José Carlos Fleta Fauquer

[José Carlos Fleta Fauquer @FauquerJose]

https://t.co/iBaCixmnUd

[José Carlos Fleta Fauquer @FauquerJose]

https://t.co/kSxhv7c0AB

[José Carlos Fleta Fauquer @FauquerJose]

https://t.co/n0LbG9YNF5

[José Carlos Fleta Fauquer @FauquerJose]

https://t.co/oL9ccNeEnm

[El Toñez @antuan556]

Antonio Machado escribió el famoso poema «El crimen fue en Granada» dedicado a Federico García Lorca poco después de su asesinato en la madrugada del 17 al 18 de Agosto de 1936. La obra es un desgarrador lamento por la muerte del poeta granadino al inicio de la Guerra Civil española.

[José Carlos Fleta Fauquer @FauquerJose]

@soyEli21FCB Y Dalesandro es una expersona

[Taleb Alisalem @TalebSahara]

Este es el muro del Sáhara Occidental que mencione hoy en mi intervención en Antena 3

Considerado el muro más largo del mundo después de la muralla china, mide 2700km de largo y lo rodean 9 millones de niñas. Marruecos se garantiza así su ocupación al Sáhara Occidental.

[Taleb Alisalem @TalebSahara]

Es IMPRESIONANTE que ya no solo seamos los saharauis, sino los dos más prestigiosos Periodistas expertos en Marruecos, quienes hoy señalan al PSOE como siervo de Marruecos.

Ignacio Cembrero y José Bautista revelan hoy el secreto a voces que muchos ya veníamos denunciando.

[grafismo @grafismo]

Azken Aurreskujaarl
abuztuak 15

#makebilbaograiagain

[jose antonio abellan @jaabellan]

Estoy hasta el gorro del mensaje de @rtve que no deja de intentar que los españoles nos sintamos responsables de lo que les ocurra a los menores marroquíes que cruzaron la frontera. Hablo de menores por debajo de 14. La culpa no es nuestra, es de los salvajes de sus padres y del degenerado indecente y sinvergüenza de esa cosa a la que adoran como rey. Marruecos es rico y con amigos más poderosos que toda Europa junta. Los menores son para que otros hagan negocio.

[José Carlos Fleta Fauquer @FauquerJose]

https://t.co/QoABP1dKDj

[José Carlos Fleta Fauquer @FauquerJose]

@emailingmehdi @NestorSiurana Lo mismo que los reyes sátrapas de Marruecos con el Sáhara Occidental y el Rif

[José Carlos Fleta Fauquer @FauquerJose]

@Sahrawardi6 @icembrero Cuando dejéis el Sáhara Occidental. Además los rifeños no os tragan, quizás les gustaría ser independientes de Marruecos también.

[José Carlos Fleta Fauquer @FauquerJose]

@OnzeTv3 Gordon

[José Carlos Fleta Fauquer @FauquerJose]

https://t.co/TDmUIZeowx

[José Carlos Fleta Fauquer @FauquerJose]

@OnzeTv3 Arbeloa

[José Carlos Fleta Fauquer @FauquerJose]

@_Futbolero_ Cerdo protegido por el madridismo sociológico

[José Carlos Fleta Fauquer @FauquerJose]

@_javiercardenas Quién es este pobre hombre?

[José Carlos Fleta Fauquer @FauquerJose]

https://t.co/DFyambriop

[José Carlos Fleta Fauquer @FauquerJose]

https://t.co/4gu2vE6goj

[Crazy Vibes @CrazyVibes_1]

A German soldier stopped at the front of the line. He stared at the old man leading the children.
He knew that face.
The man was Janusz Korczak. The soldier had grown up reading his books.
The guard leaned in and offered him a way out. Step aside. Disappear. Live.
Korczak shook his head. He took the hands of the two children beside him. And he kept walking toward the train.
That was the last offer. There had been many.
Here's who he was.
Janusz Korczak wasn't even his real name. He was born Henryk Goldszmit. A Polish Jew. A doctor.
By the 1930s he was famous across Poland. A pediatrician. A writer of beloved children's books. A radio host. Everyone knew his voice.
He could have had an easy life.
Instead he gave it to orphans.
In 1912, he built a home for Jewish orphans in Warsaw. Dom Sierot. The Children's Home.
It was unlike anything in the world.
The children ran their own little parliament. They had their own court. Their own newspaper. They were treated as people, not problems.
Korczak had one rule above all. A child is not someone who will matter one day. A child matters now.
He lived among them for 30 years. He never married. He had no children of his own.
They were his children.
Then the Germans came.
1940. The Nazis sealed 400,000 Jews inside the Warsaw Ghetto. A few city blocks. Walls. Starvation. Disease.
Korczak moved his orphanage inside. He moved in with it.
His friends begged him to run. He was famous. He looked Polish. He could pass. He could vanish onto the other side of the wall.
He refused.
Inside the ghetto, he fought for the children every single day.
He begged for food in the streets. He carried sacks of potatoes on his old back. He wrote in his diary by candlelight, tracking how much weight each child was losing.
He was starving too. Under 800 calories a day. His body was failing.
He kept going.
In July 1942, he staged one last play with the children. A story about a dying boy who is finally set free.
A friend asked why that play. Korczak answered quietly. He wanted to teach the children to meet death without fear.
He already knew what was coming.
On July 22, the trains began.
Day after day, thousands were marched to the Umschlagplatz. Packed into cattle cars. Sent to Treblinka. None came back.
The resistance came to him one more time. Fake documents. A safe house. A way out.
He said no. He would not leave the children to face it alone.
On the morning of August 5, the soldiers came to the door.
Korczak did not panic. He gathered the children. He told them they were going to the countryside. Fresh air. Open fields.
He had them put on their best clothes. Each child carried a small bag. A favorite book. A beloved doll.
Then 192 children and a handful of staff walked out into the street.
Witnesses never forgot it.
The children did not cry. They did not run. They walked in calm rows behind the old doctor, as if they were heading off on a trip.
Korczak walked at the front. A child holding each hand. The smallest ones carried in his arms.
They marched through the ghetto to the train. Three miles. He never let go.
At the platform, the offer came one final time. And one final time, he refused.
He climbed into the cattle car with his children.
He was never seen again.
Korczak, the staff, and all 192 children were almost certainly murdered the moment they reached Treblinka.
Here's what makes this story unbearable.
He could not save them. He knew it. There was no version of that morning where those children lived.
So he saved the only thing left to save.
He made sure not one of them walked to their death alone. Not one of them was afraid. Not one of them was abandoned.
In the worst place human beings ever built, he gave them the one thing the Nazis could not take. A hand to hold.
Today, Treblinka is a field of stones. 17,000 of them. A silent graveyard for nearly a million murdered people.
Only one stone carries a name.
It reads: Janusz Korczak, and the children.
He had no children of his own. He died beside 192 of them.
So that not a single one would face the end alone.
He couldn't save their lives. He made sure they weren't alone. The least we can do is remember them. Share this so 192 children are never forgotten again. Like if his courage reached something in you. And in the comments, say his name — Janusz Korczak