Korczak - A Specific Lesson in Botany: On Rearing Flowers and Young Shoots.
Korczak - A Specific Lesson in Botany: On Rearing Flowers and Young Shoots.
"Sometimes it seems to me that houses are alive too; because some are cheerful, and others are sad. — Oh, come on: cheerful houses. What a thing to make up!"(“Mały Przegląd”, May 20, 1927)
This simple dialogue between a brother and sister, published by Janusz Korczak (under the pen name "K.") during the early years of the magazine Mały Przegląd, holds a profound, almost prophetic childhood intuition. In the Old Doctor's world, houses possessed a soul and shared the fate of those who dwelt within them. For years, the buildings at 92 Krochmalna Street and "Różyczka" in Gocławek were cheerful houses, filled with sunlight and children's songs. By the summer of 1942, the tenement house at 16 Sienna Street in the Warsaw Ghetto had become a profoundly sad house.
The text titled "At the Flowerpots" is, on one hand, a genuine, technical nature lesson. The Old Doctor precisely introduces basic biological concepts—children learn to distinguish what seeds are from green sprouts that will only over time unfold their first true leaves. To make this indoor gardening more exciting and closer to the child's psyche, Korczak deliberately introduces an element of healthy competition. The siblings animatedly vie with each other and count: "I have 14!", "And in mine, 23!". This simple pedagogical tool was designed to teach children patience and the systematic, daily care required for a life entrusted to them, of which careful watering was a crucial part.
In his diary, under the date of August 4, 1942, Korczak wrote these heartbreaking words:"I watered the flowers. Poor ghetto plants, plants of urban captivity. (...) My work and their life."
Until the very end, the Old Doctor remained faithful to his botanical advice and his little charges. The following morning, August 5, 1942, promised to be exceptionally hot. It is highly likely that in the early hours, driven by that same deep sense of duty, he managed to water his flowers at 16 Sienna Street one last time. He was fully aware that the plants would need water to survive the impending oppressive heat—yet completely unaware that these were his final hours in his beloved Warsaw, and that later that same day, he would march with the children on their final journey to Treblinka.
Three years later, on January 17, 1945, Pan Misha would cross from the other side of the Vistula and gaze upon this sad, orphaned world, stripped of its children's laughter. Both the building at 92 Krochmalna Street and the final location of the Orphans' Home within the Small Ghetto at 16 Sienna Street stood amidst the ruined city—relatively intact, as if waiting for the return of memory.
* At the Flowerpots.
(A Conversation).
Flowerpots on the table. A brother and sister.
— I'm telling you: don't water it. The teacher said you can't do it too often, or it will rot.
— But there's a hole in the pot. If I pour too much, it will run out.
— Yes, it will flood the floor and there will be shouting again.
— Maybe mother will give us another saucer?
— Sure she will—give us one. She said it's the absolute last one. Mother thinks you can grow everything in one pot. Seeds need space so they don't steal each other's nutrients.
— And light.
— Not even light. After all, seeds aren't trees.
— But trees grow close together in the forest, and it doesn't harm them.
— How do you know? Maybe it does harm them. Some trees are big, and others are small.
— Because they are still young; they will grow later.
— Look how strange it is. A human grows and an animal grows. Everything just grows and grows.
— What else is it supposed to do? Everything wants to be big and strong.
— Even houses are big and small.
— Because that's how people built them. They have to be like that. They neither want to nor don’t want to. Houses aren't alive, after all.
— Sometimes it seems to me that houses are alive too; because some are cheerful, and others are sad.
— Oh, come on: cheerful houses. What a thing to make up!
— Well, but they are. Our school building is cheerful.
— If you get a good grade, it's cheerful, but if you catch a failing two—it's sad.
— Plants—yes. They are really alive, but houses are not.
— Do you remember my chestnut? How sick, sad, and miserable it was.
— Because the chestnut didn't want to suffocate in a flowerpot. It needs freedom.
— And what do you prefer: chestnuts or pines?
— I like palms and baobabs best.
— Not me. Why should I care about them—somewhere far away and so strange-looking?
— But there are strange animals there. And five men on horseback can ride right into the hollow of a baobab trunk. Now do you understand how big a baobab is?
— And man rules over all of it.
— And what do you want, for trees to rule?
— The world is very strange. Well, look: such a tiny little leaf.
— Not a leaf, a sprout.
— And this one? See, it's already divided here, you can see the leaves starting.
— Do you want to count who has more?
— All right.
— I have 14.
— And in mine, 23.
— Because you count everything, and I only count the ones that are worth it.
— It's worth counting them all, even the smallest ones. Tomorrow they will be big.
— Tomorrow is for me. Wait, I'll count it myself. Five... seven...
— And this one?
— Well, all right: eight. Yes, you have more because you planted yours earlier.
— Only by two days.
— Well, by two days then. In two days, my flowerpot will have more too. — Wait, I'll give them a good dinner. Let them eat up and grow strong and healthy.
— Don't pour so much, or you'll see.
— Why should I hold back? Let them enjoy it. A human constantly needs soup, seeds, candy, meat, and bread. And such a good-natured thing is satisfied with just pure water.
— Not water, but fertile soil. It won't grow on sand.
— How do you know?
— The teacher said so.
— Just wait: I'm going to try it. I'll fill a pot with sand and plant it.
— See? — Look what you did! I told you it would spill. — Here, let me hold it, and you run for a cloth before there's trouble! (The brother runs out). Truly, these boys are impossible to bear. I read in the Courier that men are reckless. The sacred truth!
— I'm telling you: don't water it. The teacher said you can't do it too often, or it will rot.
— But there's a hole in the pot. If I pour too much, it will run out.
— Yes, it will flood the floor and there will be shouting again.
— Maybe mother will give us another saucer?
— Sure she will—give us one. She said it's the absolute last one. Mother thinks you can grow everything in one pot. Seeds need space so they don't steal each other's nutrients.
— And light.
— Not even light. After all, seeds aren't trees.
— But trees grow close together in the forest, and it doesn't harm them.
— How do you know? Maybe it does harm them. Some trees are big, and others are small.
— Because they are still young; they will grow later.
— Look how strange it is. A human grows and an animal grows. Everything just grows and grows.
— What else is it supposed to do? Everything wants to be big and strong.
— Even houses are big and small.
— Because that's how people built them. They have to be like that. They neither want to nor don’t want to. Houses aren't alive, after all.
— Sometimes it seems to me that houses are alive too; because some are cheerful, and others are sad.
— Oh, come on: cheerful houses. What a thing to make up!
— Well, but they are. Our school building is cheerful.
— If you get a good grade, it's cheerful, but if you catch a failing two—it's sad.
— Plants—yes. They are really alive, but houses are not.
— Do you remember my chestnut? How sick, sad, and miserable it was.
— Because the chestnut didn't want to suffocate in a flowerpot. It needs freedom.
— And what do you prefer: chestnuts or pines?
— I like palms and baobabs best.
— Not me. Why should I care about them—somewhere far away and so strange-looking?
— But there are strange animals there. And five men on horseback can ride right into the hollow of a baobab trunk. Now do you understand how big a baobab is?
— And man rules over all of it.
— And what do you want, for trees to rule?
— The world is very strange. Well, look: such a tiny little leaf.
— Not a leaf, a sprout.
— And this one? See, it's already divided here, you can see the leaves starting.
— Do you want to count who has more?
— All right.
— I have 14.
— And in mine, 23.
— Because you count everything, and I only count the ones that are worth it.
— It's worth counting them all, even the smallest ones. Tomorrow they will be big.
— Tomorrow is for me. Wait, I'll count it myself. Five... seven...
— And this one?
— Well, all right: eight. Yes, you have more because you planted yours earlier.
— Only by two days.
— Well, by two days then. In two days, my flowerpot will have more too. — Wait, I'll give them a good dinner. Let them eat up and grow strong and healthy.
— Don't pour so much, or you'll see.
— Why should I hold back? Let them enjoy it. A human constantly needs soup, seeds, candy, meat, and bread. And such a good-natured thing is satisfied with just pure water.
— Not water, but fertile soil. It won't grow on sand.
— How do you know?
— The teacher said so.
— Just wait: I'm going to try it. I'll fill a pot with sand and plant it.
— See? — Look what you did! I told you it would spill. — Here, let me hold it, and you run for a cloth before there's trouble! (The brother runs out). Truly, these boys are impossible to bear. I read in the Courier that men are reckless. The sacred truth!
K.
