children of various sizes, all mouths and tiny hands pulling at my coat, surrounded me.
‘Show us the puppets, we want to see them, please,’ they shouted.
Standing there in the middle of this shrieking audience, I made up a magic show as the puppets had learned some brilliant tricks by this time. From the pockets’ maze I pulled a paper flower, a tiny rabbit I made from the rest of the fur, and the small violin. And for the first time in a very long while, surrounded by this sea of screeching, grabbing children, I felt happy. Hannah giggled and laughed, and when the monkey chased the crocodile she poked her neighbour, saying, ‘That’s my monkey, I played the monkey!’
At the end of the show the children begged me to be allowed to hold the puppets and so I handed them over one by one. All hell broke loose as the puppets were released: stuck on tiny hands they hopped, shrieked, giggled and chased one another; hitting and hugging, clinging together in small crowds, taking off again to find new companions.
As I moved slowly out of the centre of this wild spectacle, I noticed an older man with a neatly trimmed white beard, leaning against the wall in the corner of the hall, smiling. He stepped forward and stretched out his hand to greet me.
‘Hello, my boy, and thank you, what a wonderful performance. The children here have so little but today they have been able to forget everything for a while. I can’t thank you enough. What is your name?’ His voice was deep and warm like a cello and his smile stretched all the way to his eyes.
‘I’m Mika. Children always love the puppets. And who are you, sir?’
‘Janusz – Janusz Korczak. Nice to meet you, Mika. I’ve been looking after the children for some years now but the orphanage has grown so much since they packed us into the ghetto, especially over the last few months. We’re completely full already, but how can we possibly turn away a child who comes knocking on our door? We don’t have enough food to feed all these little mouths.’
His smile faded and I could see how strained he looked. He shook his head.
‘But let me show you around, Mika, so you get an idea of what we are doing here.’
While the children continued to play with the puppets, Janusz led me through the large building. Everything appeared so clean and ordered, it even smelled clean, but my heart dropped with every floor – so many children and so few things to play with. The rooms were packed with simple beds squeezed next to each other and the pictures on the walls were the only spots of colour. A few wooden toys lay scattered among the furniture and there was a small wood burner in the middle of each room. Janusz showed me a classroom: about fifty small wooden desks all crammed into one large space.
‘We make do with whatever we can get. The children are happy here, but they are always hungry and it is getting more and more difficult every day. We have over two hundred little ones now.’
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He seemed tired, worn out.
‘You know, Mika, they still want to learn. I’m sure you do too. They are so curious about life. The Germans have taken everything from us, but we will still teach them and be a family as best we can.’
My throat tightened and tears threatened to force themselves from my eyes. I admired this man. Later he became so famous – Janusz Korczak – but even then I could see what a special person he was. Slowly we made our way back to the entrance hall.
From a distance I watched the crowd of children playing with the puppets. It hit me how desperately thin and pale they all were. And although the children and the puppets animated each other for a short while, lending each other colour and joy, when I began to collect the puppets, the spark and colour disappeared, until it seemed as though I were looking at an old, faded photograph. I had to leave.
‘I’ll come back soon, I promise.’ I hugged Hannah, who clung to me,
‘Show us the puppets, we want to see them, please,’ they shouted.
Standing there in the middle of this shrieking audience, I made up a magic show as the puppets had learned some brilliant tricks by this time. From the pockets’ maze I pulled a paper flower, a tiny rabbit I made from the rest of the fur, and the small violin. And for the first time in a very long while, surrounded by this sea of screeching, grabbing children, I felt happy. Hannah giggled and laughed, and when the monkey chased the crocodile she poked her neighbour, saying, ‘That’s my monkey, I played the monkey!’
At the end of the show the children begged me to be allowed to hold the puppets and so I handed them over one by one. All hell broke loose as the puppets were released: stuck on tiny hands they hopped, shrieked, giggled and chased one another; hitting and hugging, clinging together in small crowds, taking off again to find new companions.
As I moved slowly out of the centre of this wild spectacle, I noticed an older man with a neatly trimmed white beard, leaning against the wall in the corner of the hall, smiling. He stepped forward and stretched out his hand to greet me.
‘Hello, my boy, and thank you, what a wonderful performance. The children here have so little but today they have been able to forget everything for a while. I can’t thank you enough. What is your name?’ His voice was deep and warm like a cello and his smile stretched all the way to his eyes.
‘I’m Mika. Children always love the puppets. And who are you, sir?’
‘Janusz – Janusz Korczak. Nice to meet you, Mika. I’ve been looking after the children for some years now but the orphanage has grown so much since they packed us into the ghetto, especially over the last few months. We’re completely full already, but how can we possibly turn away a child who comes knocking on our door? We don’t have enough food to feed all these little mouths.’
His smile faded and I could see how strained he looked. He shook his head.
‘But let me show you around, Mika, so you get an idea of what we are doing here.’
While the children continued to play with the puppets, Janusz led me through the large building. Everything appeared so clean and ordered, it even smelled clean, but my heart dropped with every floor – so many children and so few things to play with. The rooms were packed with simple beds squeezed next to each other and the pictures on the walls were the only spots of colour. A few wooden toys lay scattered among the furniture and there was a small wood burner in the middle of each room. Janusz showed me a classroom: about fifty small wooden desks all crammed into one large space.
‘We make do with whatever we can get. The children are happy here, but they are always hungry and it is getting more and more difficult every day. We have over two hundred little ones now.’
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He seemed tired, worn out.
‘You know, Mika, they still want to learn. I’m sure you do too. They are so curious about life. The Germans have taken everything from us, but we will still teach them and be a family as best we can.’
My throat tightened and tears threatened to force themselves from my eyes. I admired this man. Later he became so famous – Janusz Korczak – but even then I could see what a special person he was. Slowly we made our way back to the entrance hall.
From a distance I watched the crowd of children playing with the puppets. It hit me how desperately thin and pale they all were. And although the children and the puppets animated each other for a short while, lending each other colour and joy, when I began to collect the puppets, the spark and colour disappeared, until it seemed as though I were looking at an old, faded photograph. I had to leave.
‘I’ll come back soon, I promise.’ I hugged Hannah, who clung to me,
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