak, as a child, rowed a boat with his father and met his favorite Polish writer, Bolesław Prus. |
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| A description of Korczak's last vacations before WWII can be found in his letters to former bursars—among others, to Józek Halpern-Arnon. |
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| In Playful Pedagogy, which carries the subtitle "My Vacations." Korczak describes his holidays in Mężenin. |
This morning, upon waking, I was thinking about my vacations. A wave of warmth washed over me as I recalled my first holidays in Dziwnów in the mid-fifties. I was 6-7 years old at that time. First, the railway station in Warsaw, the suitcases, my father's (Pan Misza's) bicycle, and the whistle of the locomotive, which signaled not only that the train was departing, but also that we could start eating—beginning with hard-boiled eggs. Then, images of Dziwnów like something out of a children's book: Mosquito Avenue leading to the beach, fishing, the concrete road to the neighboring settlement, and my mother telling stories or reciting poems. All of this in slow motion. Slowly, without stress or rushing—now I look back at it with wonder! In some way, that locomotive whistle connected me to Korczak's departures for his first summer camps—not as a child, but as an educator. Then, with a smile, I thought of his vacations in Playful Pedagogy (Pedagogika żartobliwa).
Did Janusz Korczak (actually Henryk Goldszmit), known as the "Old Doctor," ever have vacations?
Yes and no. Korczak treated his work as a life mission, which meant he rarely and reluctantly took extended time off. The fact that he went away on summer camp shifts as an educator was actually paid work (for example, in Michałówka or Wilhelmówka). There, he combined childcare with the writing of his works (including fragments of books and pedagogical notes). However, he did consider his later summer trips to Gocławek together with his wards from the Orphanage as a vacation.
There were occasional trips for recuperation, although in his writings (such as in Playful Pedagogy), Korczak wrote that taking a break from the children and the daily worries of the orphanage was difficult for him. Playful Pedagogy carries the subtitle "My Vacations." There, among other things, he describes his holidays in Mężenin. Another connection between Korczak and vacations is his own story from the summer resort in Nałęczów, where, as a child, he rowed a boat with his father and met his favorite Polish writer, Bolesław Prus. Other descriptions of Korczak's vacations can be found in his letters to former bursars—among others, to Józek Halpern-Arnon (below).
There were occasional trips for recuperation, although in his writings (such as in Playful Pedagogy), Korczak wrote that taking a break from the children and the daily worries of the orphanage was difficult for him. Playful Pedagogy carries the subtitle "My Vacations." There, among other things, he describes his holidays in Mężenin. Another connection between Korczak and vacations is his own story from the summer resort in Nałęczów, where, as a child, he rowed a boat with his father and met his favorite Polish writer, Bolesław Prus. Other descriptions of Korczak's vacations can be found in his letters to former bursars—among others, to Józek Halpern-Arnon (below).
2/VIII.39
Dear Józek,For the past two months, I have lived outside of space and time. I decided to refresh myself /brine baths in Druskienniki and spend a month at a summer camp in the role of a young /once again/ educator. I devoted my treatment month to a Palestinian novel, but only to the extent that the conversation takes place between a father and a son in Palestine: about the child. I will only need Palestine for the second part: so if funds allow, for four months: October – January, of which two months /a month?/ in old Jerusalem /I saw an interesting cheder there/, or at the Beit Midrash in Tiberias.I am afraid of rheumatism, bedbugs, and a little bit of the Arabs – least of all/. Nothing more, nothing less, than the plan for a new Bible.—I am struggling with how to arrange it.July was charming. 20 new children to read, like 20 books written in a half-familiar language, moreover damaged, with missing pages.—Once again, just like years ago, what mattered was: lost slippers, a splinter in a leg, a dispute at the swing, a broken branch.—A walk in isolation with children sick with measles; when, exhausted to the bone, I finally had to fall asleep, I would tell myself: "what a pity, just 10 more minutes,—to listen to the breathing, the coughing, the moaning." How much wisdom there is in their coughing during sleep,—the struggle with infection, with fever, growing up, and the flies.
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| This morning, upon waking, I was thinking about my vacations. A wave of warmth washed over me as I recalled my first holidays in Dziwnów in the mid-fifties. I was 6-7 years old at that time (here, first on the right). First, the railway station in Warsaw, the suitcases, my father's (Pan Misza's) bicycle, and the whistle of the locomotive, which signaled not only that the train was departing, but also that we could start eating—beginning with hard-boiled eggs. |
