Saturday, June 20, 2009

Janusz Korczak -"Every child has a pillow made of chocolate"






http://korczak.com/Biography/kap-6.htm
The Magic of Dr Korczak,not his medicine, made the "children well".The true anecdotes of the children" and about them are inexpressible and beyond words. A case in point is the experience with the mug and Zofia. He would stay 7 years at the hospital yearning for a solution surpassing aspirin to cure the poverty of the children now going back to the streets whence they came.What was the prescription he could offer to cure the world of the dirty and hungry children? "Keep your mouth shut if you are not helping".
























Still, inveterate actor that he was, Korczak did not easily admit the harsh
reality of hospital life. When the daughter of a colleague exclaimed: "How
terrible it must be to wake up in a strange hospital with no mommy or daddy," he
replied: "Oh, we know how to cope with that. Every child has a pillow made of
chocolate and whipped cream. If she wakes up and feels unhappy, she breaks off a
piece, and feels much better."
The truth of the matter was that the
frightened child would wake and see the twinkling eyes of the doctor trying to
put her at ease. It was apparent to everyone at the hospital, from the director
to the lowliest orderly, that it was not so much the medicine as the magic of
Dr. Goldszmit´s way with children that made them well.
When a girl named Zofia,
who was becoming weak from not eating, refused her mug of broth, he told her how
sad the mug was at being rejected. If she did not drink the broth, it would roll
right out of the hospital into the street and be run over by a tramcar. Zofia
clasped the mug, then drank the broth right down.
Henryk Goldszmit, the
doctor, would stay at the Children´ s Hospital for seven years, but Janusz
Korczak, the writer and future educator, was restless. The doctor saw a feverish
child through the dramatic crises of his illness, but the educator was aware
that when the child was released, he disappeared back into a dark, sunless world
that the doctor could neither enter nor alter. "When the devil will we stop
prescribing aspirin for poverty, exploitation, lawlessness, and crime?" he would
complain to his colleagues
. But what could he prescribe to change his patients´
lives? it was the same frustration the five-year-old reformer had felt-how could
he remake the world so that there would be no more hungry or dirty children?
Complaining about injustice wasn´t enough. As a schoolboy he had once been
rebuked by a tram conductor whom he had criticized for cracking a whip on the
horses to make them pull the tramcars more quickly: "If you are so full of pity,
get down yourself and pull, young man. it will be nicer for the horses." He had
taken the message to heart: "Keep your mouth shut if you´re not helping. Don´t
criticize if you don´t know a better way.
"
Thinking back to that tramcar
incident, he had to admit to himself that for all of his dissatisfaction about
social inequities, he had not yet found the means to offer a better way of life
to deprived children.

Tale of Jerusalem by Poe a Parody







This story is a debunking and parody of the popular novel Zillah. The quotes are right from Lucan and Horace Smith.There are historical inaccuracies in the story which I cannot but recant as an aside:


QUOTE "Let us not question the motives of the Philistine," interrupted Abel-Phittim, "for to-day we profit for the first time by his avarice or by his generosity, but rather let us hurry to the ramparts, lest offerings should be wanting for that altar whose fire the rains of heaven cannot extinguish, and whose pillars of smoke no tempest can turn aside"


Poetic license I suppose .


The setting is the second temple period and allusions to the 10 miracles of which are comprised the unquenchable fire of the altar and the pillars of smoke are attributable to the 10 continuous miracles of the first Solomonic temple which after its destruction by the Babylonians lost some of the miracles and a hiding of or depriving of the divine presence (HESTER PONIM) correct me if I am wrong.














. The tale is a parody of a popular novel from 1828, Zillah, a Tale of Jerusalem, by Horace Smith (1777-1849). Poe incorporated whole phrases and sentences from Smith's story: "Poe's story is more than a parody; it is literally a collage of snatches of the Smith novel, cut out and pasted together in a new order. Read immediately after Zillah, it is very funny. Read without Zillah it is merely a puzzling and even offensive anecdote" (Levine 352). See Levine's edition for notes on specific instances of Poe's use of the earlier work. 2. A more literal translation would be, "He suffered his grey beard to ascend his severe face." The lines are from Lucan's Pharsalia. The passage refers to Marcus Porcius Cato. "Porcius" means, literally, "pertaining to pigs" -- thus leading to the bristle/beard and boar/bore puns which have meaning for both Smith's Zillah and Poe's story.
That part of the city to which our worthy Gizbarin now hastened, and which
bore the name of its architect, King David, was esteemed the most strongly
fortified district of Jerusalem; being situated upon the steep and lofty hill of
Zion. Here, a broad, deep, circumvallatory trench, hewn from the solid rock, was
defended by a wall of great strength erected upon its inner edge. This wall was
adorned, at regular interspaces, by square towers of white marble; the lowest
sixty, and the highest one hundred and twenty cubits in height.
But, in the
vicinity of the gate of Benjamin, the wall arose by no means from the margin of
the fosse. On the contrary, between the level of the ditch and the basement of
the rampart, sprang up a perpendicular cliff of two hundred and fifty cubits,
forming part of the precipitous Mount Moriah. So that when Simeon and his
associates arrived on the summit of the tower called Adoni-Bezek–the loftiest of
all the turrets around about Jerusalem, and the usual place of conference with
the besieging army–they looked down upon the camp of the enemy from an eminence
excelling by many feet that of the Pyramid of Cheops
, and, by several, that of
the temple of Belus.
"Verily," sighed the Pharisee, as he peered dizzly over
the precipice, "the uncircumcised are as the sands by the seashore–as the
locusts in the wilderness! The valley of The King hath become the valley of
Adommin."
"Lower away the basket with the shekels of silver!" here shouted a Roman
soldier in a hoarse, rough voice, which appeared to issue from the regions of
Pluto–"lower away the basket with the accursed coin which it has broken the jaw
of a noble Roman to pronounce! Is it thus you evince your gratitude to our
master Pompeius, who, in his condescension, has thought fit to listen to your
idolatrous importunities? The god Phoebus, who is a true god, has been charioted
for an hour–and were you not to be on the ramparts by sunrise? Aedepol! do you
think that we, the conquerors of the world, have nothing better to do than stand
waiting by the walls of every kennel, to traffic with the dogs of the earth?
Lower away! I say–and see that your trumpery be bright in color and just in
weight!"
Intensos rigidam in frontem ascendere canosPassus eratLucan
--a bristly bore.Translation
"LET us hurry to the walls," said Abel-Phittim to Buzi-Ben-Levi and Simeon the Pharisee, on the tenth day of the month Thammuz, in the year of the world three thousand nine hundred and forty-one–"let us hasten to the ramparts adjoining the gate of Benjamin, which is in the city of David, and overlooking the camp of the uncircumcised; for it is the last hour of the fourth watch, being sunrise; and the idolaters, in fulfilment of the promise of Pompey, should be awaiting us with the lambs for the sacrifices."
Simeon, Abel-Phittim, and Buzi-Ben-Levi, were the Gizbarim, or sub-collectors of the offering, in the holy city of Jerusalem.
"Verily," replied the Pharisee, "let us hasten: for this generosity in the heathen is unwonted; and fickle-mindedness has ever been an attribute of the worshippers of Baal."
"That they are fickle-minded and treacherous is as true as the Pentateuch," said Buzi-Ben-Levi, "but that is only towards the people of Adonai. When was it ever known that the Ammonites proved wanting to their own interests? Methinks it is no great stretch of generosity to allow us lambs for the altar of the Lord, receiving in lieu thereof thirty silver shekels per head!"
"Thou forgettest, however, Ben-Levi," replied Abel-Phittim, "that the Roman Pompey, who is now impiously besieging the city of the Most High, has no assurity that we apply not the lambs thus purchased for the altar, to the sustenance of the body, rather than of the spirit."
"Now, by the five corners of my beard!" shouted the Pharisee, who belonged to the sect called The Dashers (that little knot of saints whose manner of dashing and lacerating the feet against the pavement was long a thorn and a reproach to less zealous devotees–a stumbling-block to less gifted perambulators)–"by the five corners of that beard which, as a priest, I am forbidden to shave!–have we lived to see the day when a blaspheming and idolatrous upstart of Rome shall accuse us of appropriating to the appetites of the flesh the most holy and consecrated elements? Have we lived to see the day when-"
"Let us not question the motives of the Philistine," interrupted Abel-Phittim, "for to-day we profit for the first time by his avarice or by his generosity, but rather let us hurry to the ramparts, lest offerings should be wanting for that altar whose fire the rains of heaven cannot extinguish, and whose pillars of smoke no tempest can turn aside."
That part of the city to which our worthy Gizbarin now hastened, and which bore the name of its architect, King David, was esteemed the most strongly fortified district of Jerusalem; being situated upon the steep and lofty hill of Zion. Here, a broad, deep, circumvallatory trench, hewn from the solid rock, was defended by a wall of great strength erected upon its inner edge. This wall was adorned, at regular interspaces, by square towers of white marble; the lowest sixty, and the highest one hundred and twenty cubits in height. But, in the vicinity of the gate of Benjamin, the wall arose by no means from the margin of the fosse. On the contrary, between the level of the ditch and the basement of the rampart, sprang up a perpendicular cliff of two hundred and fifty cubits, forming part of the precipitous Mount Moriah. So that when Simeon and his associates arrived on the summit of the tower called Adoni-Bezek–the loftiest of all the turrets around about Jerusalem, and the usual place of conference with the besieging army–they looked down upon the camp of the enemy from an eminence excelling by many feet that of the Pyramid of Cheops, and, by several, that of the temple of Belus.
"Verily," sighed the Pharisee, as he peered dizzly over the precipice, "the uncircumcised are as the sands by the seashore–as the locusts in the wilderness! The valley of The King hath become the valley of Adommin."
"And yet," added Ben-Levi, "thou canst not point me out a Philistine–no, not one–from Aleph to Tau–from the wilderness to the battlements–who seemeth any bigger than the letter Jod!"
"Lower away the basket with the shekels of silver!" here shouted a Roman soldier in a hoarse, rough voice, which appeared to issue from the regions of Pluto–"lower away the basket with the accursed coin which it has broken the jaw of a noble Roman to pronounce! Is it thus you evince your gratitude to our master Pompeius, who, in his condescension, has thought fit to listen to your idolatrous importunities? The god Phoebus, who is a true god, has been charioted for an hour–and were you not to be on the ramparts by sunrise? Aedepol! do you think that we, the conquerors of the world, have nothing better to do than stand waiting by the walls of every kennel, to traffic with the dogs of the earth? Lower away! I say–and see that your trumpery be bright in color and just in weight!"
"El Elohim!" ejaculated the Pharisee, as the discordant tones of the centurion rattled up the crags of the precipice, and fainted away against the temple–"El Elohim!–who is the God Phoebus?–whom doth the blasphemer invoke? Thou, Buzi-Ben-Levi! who art read in the laws of the Gentiles, and hast sojourned among them who dabble with the Teraphim!–is it Nergal of whom the idolater speaketh?–or Ashimah?–or–Nibhaz?–or Tartak?–or Adramalech?–or Anamalech?–or Succoth-Benith?–or Dragon?–or Belial?–or Baal-Perith?–or Baal-Peor?–or Baal-Zebub?"
"Verily it is neither–but beware how thou lettest the rope slip too rapidly through thy fingers; for should the wicker-work chance to hang on the projection of yonder crag, there will be a woful outpouring of the holy things of the sanctuary."
By the assistance of some rudely constructed machinery, the heavily laden basket was now carefully lowered down among the multitude; and, from the giddy pinnacle, the Romans were seen gathering confusedly round it; but owing to the vast height and the prevalence of a fog, no distinct view of their operations could be obtained.
Half an hour had already elapsed.
"We shall be too late!" sighed the Pharisee, as at the expiration of this period, he looked over into the abyss–"we shall be too late! we shall be turned out of office by the Katholim."
"No more," responded Abel-Phittim,–"no more shall we feast upon the fat of the land–no longer shall our beards be odorous with frankincense–our loins girded up with fine linen from the Temple."
"Raca!" swore Ben-Levi, "Raca! do they mean to defraud us of the purchase money? or, Holy Moses! are they weighing the shekels of the tabernacle?
"They have given the signal at last!" cried the Pharisee–"they have given the signal at last!–pull away, Abel-Phittim!–and thou, Buzi-Ben-Levi, pull away!–for verily the Philistines have either still hold upon the basket, or the Lord hath softened their hearts to place therein a beast of good weight!" And the Gizbarim pulled away, while their burthen swung heavily upwards through the still increasing mist.
"Booshoh he!"–as, at the conclusion of an hour, some object at the extremity of the rope became indistinctly visible–"Booshoh he!" was the exclamation which burst from the lips of Ben-Levi.
"Booshoh he!–for shame!–it is a ram from the thickets of Engedi, and as rugged as the valley of Jehosaphat!"
"It is a firstling of the flock," said Abel-Phittim, "I know him by the bleating of his lips, and the innocent folding of his limbs. His eyes are more beautiful than the jewels of the Pectoral, and his flesh is like the honey of Hebron."
"It is a fatted calf from the pastures of Bashan," said the Pharisee, "the heathen have dealt wonderfully with us!–let us raise up our voices in a psalm!–let us give thanks on the shawm and on the psaltery–on the harp and on the huggab–on the cythern and on the sackbutt"
It was not until the basket had arrived within a few feet of the Gizbarium, that a low grunt betrayed to their perception a hog of no common size.
"Now El Emanu!" slowly, and with upturned eyes ejaculated the trio, as, letting go their hold, the emancipated porker tumbled headlong among the Philistines, "El Emanu!–God be with us–it is the unutterable flesh!"






Thursday, June 18, 2009

The Roofs that shelter us






















































Here are the notes of the pictures of roofs pictured in the above link. Its on the blog site.











view of the roofs of the village of roussillon in the provence october 2005
thatched roof in adare a village which preserves this traditional roof - according the village's website adare is 'Ireland's prettiest village' - from what I saw the claim could be true, but first I'd like to visit the rest of ireland's villages!
random paris roofs. the picture above was taken in the 18 arrondissement (the montmartre neighborhood) but I also really love the snap on the right which was taken from the top of the centre georges pompidou (4th arrondissement). it was very hard selecting only one snap from paris, a city with marvelous roofs!
one of the marvelous gingerbread houses at the annual botanical garden holiday extravaganza. such a yummy looking roof - but then again I do have a soft spot for licorice of all flavors and varieties!
the roof of casa batlló which I believe is the most exciting and creative roof I have ever encountered. but I am in search for a roof that can top this!
looking through the glass ceiling and glass roof of the british museum, london
st. theodosius russian orthodox church in the tremont neighborhood of cleveland. this church is featured (made famous?) in the wedding scene of the 1978 movie the deer hunter, a film which went on to win several oscars. I'm ashamed to admit I have yet to watch the movie (the subject matter I fear will leave me in a puddle of tears - I do like a good cry, but there is something about war and war movies that I find most difficult!)
the roof of the house in which I live adorned with a particularly lovely bit winter frosting called a snow cornice! how I do love winter and all it brings!





























The quotes on this blog so match the bautiful pictures of the roofs that
shelter us. I like the quote from Camus, Tolstoy and Emrson especially

But what is happiness except the simple harmony between a man and the life
he leads?
Albert Camus (1913-1960) novelist, essayist and playwright

We take care of our health, we lay up money, we make our roof tight and our
clothing sufficient, but who provides wisely that he shall not be wanting the
best property of all -- friends? Emerson

Faith is the sense of life, that sense by virtue of which man does not
destroy himself, but continues to live on. It is the force whereby we live.
Leo Tolstoy (1828 - 1910) writer

On life's journey faith is nourishment, virtuous deeds are a shelter,
wisdom is the light by day and right mindfulness is the protection by night. If
a man lives a pure life, nothing can destroy him.
Buddha (563-483 B.C.E.)
Hindu prince, teacher, philosopher

It is sad to grow old but nice to ripen.
Brigitte Bardot (b. 1934)
actress & activist

Janusz Korczak the medical Robin Hood






http://korczak.com/Biography/kap-6.htm










Even the poor he charged somewhat heeding the Talmud's dictum that the unpaid doctor is no help to a sick man. He was considered a mad and dangerous lunatic by certain doctors and pharmacists but the children never questioned the sanity of his antics. Anecdotes (true anecdotes) couls tell more than a commentary could ever, and a recap of the anecdotes is "telling".







  • (QUOTED) The children never questioned his sanity or his antics. One mother entered the sickroom to find both her child and the doctor missing; when she cried out in alarm, they both poked their heads out from under the bed. Another knew that her sick daughter would never fall asleep until Dr. Goldszmit came. Like a sorcerer he would wave everyone from the room, and then, sitting by the child>>s bed, he would caress her hands and tell her stories about each finger, blowing on it to make it drowsy. When he got to number ten, she was always asleep.



  • He infuriated hospital officials by calling for simple reforms. He used playful bantyer with the children and by so doing entered their world as a welcome guest. He would wave all from a room like a sorcerer and sitting by the child's bed would caress her hands til she fell asleep.



  • He criticized doctors for not treating their patients holistically. He praised midwives and advocated breast feeding.He overruled doctors ansd nurses who forbade parents to bring toys for their fear of germs being spread. The children had so little to make them smile.



  • There were children who had nowhere to go and a the top of the child's rights was the right to die.some children perhaps had other destinies than to be their parents' siblings.







Only to the poor was he unfailingly compassionate, paying calls late at
night to the basement at 52 Sliska Street or the attic at 17 Panska. He was a
medical Robin Hood, taking fees from the rich so that he could afford to give
medicine to the poor.
But even the poor he charged twenty kopecks because "it is
written in the Talmud that an unpaid doctor is no help to a sick man." And he
was always available to the children of "socialists, teachers, newspapermen,
young lawyers, even doctors." This idealistic young doctor was considered a mad,
dangerous lunatic by certain doctors and wholesale pharmacists who were
threatened by his night calls
, low fees, and habit of dispensing free medicine.
The children never questioned his sanity or his antics. One mother entered
the sickroom to find both her child and the doctor missing; when she cried out
in alarm, they both poked their heads out from under the bed. Another knew that
her sick daughter would never fall asleep until Dr. Goldszmit came. Like a
sorcerer he would wave everyone from the room, and then, sitting by the
child>>s bed, he would caress her hands and tell her stories about each
finger, blowing on it to make it drowsy. When he got to number ten, she was
always asleep.
A former patient, Henryk Grynberg, who became a doctor
himself, said that Korczak´ s hands were cold when he made house calls, and that
it felt good when he put them on your brow. If you didn´t have a fever, he´d try
to warm them before coming into the room. He always had some playful banter in
this kosher home. ´You see, you had your secret sausage, and God punished you.
Because of this, your mother will have to make tea and put in a few drops of
cognac, as further punishment."
Korczak may have endeared himself to his
patients, but he infuriated Russian hospital administrators with his indignant
articles calling for basic hospital reforms, not the least of which was that
management should be turned over to the Poles
. He criticized doctors ("unethical
tradesmen") who made distinctions in the treatment of wealthy and nonpaying
patients and who categorized patients according to their disease, rather than
viewing them as individuals with a whole range of life problems
. The only group
that merited his praise were midwives, whom he felt were not appreciated enough
for their important role in assisting human beings into the world. He was an
advocate of breast feeding, in an era of wet nurses. ´The breast does not belong
to the mother, but to the baby" he said.
Even at his own hospital, Korczak
had to fight for "intelligent" treatment of the young patients, overruling
doctors and nurses who forbade parents to bring toys because they might carry
germs.
The children - whom the city was casting his way "like seashells" -had so
little to make them smile, and he was painfully aware of his lack of resources.
"Little hospital. i remember winter, cold, the horse and carriage arrives,"
he would write. "They carefully carry a bundle with a sick child inside. Bell
rings. Calling for the doctor to come down. I am coming. One blanket belongs to
the family, one to a neighbor, sometimes three blankets from two neighbors.
Clothes, flannels, petticoats, mufflers, bundle of odiferous infection.
Finally,
the patient. Scarlet fever. The unit for infectious diseases has no more room.
Pointless begging. Please, on the floor, in the corridor-anywhere. Doctor, i´ll
give you a ruble. Sometimes-trapped. I will leave the child here. You´ll have to
take her. Sometimes a curse."
He had to be firm, to hide the sorrow he felt
for the children who had nowhere to go and those he knew would not survive.
Yet
he was impressed by how "dignified, mature, and sensible a child could be when
face to face with death."
He was to place the right of the child to die at the
top of his Magna Carta of Children´s Rights
. No matter how much a mother loved
her child, she had to allow him the right to premature death. it was possible,
he wrote>> that a child had a destiny other than being his mother´ s
child. "The naturalist knows that not every seed produces an ear of corn, not
every chick is born fit to live, not every sapling grows into a tree."

synch-ro-ni-zing: first lines & last lines

synch-ro-ni-zing: first lines & last lines

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Janusz Korczak press release



This press release could and does say more than I could possibly write about and so it self-speaks.



Press Releases

Sixty-six Years Since the Murder of Janusz Korczak and the Children
Ceremony tomorrow at Yad Vashem with participation of Holocaust survivors and youth groups
(August 6, 2008 - Jerusalem) Tomorrow, Thursday, August 7, 2008, Yad Vashem will mark 66 years since the deportation to Treblinka of Janusz Korczak, Stefania Wilczynska, and the children of their orphanage, from the Warsaw Ghetto. Survivors, members of the Korczak society, and of the youth movements will participate in the memorial ceremony at 17:00 at Janusz Korczak Square at Yad Vashem. Prior to the ceremony, participants will meet at the Korczak memorial in the Polish Jewry Forrest, and then visit the “My Homeland: Holocaust Survivors in Israel” exhibit in Yad Vashem’s Exhibitions Pavilion.
Janusz Korczak was the pen name of Henryk Goldszmit, a Polish-born doctor, author and educator. Born in Warsaw to an assimilated Jewish family, Korczak dedicated his life to caring for children, particularly orphans. He believed that children should always be listened to and respected, and this belief was reflected in his work. He wrote several books for and about children, and broadcast a children's radio program. In 1912 Korczak became the director of a Jewish orphanage in Warsaw. When World War II broke out in 1939, Korczak first refused to accept the German occupation and heed their regulations (consequently spending time in jail). However, when the Jews of Warsaw were forced to move into a ghetto, Korczak refocused his efforts on the children in his orphanage. Despite offers from Polish friends to hide him on the "Aryan" side of the city, Korczak refused to abandon the children.
Stefania Wilczynska was born in 1886 in Poland and completed her studies at the University of Liège, Belgium. In 1909, she met Korczak and the two began working together. When World War I began, Korczak was recruited and Stefania remained in charge of running the orphanage, which had expanded and now housed some 150 children. In 1935, she visited Palestine and lived at Ein Harod until 1939. With the Nazi occupation, the members of Ein Harod arranged for her the possibility of leaving Poland, but she turned it down and moved to the ghetto along with Dr. Korczak and the children.
In August 1942, during a 2-month wave of deportations from the ghetto, the Nazis rounded up Korczak, Wilczynska and the 200 children of the orphanage. They marched in rows to the Umschlagplatz with Korczak in the lead. He and Stephania never abandoned the children, even to the very end. Korczak and the children were sent to Treblinka, where they were all murdered.

Janus Korczak and finding the stench of poverty now acclaimed








http://korczak.com/Biography/kap-6.htm












The Orphanage


Whenhe returned from war to Warsaw the following "developments " had occured as is the case of the ending of most war scenarios and the advent of retrenchment. Janusz the author was acclaimed as writing the Child of the Drawing Room as a new voice decrying child poverty. Warsaw was in revolutionary ferment, and Voice Magazine had been closed down.Jan Dawid and many intellectuals were in exile in Cracow.Some limited pyrrhic victories ensued such as the following:




  • the scghool boycott forced the demoralized Russian government to allow private schools though not accredited to teach the Polish language.


  • The Flying University now operated in the open to become the Free Polish University and gave courses in Polish.


  • Korczak reclaimed his position as resident doctor in the Children's Hospital on Sliska Street


  • Note the description of the Hospital (Quoted) The pride of the Jewish community, this tree-shaded one-story stucco hospital, built by the wealthy Bersohn and Bauman families, had seven wards, forty-three beds, an operating room, a lab, and an outpatient clinic that was open without charge to children of all faiths.


  • His medical routine was exhaustive and he was not well paid and supplemented his income from other sources.

  • His private practice was studded with Warsaw's prominent families. They76 lured him for raesons than other for treating their sick children and this made Korczak furious.



When he returned to Warsaw in early 1906, Lieutenant Henryk Goldszmit was
amazed to find that during his absence he had become famous as Janusz Korczak,
the author of Child of the Drawing Room. Critics proclaimed him a new voice in
Polish literature that had found "the color of poverty, its stench, its cry, and
its hunger."
The public was anxious to meet the audacious young writer who had
been called away to war just when his star was rising and was now back to
illuminate their drawing rooms.
However, the renowned Janusz Korczak was no
more accessible than the unknown Henryk Goldszmit had been. Warsaw was still in
a state of revolutionary ferment and there was a lot of catching up to do on
what had happened in his absence. Voice magazine bad been closed down three
months earlier and Jan Dawid>> along with many other intellectuals, was in
exile in Cracow.
But there had been some victories: the school boycott, far from
over, had at least forced the demoralized Russian government to allow the
opening of private schools, which, though not accredited, were permitted to
teach in the Polish language
. The Flying University, now operating in the open
as the Society for Scientific Courses (later to become the Free Polish
University), was sanctioned to give courses in Polish, as were some departments
at Warsaw University.
Declining all invitations except from intimate friends,
Korczak reclaimed the position he had left as resident doctor ("general drudge")
in the Children>>s Hospital on Sliska Street.
The pride of the Jewish
community, this tree-shaded one-story stucco hospital, built by the wealthy
Bersohn and Bauman families, had seven wards, forty-three beds, an operating
room, a lab, and an outpatient clinic that was open without charge to children
of all faiths. He settled into a routine that included everything from battling
scarlet fever, typhus, measles, dysentery, and tuberculosis to cataloguing the
1,400-volume medical library. His mother, "a good old soul," ran the apartment
that came with the job on fifteen rubles a month. He supplemented his annual
salary of two hundred rubles (about one hundred dollars) with another hundred
from private practice and odd sums from his articles
. His mother was shocked at
how often he took horse carriages to see patients: "A droshky to go to Zlota
Street? Twenty kopecks? Spendthrift!"
Although it was unusual for any but
the most wealthy Jewish doctors to have Gentile patients, Korczak>> s
private practice was soon studded with the names of Warsaw´s most prominent
families. A number of social hostesses began to realize that the only way to
lure Janusz Korczak to their homes was through a sick child. He tried to make
time to respond to their calls, but whenever he suspected it was Korczak the
author, rather than Goldszmit the doctor, who was being summoned, he could be
very rude.
In one case, having been asked to come immediately to attend two
young brothers, he arrived to find the mother in a hostess gown. "Please wait a
moment, Doctor. I´ll send for the boys."" Are they out?>>´"Not far.
They´re playing in the park. Meanwhile-a cup of tea?""I can´t spare the time to
wait." "But Dr. Julian always . . . Have you been writing anything
lately?""Unfortunately, only prescriptions!"And he stormed out. The next day a
colleague phoned: &For God´s sake, my friend! They´re furious. You´ve made
enemies!""I don´t give a damn!"He was equally impatient with middle-class Jewish
mothers, who must have reminded him ofhis own. To one who insisted her child
should have tea, he snapped: "if your child needed to drink tea>> God
would have given you milk in one breast, and tea in the other." And to another
whose little darling was clearly overweight, he observed: <<´Even Rothschild doesn´t give his child more than five meals a day. "