August 5, 1942: A Family Account of the Silent March - Lunia Rozental Wasserman - Janusz Korczak, 239 children and his staff from the Dom Sierot Orphanage on a final march from Sliska Street to the Umschlagplatz.

My mother, Lunia Rozental Wasserman saw on August 5, 1942, Janusz Korczak and 239 children and his staff from the Dom Sierot Orphanage on a final, agonizing march from Sliska Street to the Umschlagplatz. —the deportation point for the Treblinka extermination camp.

Lucyna Perła Rozental (Zofia Wróblewska), my mother, recalls:

"August 5, my birthday, around 10:00–11:00 in the morning—it was a hot summer day—I looked out the window because I heard voices and sounds. I saw a crowd of people marching from the southern part of the ghetto. They were being led down the middle of the street by soldiers in German uniforms. I do not know if those soldiers were Germans, Estonians, or Ukrainians. 

Suddenly, amid the crowd of adults and children, I spotted Dr. Janusz Korczak. He was walking at the very front with heavy steps, and the children followed behind Him. No one spoke. No one sang. A few people stood along the sidewalks. 

My first thought was: Where is my Misza, who worked as an educator in Korczak's orphanage. I realized immediately that he was not there. Misza was very tall, over 183 cm (6 feet) tall, and he always towered over the crowd of children in the courtyard of the Orphans’ Home at Krochmalna Street. Because of his height, the children sometimes nicknamed him 'the Giraffe.' At that moment, however, he was not among them. I did not look at the other teachers whom I knew. I saw Korczak, and then my eyes automatically searched only for Misza. After a few seconds, the children moved further away and disappeared."

A few hours later, the train, consisting of 60 cattle cars carrying 6,623 Jews from the Warsaw Ghetto, left the Umschlagplatz and the Gdańsk (Danzig) railway station in Warsaw, crossed the bridge over the Vistula (Wisła) River, and headed east. Just past the bridge, it rolled by the exact location where my father, Pan Misza, was working alongside three former orphans. All four of them had left the Orphanage early that morning, having said their goodbyes to the Doctor, completely unaware of the tragic events unfolding in the Little Ghetto that day. They had no way of knowing that inside two of those passing cattle cars were Korczak, the staff, and the children. The devastating truth only dawned on them when they returned later that evening to find the Orphanage building completely empty.

It is a well-established historical fact that August 5, 1942, was an exceptionally hot day. I verified this personally thirty years ago by reviewing contemporary newspapers and contacting the German Meteorological Institute directly. This meteorological data fully corroborates the accounts of eyewitnesses to the deportation, including those of my parents and Marek Rudnicki, whom I frequently met later in Paris.

My mother's authentic account of the oppressive heat and the absolute silence during the march directly contradicts the later literary mythologies of children singing, carrying flags, or Korczak marching defiantly like a soldier leading a parade. Marek Rudnicki, recalling the event during our meetings in Paris, emphasized that the day was intensely hot and sunny. He noted that due to Korczak's failing health, the procession was forced to halt in the shade several times to let the Doctor rest.

The enduring legacy of Janusz Korczak’s pedagogy did not end with his death, nor did it cease when my father, Pan Misza, passed away in 1993. My mother, Lunia Rozental Wasserman (Zofia Wróblewska), who had begun her pedagogical studies at Warsaw University before World War II, carried the torch for many years.

This unique photograph captures the physical manifestation of her late-in-life crusade. Even in her eighties, while progressively losing her eyesight, she continued to fiercely propagate Korczak's methods and tell the truth about his pedagogy.

Two things make this photograph extraordinary:
First, it shows a speech she delivered in Swedish, typed by her own hands on one of the very first Macintosh SE computers with its famously tiny screen. Because of her failing vision, she set the font to an incredibly large, bold typeface, allowing just a few sentences to fit on each page. Furthermore, she specifically used vibrant yellow paper to achieve the highest possible visual contrast to aid her reading. Placed side by side, these two A4 pages form a large A3 format, with her handmade corrections still clearly visible between the lines—a poignant testament to her meticulous effort to get every word right despite her physical limitations.

Second, within this same frame, I have placed my father's latest book, 'With Korczak Through Life' (Z Korczakiem przez życie). By positioning the book next to the manuscript, the viewer can immediately grasp the unusually large scale of her speech's lettering.

A significant portion of this text concerns her eyewitness account of Korczak’s deportation. It stands as a powerful symbol of a shared life's work: a pre-war Warsaw pedagogue, typing on a modern computer in Swedish exile, continuing to defend the rights of the child until her very last years.

Two things make this photograph extraordinary: First, it shows a speech she delivered in Swedish, typed by her own hands on one of the very first Macintosh SE computers with its famously tiny screen. The Macintosh SE features a built-in 9-inch (diagonal) monochrome CRT display. It has a fixed resolution of 512 × 342 pixels at 72 pixels per inch (ppi). The physical viewable area measures roughly 7.11 × 4.75 inches, equal to 18.06 × 12.06 centimeters. Because of her failing vision, she set the font to an incredibly large, bold typeface, allowing just a few sentences to fit on each page. Furthermore, she specifically used vibrant yellow paper to achieve the highest possible visual contrast to aid her reading. Placed side by side, these two A4 pages form a large A3 format, with her handmade corrections still clearly visible between the lines—a poignant testament to her meticulous effort to get every word right despite her physical limitations.

When Misza introduced Korczak to me, the Doctor said with a slight smile: "I have always known that Misza has good taste!"

My next meeting with Korczak took place at a summer camp. Sports competitions had been organized. Everyone participated, both children and [adults - crossed out and corrected above the line to: Korczak], and the athletic Misza played a particularly prominent role. The children's eyes shone and their faces were rosy. Even if someone lost, it did not arouse any negative feelings in anyone. Friendship endured despite rivalry. And it often lasted a lifetime. Korczak looked at the children with joy and pride, [I am not here so that they should love and admire me, but so that I should work for them and love them. - this entire sentence was crossed out with a wavy line by the author]. And his proteges understood this instinctively.

It was 60 years ago on the 5th of August—precisely on my birthday—that I happened to see that tragic image [through - corrected to: from] the window on Zamenhoff Street [where I lived - crossed out and corrected above the line to: for a brief moment]—Janusz Korczak was walking ahead of the Orphanage's children who marched in a line, followed by the staff and Stefa Wilczynska walking at the end of the column. I could see that Misza was not among the deported...

When in 1969 we felt forced to leave Poland, I reassured my husband that we would bring Korczak along with us during our relocation to Sweden. And that is truly how it happened.

Korczak’s books have been published, speaking about children and how adults should treat them. In this way, we have repaid a debt of gratitude to Janusz Korczak.

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Historical and Bibliographical Insights from the Text above:

• The Correction from "Through" to "From" the Window: Your mother specifically changed the Swedish word genom (through) to från (from), and added the phrase "for a brief moment" (för ett ögonblick). This emphasizes the lightning-fast, shock-inducing nature of the sighting—she wasn't casually sitting by the window; it was a fleeting, terrifying moment that burned into her memory.
• The Correction of "Adults" to "Korczak": On the second paragraph, she crossed out "adults" (vuxna) and wrote Korczak instead. This highlights that Korczak himself actively partook in the camp's physical play alongside Pan Misza, cementing Zartal's and your father's depiction of a leader who was physically "one of them" on the playground.
• Repaying the Debt in Sweden: The final paragraph beautifully links the entire biographical journey—bringing Korczak's memory in exile to Sweden in 1969 and publishing the books became her ultimate act of historical justice.

* To understand the profound weight of August 5, 1942, one must look at the unique role played by my father, Michał Wróblewski—affectionately known to everyone as 'Pan Misza.' As a deeply dedicated educator and close associate of Dr. Janusz Korczak, Pan Misza was a cornerstone of daily life at the Dom Sierot Orphanage on Krochmalna Street. Standing well over six feet tall, he was a protective and towering presence in the orphanage courtyard, earning him the playful nickname 'the Giraffe' from the children he loved and mentored. His responsibilities went far beyond standard care; he was an integral part of Korczak's democratic educational system, helping to guide the children through the orphanage's unique self-governing court and daily routines. By the summer of 1942, as the brutal reality of the German occupation closed in on the Warsaw Ghetto, Pan Misza remained on the front lines of the struggle to preserve the children's biological existence, dignity, and sanity—completely unaware of how abruptly his life's work would be shattered.

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