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| The plaque in memory of Janusz Korczak on the house in Kyiv at Wołodymyrska (street) 47, by Iwan Hrygoriew |
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| King Matt the First (Polish: Król Maciuś Pierwszy) is a children's novel by Korczak, here translated into Ukrainian. |
The plaque in memory of Janusz Korczak was unveiled in Kyiv. It was placed on the tenement house in the Ukrainian capital city, where he worked with orphans. In this house he wrote How to Love a Child, which was originally to be only a short pamphlet for parents and teachers, but perhaps because WWI was a long war, the manuscript grew to hundreds of pages.
In 1914, when the First World War broke out in Europe. Janusz Korczak was 36 years old. He was called into the Russian Army and assigned as chief physician in a division hospital. As his division moved through Ukraine, he sat up at night in his tent and wrote his first professional book, the Polish title, "Jak kochać dziecko" [How to love a child]. He wrote about nourishment and sleep for infants, about the duty of parents, and how to recognize and respect the individuality and the needs of each child. In "Jak kochać dziecko" he wrote about the difficulties of growing up for children. He wrote with humor and with wit, but always with the same plea to the reader - take note!, pay attention!
Korczak's reputation both as writer and physician had by now reached the ears of higher authorities. He was detached from his division and sent to the city of Kyiv as a pediatric physician*. It was here that he met the Polish nurse Maryna Rogowska-Falska, with her own troubled past. She had at one time been active in the Polish Socialist Party, hence banished to Siberia, now freed.
В 1914—18 гг. Корчак находился на Украине, в частности, в Киеве, где, кроме деятельности военного врача, занимался обустройством детского дома для польских детей, а также написал книгу «Как любить ребёнка».
In 1914, when the First World War broke out in Europe. Janusz Korczak was 36 years old. He was called into the Russian Army and assigned as chief physician in a division hospital. As his division moved through Ukraine, he sat up at night in his tent and wrote his first professional book, the Polish title, "Jak kochać dziecko" [How to love a child]. He wrote about nourishment and sleep for infants, about the duty of parents, and how to recognize and respect the individuality and the needs of each child. In "Jak kochać dziecko" he wrote about the difficulties of growing up for children. He wrote with humor and with wit, but always with the same plea to the reader - take note!, pay attention!
Korczak's reputation both as writer and physician had by now reached the ears of higher authorities. He was detached from his division and sent to the city of Kyiv as a pediatric physician*. It was here that he met the Polish nurse Maryna Rogowska-Falska, with her own troubled past. She had at one time been active in the Polish Socialist Party, hence banished to Siberia, now freed.
В 1914—18 гг. Корчак находился на Украине, в частности, в Киеве, где, кроме деятельности военного врача, занимался обустройством детского дома для польских детей, а также написал книгу «Как любить ребёнка».
О чем она? Об уходе за младенцем - да, и об этом тоже. А еще о том, что зачастую под любовью к ребенку мы подразумеваем собственные эгоистичные чувства.
А ребенок не принадлежит никому. Он человек с момента рождения. Личность автора заслуживает отдельного внимания.
Корчак не просто написал книгу о любви к детям, он жил этой любовью и уважением.
* Korczak wrote about that time in a letter to Hadaska from March 25, 1942. This letter was found among other documents that my father, Pan Misza (Michal Wasserman-Wróblewski) succided to save after Korczak and Dom Sierot were deported on August 5, 1942:
I was entrusted with four boarding houses for children lost on the front and the displaced. They were scattered across huts and villas near Kyiv.My working day lasted 16 hours. In the dark, wading knee-deep in snow, I patrolled the grounds twice. I applied drops to pus-filled eyes, treated scabies-infested skin with iodine, dressed ulcers. – I was hungry.The children were hungry. Nothing but dried fish; and the boys and I stole firewood from the forest. The gamekeeper shot buckshot at us as if we were crows – a still bourgeois gamekeeper in an already communist forest.In secrecy, I bought a loaf of bread and ate it at night in the dark like a thief. I hid. I was ashamed to say honestly:– I cannot cope – my hunger cannot exceed a certain limit. I must have strength.
