Korczak’s Last Pre-war Letters and the Silent Pages of Mały Przegląd - August 1939.
When looking back at the final weeks of August 1939 through the lens of post-war knowledge, it is easy to fall into the trap of retrospective fatalism. We tend to believe that everyone must have seen the dark clouds gathering over Europe. Yet, a rigorous analysis of historical facts, private letters, and contemporary press reveals a far more complex and heartbreaking psychological truth: Janusz Korczak did not believe World War II would actually break out.
To Korczak, a man formed by nineteenth-century European positivism, assimilation, and humanism, the notion of a total, barbaric conflict was rationally unthinkable. He was fully aware of the horrific persecution of Jews inside Nazi Germany; he knew of the brutal expulsion of Polish Jews who had been stripped of their citizenship. Yet, like much of the Warsaw intelligentsia, he likely viewed Adolf Hitler’s aggressive posturing as geopolitical saber-rattling—frightening rhetoric, but not an impending apocalypse that would erase his world.
The evidence for Korczak's profound disbelief in the coming catastrophe is clearly written in his final actions and in the very text he left behind.
1. Korczak´s Peace-Time Routine of Summer 1939
The ultimate proof of what a person truly believes lies in their daily actions. Throughout July and August 1939, while armies were mobilizing along the borders, Korczak adhered to his rigid, peaceful calendar. He spent the entire month of July at the "Różyczka" summer colony in Gocławek. In his letter to Pan Józek (Yosef Arnon-Halpern) dated August 2, 1939, there is no panic. Instead, Korczak is fully immersed in the micro-universe of child psychology, writing beautifully: "July was charming. 20 new children to decode, like 20 books written in a half-familiar language..."
A man who genuinely expects a catastrophic invasion in a matter of days does not pour his entire spiritual energy into a broken branch, a dispute by the swing, or a splinter in a child's foot. Furthermore, historical records show that the Orphans’ Home made no extraordinary provisions during August—there was no hoarding of coal, no stockpiling of dry rations, and no preparation for an imminent siege of Warsaw. The institution operated entirely in peacetime mode.
2. The Silent Pages of Mały Przegląd (September 1, 1939)
Perhaps the most striking evidence of this collective denial is found in the final issue of Mały Przegląd (The Little Review), published precisely on Friday, September 1, 1939. The newspaper, which was printed and set just a day prior, contains absolutely no mention of a looming war.
There are no instructions on air-raid shelters, no articles on national defense, and no warnings about German divisions. The paper—created by children for children, under the enduring spirit of Korczak’s leadership—remained filled with ordinary school arguments, letters from young provincial correspondents, and book reviews. Had Korczak believed that total war was a certainty, the editorial line would have been forced to prepare its young readership for danger. This complete editorial silence is a powerful testament to a deep-seated belief that normalcy would somehow prevail.
3. The True Nature of the Land of Israel (Palestine) Journey
Korczak’s documented plans to leave Poland in the autumn of 1939 have often been misinterpreted by post-war biographers as an attempt to escape the coming war. This is a factual error. In at least two letters sent to his closest friends in Israel during August 1939, Korczak wrote: "Do not reply to this letter, for I will already be on my way." He was planning his departure for September or October.
However, this was by no means an evacuation. Korczak was not packing up his life’s archives; he was not trying to smuggle out the orphanage’s assets, nor was he attempting to bring Stefania Wilczyńska along to save her life. The trip was strictly scheduled for four months, from October to January. Korczak was, however, applying for permanent stay in Eretz Israel.
Officially, according to the information in his letters, Korczak was traveling to Eretz Israel for literary and deeply personal reasons. He wanted to work on his "new Bible" novel in the quiet of Tiberias or old Jerusalem, and he wanted a temporary reprieve from a harsh personal crisis. He felt exhausted in Warsaw, suffocated by the rise of domestic Polish anti-Semitism, and weighed down by the constant financial distress of the Aid for Orphans Society. Eretz Israel (Mandate of Palestine) was meant to be a mental refresh, a temporary breathing room, after which he fully intended to return to his desk at 8 Zlota Street and children at 92 Krochmalna. For sure, he did not view the Mediterranean as an asylum from falling bombs.
4. The Shock of September 1st and the Myth of "Escaping East".
As a veteran medical officer of both the Russo-Japanese War and the Polish-Soviet War of 1920, Korczak understood "old" warfare—a conflict fought by armies on fronts, where hospitals and civilian populations were granted basic conventions of respect. The industrial, total annihilation of children was beyond his cognitive horizon.
When the first German bombs shattered Warsaw on September 1, Korczak suffered a massive cognitive shock. Significantly, his reaction was not to flee east toward safety, which his prominence would have easily allowed—not during the siege, nor later after the capitulation of Warsaw. He flatly refused to abandon his post or his children. Instead, he immediately donned his old Polish military officer’s uniform. He wore this uniform proudly throughout the brutal siege of Warsaw and later carried it into the enclosed hell of the ghetto, flatly refusing to wear the mandated Star of David armband. That uniform was his ultimate psychological shield against a terrifying new reality that he had refused to believe in until it was tragically too late.
Yet, while Korczak chose to stay and stand his ground, he looked out for the young men under his care. When the dramatic, late-night radio appeal by Colonel Roman Umiastowski echoed through the capital on September 6, calling all able-bodied men to march east of the Vistula River to join newly forming Polish mobilization forces, Korczak gave a direct order to my father, Pan Misza (Michał Wasserman Wróblewski). He instructed him to join this eastward movement and fulfill his duty.
My father followed Korczak's advice and joined the massive, chaotic exodus toward the rural and eastern regions. However, this infamous military appeal proved to be entirely detached from reality, lacking any logistical foundation. All those who listened to the call and marched east in search of the alleged mobilization points found nothing but utter panic, terror, and total administrative disorganization. When my father and other exhausted men finally encountered military officers along the roads and asked where these grand mobilization points were located, the soldiers simply "tapped their foreheads" (pukali się w czoło) in disbelief at the sheer absurdity of the situation.
This tragic contrast—between Korczak's unyielding, old-world sense of military duty and the immediate, chaotic collapse of the interwar state apparatus—perfectly encapsulates the brutal transition from the illusions of August 1939 to the raw, unvarnished reality of the German occupation.
