I have seen many monuments to the Holocaust. There is a very modern one in Berlin consisting of huge gray blocks of different sizes. Everyone interpreted its meaning and symbolism differently. While I admired the concept, its form, and huge size, it still left me emotionally cold.
Then there is the World War II Memorial in Washington, DC, which I find very Germanic and heavy. Its symmetry is boring.
The monument I deeply admire—the one that moves me not only by its appearance but also by the person it commemorates—is connected to my Polish roots.
The monument, located in the center of Warsaw, honors Janusz Korczak, whose real name was Henryk Goldszmit. He was a Polish Jewish physician, an author, a publisher, and a beloved pedagogue. He was also the director of a Jewish orphanage in Warsaw, where he cared for some of the most impoverished and vulnerable Jewish children.
This monument was opened on June 1, 2006—a symbolic date, as it is Children's Day in Poland. The monument depicts Korczak in front of a tall tree embracing six orphaned children in a fatherly gesture. There are boys and girls of different ages depicted. The youngest girl carries a doll. Two of the boys look up to Korczak, seemingly searching for his assurance. Others stare straight ahead.
The tree is almost leafless, except for a few leaves on top which I feel symbolize hope. Dry branches are arranged in the form of a menorah. The base is made of granite, and the sculpture is made of bronze. The inscription says: Dr. Henryk Goldszmit 1878–1942.
Janusz Korczak was a renowned advocate for children’s rights and independence. His much-enjoyed children’s book, King Matt the First, tells the story of a young king gallivanting all over Europe and reigning with the help of other children. Korczak preached that children should be fully understood, respected, and loved. I agree with Korczak's thesis. He was also popular on a radio show and published a newspaper for and by children.
At the beginning of the war, he was a director of the Jewish orphanage and when the Warsaw ghetto was created in October 1940, the orphanage was relocated to the ghetto. He tried to give the children a sense of normalcy and a feeling of belonging, against all odds. Unfortunately, on August 5 or 6, 1942, the children of the orphanage run by Korczak and all of his staff were forced to leave. Their destination was Treblinka and certain death. Because of his fame, Korczak had many offers to stay behind and be hidden. Not for a minute did he consider any of these offers.
He accompanied almost 200 of his children. They were likely unaware of the cruel future they faced: being gassed in Treblinka.
Just as he had fought all of his professional life for respect and dignity for all children, on this last journey, he would not let them die alone, sacrificing his own life.
I teared up seeing this monument and remembering this humble, selfless doctor who loved the orphaned children he cared for to the bitter end.
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