ΠΠ°ΠΊΠΈΠ΅ ΠΌΠΎΠ³ΡΡ Π±ΡΡΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ: ΠΠ°ΠΊΠΈΠΌΠΈ Π±ΡΠ²Π°ΡΡ ΠΠΠ‘ΠΠΠΠΠΠΠΠΠ― β ΠΠ°ΡΡΠ° ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ² ΠΈ Π²ΡΡΠ°ΠΆΠ΅Π½ΠΈΠΉ ΡΡΡΡΠΊΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠ°
ΠΠΠ‘ΠΠΠΠΠΠΜΠΠΠ, -Ρ, ΡΡ. 1. Π’ΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎ ΡΠΎΡ ΡΠ°Π½ΠΈΠ»ΠΎΡΡ Π² ΠΏΠ°ΠΌΡΡΠΈ; ΠΌΡΡΠ»Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²Π΅Π΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΡΠΎΠ³ΠΎ, Π²ΠΎΠ·ΠΎΠ±Π½ΠΎΠ²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄ΡΡΠ°Π²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠΉ ΠΎ ΠΊΠΎΠΌ-, ΡΠ΅ΠΌ-Π». ΠΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ Π΄Π΅ΡΡΡΠ²Π°. ΠΡΠ΅Π΄Π°ΡΡΡΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΠΌ.
ΠΡΠ΅ Π·Π½Π°ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π° Β«Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅Β»ΠΠΜΠ’Π‘Π’ΠΠ, -Π°, ΡΡ. ΠΠ΅ΡΡΠΊΠΈΠΉ Π²ΠΎΠ·ΡΠ°ΡΡ, Π΄Π΅ΡΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅ Π³ΠΎΠ΄Ρ. ΠΡΡΠ³ Π΄Π΅ΡΡΡΠ²Π°.
ΠΡΠ΅ Π·Π½Π°ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π° Β«Π΄Π΅ΡΡΡΠ²ΠΎΒ»-
ΠΠ½ ΠΏΠΎΠ³ΡΡΠ·ΠΈΠ»ΡΡ Π² Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ Π΄Π΅ΡΡΡΠ²Π° ΠΈ ΡΡΠ°ΡΠ°Π»ΡΡ Π²ΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠ½ΠΈΡΡ, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΠΆΠΈΠ²Π°Π» ΠΈ ΠΎΡΡΡΠ°Π» ΡΠΎΠ³Π΄Π°, ΠΎ ΡΡΠΌ ΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠ°Π», ΠΊ ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ ΡΡΡΠ΅ΠΌΠΈΠ»ΡΡ, ΠΈ Π½Π° Π΄ΡΡΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»Π° Π²ΠΎΠ»Π½Π° Π½Π΅ΠΆΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΡΠ΅ΠΏΠ»ΠΎΡΡ ΠΈ Π³ΡΡΡΡΠΈ ΠΎΠ΄Π½ΠΎΠ²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ΅Π½Π½ΠΎ.
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ΠΠΎΡΠΊΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΡ Π±Π°Π±ΡΡΠΊΠ° Π±ΡΠ»Π° Π³Π»Π°Π²Π½ΡΠΌ Π±ΡΡ Π³Π°Π»ΡΠ΅ΡΠΎΠΌ Π² ΠΊΡΡΠΏΠ½ΠΎΠΌ Π½Π°ΡΡΠ½ΠΎ-ΠΈΡΡΠ»Π΅Π΄ΠΎΠ²Π°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΡΠΊΠΎΠΌ ΠΈΠ½ΡΡΠΈΡΡΡΠ΅, Π° ΠΌΠ°ΡΡ Π³ΠΈΡΡΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠ³ΠΎΠΌ Π² ΠΌΠΎΡΠ³Π΅, ΡΠΎ ΡΠ°ΠΌΡΠ΅ ΡΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ Π΄Π΅ΡΡΡΠ²Π° ΡΠ²ΡΠ·Π°Π½Ρ Ρ Π³ΡΠΎΡ ΠΎΡΡΡΠΈΠΌΠΈ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΏΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ°ΠΌΠΈ ΡΠ°Π·ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠΎΠΌ Ρ Π΄Π²ΡΡ ΡΡΠ°ΠΆΠ½ΡΠΉ Π΄ΠΎΠΌ ΠΈ ΠΈΠ³ΡΠ°ΠΌΠΈ Ρ Π΄Π΅ΡΠ΅Π²ΡΠ½Π½ΡΠΌΠΈ ΠΊΡΠ±ΠΈΠΊΠ°ΠΌΠΈ Π½Π° ΡΠ°Π±ΠΎΡΠ΅ Ρ ΠΌΠ°ΡΠ΅ΡΠΈ.
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Π‘ΡΡΠΎΠ²Π°Ρ Π²Π΅Π»ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²Π΅Π½Π½Π°Ρ ΠΊΡΠ°ΡΠΎΡΠ° ΠΏΡΠΈΡΠΎΠ΄Ρ, ΡΡΠ΅Π΄ΠΈ ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΠΎΠΉ ΠΎΠ½ ΡΠΎΡ, β ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΠ½ ΠΈΠ· Π²Π΄ΠΎΡ Π½ΠΎΠ²Π»ΡΡΡΠΈΡ ΠΈΡΡΠΎΠΊΠΎΠ² Π΅Π³ΠΎ ΡΠ²ΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²Π°, ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΠ½ ΠΈΠ· ΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎΠ²Π½ΡΡ ΠΏΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡΠΈΡ Π΅Π³ΠΎ ΠΊΠΎΡΠ½Π΅ΠΉ, ΡΠ΅ΡΠ½ΠΎ ΡΠ²ΡΠ·Π°Π½Π½ΡΠΉ Ρ
Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΠΌΠΈ Π΄Π΅ΡΡΡΠ²Π° ΠΈ ΡΠ°Π½Π½Π΅ΠΉ ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ.

Π²ΡΠ΅ Π°ΡΡΠΎΡΠΈΠ°ΡΠΈΠΈΒ Β Β Β Β Β Β Β ΠΌΡΠΆΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅/ΠΆΠ΅Π½ΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅
Π‘ΠΎ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠΌ Β«Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΒ» Π°ΡΡΠΎΡΠΈΠΈΡΡΡΡΡΡ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π°
ΠΠ΅Π»Π°Π΅ΠΌ ΠΠ°ΡΡΡ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ² Π»ΡΡΡΠ΅ Π²ΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠ΅
ΠΡΠΈΠ²Π΅Ρ! ΠΠ΅Π½Ρ Π·ΠΎΠ²ΡΡ ΠΠ°ΠΌΠΏΠΎΠ±ΠΎΡ, Ρ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΏΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ½Π°Ρ ΠΏΡΠΎΠ³ΡΠ°ΠΌΠΌΠ°, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΠ°Ρ ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΎΠ³Π°Π΅Ρ Π΄Π΅Π»Π°ΡΡ
ΠΠ°ΡΡΡ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ². Π― ΠΎΡΠ»ΠΈΡΠ½ΠΎ
ΡΠΌΠ΅Ρ ΡΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡ, Π½ΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠΊΠ° ΠΏΠ»ΠΎΡ
ΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠ½ΠΈΠΌΠ°Ρ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΡΡΡΡΠΎΠ΅Π½ Π²Π°Ρ ΠΌΠΈΡ. ΠΠΎΠΌΠΎΠ³ΠΈ ΠΌΠ½Π΅ ΡΠ°Π·ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°ΡΡΡΡ!
ΠΠ°ΡΠΊΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠ½ΡΡΠ½ΠΎ Π·Π½Π°ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π° ΡΠ½ΠΈΠΊ (ΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ΅):
ΠΡΠΈΡΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎ
ΠΏΠΎΠ½ΡΡΠ½ΠΎ
ΠΠΎΠ½ΡΡΠ½ΠΎ
Π² ΠΎΠ±ΡΠΈΡ
ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ°Ρ
Π΄ΠΎΠ³Π°Π΄ΡΠ²Π°ΡΡΡΡ
ΠΠΎΠ½ΡΡΠΈΡ Π½Π΅ ΠΈΠΌΠ΅Ρ,
ΡΡΠΎ ΡΡΠΎ
ΠΡΡΠ³ΠΎΠ΅
ΠΡΠΎΠΏΡΡΡΠΈΡΡ
Π‘Π»ΠΎΠ²ΠΎ Β«Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΒ» Π°ΡΡΠΎΡΠΈΠΈΡΡΠ΅ΡΡΡ ΡΠΎ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π°ΠΌΠΈ
ΠΡΠΆΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅ Π°ΡΡΠΎΡΠΈΠ°ΡΠΈΠΈ ΠΊ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Ρ Β«Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΒ»
ΠΠ΅Π½ΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅ Π°ΡΡΠΎΡΠΈΠ°ΡΠΈΠΈ ΠΊ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Ρ Β«Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΒ»
ΠΠ΅ΠΉΡΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ Π°ΡΡΠΎΡΠΈΠ°ΡΠΈΠΈ ΠΊ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Ρ Β«Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΒ»
Π‘ΠΈΠ½ΠΎΠ½ΠΈΠΌΡ ΠΊ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Ρ Β«Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ»
ΠΡΠ΅Π΄Π»ΠΎΠΆΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΠΎ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠΌ Β«Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΒ»
- Π―ΡΠ½ΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎ ΡΠ΅Π±ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΊ, Π²ΡΡΠΎΡΡΠΈΠΉ Π² ΠΏΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠ°ΡΡ Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡΠ΅, Π² ΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°Π΅ ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ½ΡΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠΉ Π±ΡΠ΄Π΅Ρ ΠΎΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½Π½ΠΎ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ Π½Π΅ΠΎΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½Π½ΠΎ ΠΏΡΡΠ°ΡΡΡΡ ΠΏΠΎΠ²ΡΠΎΡΠΈΡΡ Π±ΡΠ°ΠΊ ΡΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»Π΅ΠΉ.
- ΠΡΠ΅Π΄ΡΡΠ°Π²ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΠΈ ΠΊΠ°ΠΆΠ΄ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠ½Π½Π΅Π°ΡΠΈΠΏΠ° ΡΡΡΠ΅ΠΌΡΡΡΡ ΠΈΠ·Π±Π΅ΠΆΠ°ΡΡ ΠΎΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄Π΅Π»ΡΠ½Π½ΡΡ ΡΡΡΠ΄Π½ΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΠΉ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅ ΡΠ²ΡΠ·Π°Π½Ρ Ρ Π½Π΅ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΠΌΠΈ ΠΈΠ· Π΄Π΅ΡΡΡΠ²Π°.
ΠΠ½Π° ΠΏΡΠΈΡΠ΅Π»Π° Π½Π° Π²Π΅ΡΠ°Π½Π΄Π΅, Π½Π°Ρ Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ»ΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ Π»ΡΡΡΠΈΡ Π΄Π½Π΅ΠΉ, ΠΏΡΠΎΠ²Π΅Π΄ΡΠ½Π½ΡΡ Π²ΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠ΅, Π²Π΅Π΄Ρ ΡΠ°ΠΌΠΎΠ΅ Ρ ΡΠ΄ΡΠ΅Π΅ ΠΎΡΡΠ°Π»ΠΎΡΡ ΡΠΆΠ΅ ΠΏΠΎΠ·Π°Π΄ΠΈ.- (Π²ΡΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄Π»ΠΎΠΆΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ)
Π¦ΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡ ΠΈΠ· ΡΡΡΡΠΊΠΎΠΉ ΠΊΠ»Π°ΡΡΠΈΠΊΠΈ ΡΠΎ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠΌ Β«Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΒ»
- ΠΠ΅Π²ΠΎΠ»ΡΠ½ΠΎ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π±ΠΈΡΠ°Ρ Π² ΡΠ²ΠΎΠ΅ΠΌ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠΈ Π²ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ°ΡΠ»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠ°Π·Π³ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΡΠΎΠ², Π²Π΅Π΄Π΅Π½Π½ΡΡ Π²ΠΎ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΡΠ»Π΅ ΠΎΠ±Π΅Π΄Π°, ΠΠ»Π΅ΠΊΡΠ΅ΠΉ ΠΠ»Π΅ΠΊΡΠ°Π½Π΄ΡΠΎΠ²ΠΈΡ Π²ΠΎΠ·Π²ΡΠ°ΡΠ°Π»ΡΡ Π² ΡΠ²ΠΎΠΉ ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΠ½ΠΎΠΊΠΈΠΉ Π½ΡΠΌΠ΅Ρ.
- Π Π°ΠΉΡΠΊΠΈΠΉ ΡΠΈΠ΄Π΅Π» Π·Π° ΡΡΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠΌ, Π·Π°ΡΡΠ²ΡΠΈΡΡ Π² ΡΠ²ΠΎΠΉ Π°ΡΡΠΈΡΡΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠΉ ΠΏΠΎΡΡΡΠ΅Π»Ρ, ΡΠ°Π·Π±ΠΈΡΠ°Ρ ΡΡΠΊΠΈΠ·Ρ ΡΠ°Π·Π½ΡΡ ΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΠΉ, Π°ΠΊΠ²Π°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΠΏΠΎΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΡ, Π½Π°Π±ΡΠΎΡΠ°Π½Π½ΡΠ΅ ΠΎΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈ Π½Π΅ΠΈΡΠΏΠΎΠ»Π½Π΅Π½Π½ΡΡ ΠΊΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠ½, ΠΌΠΈΠ½ΠΈΠ°ΡΡΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΠΊΠΎΠΏΠΈΠΈ Ρ ΠΈΠ·Π²Π΅ΡΡΠ½ΡΡ ΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²Π΅Π΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΠΉ ΠΈ ΠΌΠ΅ΠΆΠ΄Ρ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠΈΠΌ ΠΎΡΠ±ΠΈΡΠ°Ρ, ΠΊΡΡΠ΅ΠΉ Π²ΡΠΈΡΠ½ΡΡΡΠ΅ Π² ΠΏΠΎΡΡΡΠ΅Π»Ρ, ΡΠ΅ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ²ΡΠ΅ Π»ΠΈΡΡΡ Π»ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠ°ΡΡΡΠ½ΡΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠΉ, Π·Π°ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠΎΠΊ, ΠΎΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΎΠ², Π½Π°ΡΠ°ΡΡΡ ΠΈ Π±ΡΠΎΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΡΡ ΡΡΠΈΡ ΠΎΠ² ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΠ²Π΅ΡΡΠ΅ΠΉ.
- (Π²ΡΠ΅ ΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡ ΠΈΠ· ΡΡΡΡΠΊΠΎΠΉ ΠΊΠ»Π°ΡΡΠΈΠΊΠΈ)
Π‘ΠΎΡΠ΅ΡΠ°Π΅ΠΌΠΎΡΡΡ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π° Β«Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΒ»
ΠΠ°ΠΊΠΈΠΌΠΈ Π±ΡΠ²Π°ΡΡ Β«Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΒ»
ΠΠ½Π°ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π° Β«Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΒ»
ΠΡΠΏΡΠ°Π²ΠΈΡΡ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΠ°ΡΠΈΠΉ
ΠΠΎΠΏΠΎΠ»Π½ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎ
1. ΡΠΈΠ»ΠΎΠ». ΠΏΠΎΠ²Π΅ΡΡΠ²ΠΎΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΎ ΡΠ²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΡΡ ΠΆΠΈΠ·Π½ΠΈ (Π»ΠΈΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎΠΉ), ΡΠ²ΠΈΠ΄Π΅ΡΠ΅Π»Π΅ΠΌ ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΠΎΠΉ Π±ΡΠ» Π°Π²ΡΠΎΡ
ΠΡΠ΅ Π·Π½Π°ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π° Β«Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΒ»-
Π―ΡΠ½ΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎ ΡΠ΅Π±ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΊ, Π²ΡΡΠΎΡΡΠΈΠΉ Π² ΠΏΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠ°ΡΡ Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡΠ΅, Π² ΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°Π΅ ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ½ΡΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠΉ Π±ΡΠ΄Π΅Ρ ΠΎΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½Π½ΠΎ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ Π½Π΅ΠΎΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½Π½ΠΎ ΠΏΡΡΠ°ΡΡΡΡ ΠΏΠΎΠ²ΡΠΎΡΠΈΡΡ Π±ΡΠ°ΠΊ ΡΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»Π΅ΠΉ.
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ΠΡΠ΅Π΄ΡΡΠ°Π²ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΠΈ ΠΊΠ°ΠΆΠ΄ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠ½Π½Π΅Π°ΡΠΈΠΏΠ° ΡΡΡΠ΅ΠΌΡΡΡΡ ΠΈΠ·Π±Π΅ΠΆΠ°ΡΡ ΠΎΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄Π΅Π»ΡΠ½Π½ΡΡ ΡΡΡΠ΄Π½ΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΠΉ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅ ΡΠ²ΡΠ·Π°Π½Ρ Ρ Π½Π΅ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΠΌΠΈ ΠΈΠ· Π΄Π΅ΡΡΡΠ²Π°.
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ΠΠ½Π° ΠΏΡΠΈΡΠ΅Π»Π° Π½Π° Π²Π΅ΡΠ°Π½Π΄Π΅, Π½Π°Ρ Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ»ΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ Π»ΡΡΡΠΈΡ Π΄Π½Π΅ΠΉ, ΠΏΡΠΎΠ²Π΅Π΄ΡΠ½Π½ΡΡ Π²ΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠ΅, Π²Π΅Π΄Ρ ΡΠ°ΠΌΠΎΠ΅ Ρ ΡΠ΄ΡΠ΅Π΅ ΠΎΡΡΠ°Π»ΠΎΡΡ ΡΠΆΠ΅ ΠΏΠΎΠ·Π°Π΄ΠΈ.
ΡΡΠΎ ΡΡΠΎ ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠ΅ ΠΈ ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ Π»ΠΈ ΠΎΡ Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΈΠ·Π±Π°Π²ΠΈΡΡΡΡ?
Π§ΡΠΎ ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ?
ΠΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΒ β ΡΡΠΎ ΡΠΏΠΎΡΠΎΠ±Π½ΠΎΡΡΡ ΠΌΠΎΠ·Π³Π° Π²ΠΎΡΡΡΠ°Π½Π°Π²Π»ΠΈΠ²Π°ΡΡ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°Π·Ρ ΠΈ ΡΠΈΡΡΠ°ΡΠΈΠΈ, ΠΏΡΠΎΠΆΠΈΡΡΠ΅ Π² ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»ΠΎΠΌ. ΠΡΡΡΠ΅ Π²ΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ Π·Π°ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°ΡΡΡΡ ΠΌΠΎΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΡ ΠΆΠΈΠ·Π½ΠΈ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅ Π²ΡΠ·ΡΠ²Π°ΡΡ Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠ΅Π΅ ΠΊΠΎΠ»ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²ΠΎ ΡΠΌΠΎΡΠΈΠΉ. ΠΡ Π³ΠΎΡΠ°Π·Π΄ΠΎ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ΅ Π²ΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠ½ΠΈΡΡ Π΄Π°ΠΆΠ΅ Π² ΠΌΠ΅Π»ΡΡΠ°ΠΉΡΠΈΡ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ΡΠΎΠ±Π½ΠΎΡΡΡΡ . ΠΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ Π±ΡΠ²Π°ΡΡ ΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²ΠΎΠ»ΡΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ ΠΈ Π½Π΅ΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²ΠΎΠ»ΡΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ.
- ΠΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²ΠΎΠ»ΡΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ Π½Π°Π·ΡΠ²Π°ΡΡ ΡΠ΅, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅ ΠΌΡ ΠΏΡΡΠ°Π΅ΠΌΡΡ Π²ΡΠ·Π²Π°ΡΡ ΡΠΎΠ±ΡΡΠ²Π΅Π½Π½ΡΠΌΠΈ ΡΠΈΠ»Π°ΠΌΠΈ. ΠΠ°ΠΏΡΠΈΠΌΠ΅Ρ, ΠΈΠΌΠ΅Π½Π°, Π΄Π°ΡΡ, Π°Π΄ΡΠ΅ΡΠ°, Π½ΠΎΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ° ΡΠ΅Π»Π΅ΡΠΎΠ½ΠΎΠ² ΠΈ Ρ.Π΄.
- ΠΠ΅ΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²ΠΎΠ»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΡΠ²Π»ΡΡΡΡΡ ΡΠΏΠΎΠ½ΡΠ°Π½Π½ΡΠΌΠΈ ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΡΠ²Π»ΡΡΡΡΡ Π² ΠΌΠΎΠΌΠ΅Π½Ρ, ΠΊΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° ΠΌΡ ΡΡΠ°Π»ΠΊΠΈΠ²Π°Π΅ΠΌΡΡ Ρ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°Π·Π°ΠΌΠΈ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ Π·Π°ΠΏΠ°Ρ Π°ΠΌΠΈ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅ Π½Π°Π±Π»ΡΠ΄Π°Π»ΠΈ Π² ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»ΠΎΠΌ. ΠΠ΅ΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²ΠΎΠ»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΡΠ²ΡΠ·Π°Π½Ρ Ρ ΡΠΌΠΎΡΠΈΡΠΌΠΈ ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΡΡΠΎΠΌΡ Π΄ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠ΅ ΡΠΎΡ ΡΠ°Π½ΡΡΡΡΡ Π² ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΠΈ.
ΠΠ»Π°Π²Π½ΠΎΠ΅ ΠΎΡΠ»ΠΈΡΠΈΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²ΠΎΠ»ΡΠ½ΡΡ Π·Π°ΠΊΠ»ΡΡΠ°Π΅ΡΡΡ Π² ΡΠΎΠΌ, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΎΠ½ΠΈ ΡΠΎΡΡΠ°Π²Π»ΡΡΡ ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ ΠΏΠ°ΠΌΡΡΡ, Π° Π½Π΅ΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²ΠΎΠ»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ β Π±Π΅ΡΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ, Π½Π΅ΡΠΌΡΡΠ»Π΅Π½Π½ΡΡ.
ΠΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ Π±ΡΠ²Π°ΡΡ:
- Π½ΠΎΡΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ³ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅;
- ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ½ΡΠ΅;
- ΡΡΠ³ΠΎΡΡΠ½ΡΠ΅;
- ΡΠ°Π΄ΠΎΡΡΠ½ΡΠ΅;
- ΠΎΠ±ΡΡΠ²ΠΎΡΠ½ΡΠ΅;
- ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅;
- ΠΊΠΎΡΠΌΠ°ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅;
- ΡΠΎΠΌΠ°Π½ΡΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅ ΠΈ Ρ.Π΄.
Π€ΠΎΡΠΌΠΈΡΡΡΡΡ Π² Π½Π°ΡΠ΅ΠΌ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΠΈ, ΠΎΠ½ΠΈ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ·Π°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎ ΠΏΡΠΎΡ ΠΎΠ΄ΡΡ ΡΠΊΠ²ΠΎΠ·Ρ ΠΎΡΠ²Π΅Π΄ΠΎΠΌΠ»Π΅Π½Π½ΡΠ΅ ΡΠΌΠΎΡΠΈΠΈ, Π° Π·Π½Π°ΡΠΈΡ, Π½Π΅ΡΡΡ Π² ΡΠ΅Π±Π΅ ΠΈΡ ΠΎΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ°ΡΠΎΠΊ.
ΠΡΠΎΠΉΡΠΈ ΡΠ΅ΡΡ Π½Π° ΡΠΈΠΏ Π»ΠΈΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ
ΠΠ°ΠΊ ΡΠΎΡΠΌΠΈΡΡΡΡΡΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ, ΠΈ Π΄Π»Ρ ΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ ΠΎΠ½ΠΈ Π½ΡΠΆΠ½Ρ?
Π€ΠΎΡΠΌΠΈΡΡΡΡΡΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΏΠΎΡΡΠ΅Π΄ΡΡΠ²ΠΎΠΌ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠΈΡ ΠΈ Π·Π°ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΈΠ½ΡΠΎΡΠΌΠ°ΡΠΈΠΈ ΠΈΠ· ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ, Π½ΠΎ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ΅ΡΡΡ ΠΈΡ ΠΏΠΎΡΠ²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΡ Π·Π°Π²ΠΈΡΡΡ ΠΎΡ ΠΈΠ½Π΄ΠΈΠ²ΠΈΠ΄ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ ΠΎΡΠΎΠ±Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΠΉ ΠΏΡΠΈΡ ΠΈΠΊΠΈ, ΡΠΌΠΎΡΠΈΠΎΠ½Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠΎΡΡΠΎΡΠ½ΠΈΡ, Π²ΠΎΠ·ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΠΉ ΠΏΠ°ΠΌΡΡΠΈ.
ΠΠ½ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΡΠ²Π»ΡΡΡΡΡ, ΠΊΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° ΠΌΡ Π³ΠΎΡΠΎΠ²Ρ ΠΈΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΈΠ½ΡΡΡ ΠΈ ΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΡΡ ΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΊ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»ΠΎΠΉ ΠΆΠΈΠ·Π½ΠΈ.
Π’Π°ΠΊΠΈΠ΅ ΠΌΠΎΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΡ ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ ΡΡΠ°Π²Π½ΠΈΡΡ Ρ Π°ΡΠ΄ΠΈΠΎΠ·Π°ΠΏΠΈΡΡΠΌΠΈ. ΠΡΠΎΠΈΠ³ΡΡΠ²Π°Ρ ΠΈΡ ΠΊΠ°ΠΆΠ΄ΡΠΉ ΡΠ°Π· ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ²Π° ΠΈ ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ²Π°, ΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΡΡ ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΠΎΡΠΌΡΡΠ»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ Ρ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ΠΌ Π½ΠΎΠ²ΡΡ Π΄Π΅ΡΠ°Π»Π΅ΠΉ ΠΈ ΡΠΏΠΈΠ·ΠΎΠ΄ΠΎΠ².
ΠΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ Π² ΠΏΡΠΈΡ ΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠ³ΠΈΠΈ.
Π ΠΏΡΠΈΡ ΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠ³ΠΈΠΈ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°ΡΠ°ΡΡΡΡ ΠΊ ΡΠ΅ΡΠΌΠΈΠ½Ρ Β«ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠΈΠ½ΠΈΡΡΠ΅Π½ΡΠΈΡΒ», ΡΡΠΎ ΠΎΠ±ΠΎΠ·Π½Π°ΡΠ°Π΅Ρ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²Π΅Π΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΈΠ½ΡΠΎΡΠΌΠ°ΡΠΈΠΈ, ΡΠΎΡ ΡΠ°Π½Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎΠΉ Π² ΠΏΠ°ΠΌΡΡΠΈ.
Π Π΅ΠΌΠΈΠ½ΠΈΡΡΠ΅Π½ΡΠΈΡ β ΡΡΠΎ ΠΎΡΡΡΠΎΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΠΎΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΈΠ½ΡΡΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ Π·Π°ΡΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΠΌΠ°ΡΠ΅ΡΠΈΠ°Π»Π°. Π’Π°ΠΊΠΎΠ΅ ΡΠ²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΡ Π±ΡΠ²Π°Π΅Ρ ΡΠ°ΡΡΡΠΌ ΠΈ Π²ΠΎΠ·Π½ΠΈΠΊΠ°Π΅Ρ Π² Π»ΡΠ±ΡΡ Π²ΠΎΠ·ΡΠ°ΡΡΠ°Ρ .
ΠΡΠ»ΠΈΡΠΈΡΡ ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠΈΠ½ΠΈΡΡΠ΅Π½ΡΠΈΡ ΠΎΡ Π΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΈΡ ΡΠ²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠΉ ΡΡΡΠ΄Π½ΠΎ, Π²Π΅Π΄Ρ ΡΠ΅ΡΡ ΠΈΠ΄Π΅Ρ ΠΎ ΡΠΏΠΎΡΠΎΠ±Π½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ ΠΌΠΎΠ·Π³Π° Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡΡ ΠΈΠ½ΡΠΎΡΠΌΠ°ΡΠΈΡ. ΠΠΎ ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠΈΠ½ΠΈΡΡΠ΅Π½ΡΠΈΡ ΡΠ²Π»ΡΠ΅ΡΡΡ ΡΠ°ΠΌΡΠΌΒ ΡΠΎΡΠ½ΡΠΌΒ ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ΡΠΎΠ±Π½ΡΠΌΒ ΡΠ²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ΠΌ.
ΠΡΠΈΡ ΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠ³ΠΈΡ ΠΏΡΠΈΠ΄Π΅Π»Π°Π΅Ρ ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Π²Π½ΠΈΠΌΠ°Π½ΠΈΡ Π΄Π΅ΡΡΠΊΠΈΠΌ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΠΌ. ΠΡΠΎΡΠ΅ΡΡ Π·Π°ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ Ρ ΠΌΠ°Π»ΡΡΠ΅ΠΉ Π·Π°Π΄Π΅ΠΉΡΡΠ²ΡΠ΅Ρ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°Π·Π½ΡΡ ΠΏΠ°ΠΌΡΡΡ. Π Π½Π°ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ Π³ΠΎΠ΄Ρ ΡΠ²ΠΎΠ΅ΠΉ ΠΆΠΈΠ·Π½ΠΈ ΡΠ΅Π±Π΅Π½ΠΎΠΊ Π·Π°ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π΅Ρ ΡΠ΅ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°Π·Ρ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅ Π΅Π³ΠΎ ΠΎΠΊΡΡΠΆΠ°ΡΡ, Π½ΠΎ Π΄Π΅ΡΠΆΠ°ΡΡΡ ΠΎΠ½ΠΈ Π² ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΠΈ Π΄ΠΎΡΡΠ°ΡΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎ ΠΌΠ°Π»ΠΎ.
Π ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠΈΠΎΠ΄ ΠΎΡ ΡΡΠ΅Ρ Π»Π΅Ρ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ΅ΡΠ°ΡΡ ΡΠΈΠ»ΡΠ½ΡΠΉ ΡΠΌΠΎΡΠΈΠΎΠ½Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΉ ΠΎΠΊΡΠ°Ρ, ΠΊΡΠ΅ΠΏΠ½ΡΡ ΠΈ Π·Π°ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°ΡΡΡΡ Π½Π° Π΄Π»ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΉ ΡΡΠΎΠΊ.
Π ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ΅ Π²Π·ΡΠΎΡΠ»Π΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΏΠΎΠ·ΠΈΡΠΈΠ²Π½ΡΠΉ ΡΠ΅Π·ΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°Ρ ΠΏΡΠΈΠ½ΠΎΡΡΡ Π½Π°Π²ΠΎΠ΄ΡΡΠΈΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΠΏΡΠΎΡΡ ΡΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»Π΅ΠΉ, ΠΏΡΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΠΏΡΡΠΊΠ΅ ΡΠ΅Π±Π΅Π½ΠΊΠ° ΡΡΠΎ-ΡΠΎ Π²ΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠ½ΠΈΡΡ. ΠΡΠΎ ΡΠ°Π·Π²ΠΈΠ²Π°Π΅Ρ Π²Π½ΠΈΠΌΠ°Π½ΠΈΠ΅, ΠΎΠ±ΡΠΈΠΉ ΡΡΠΎΠ²Π΅Π½Ρ ΠΈΠ½ΡΠ΅Π»Π»Π΅ΠΊΡΠ°.
Π Π΄ΠΎΡΠΊΠΎΠ»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΌ ΠΈ ΡΠΊΠΎΠ»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΌ Π²ΠΎΠ·ΡΠ°ΡΡΠ°Ρ Π΄Π΅ΡΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ΠΊΠ»ΡΡΠ°ΡΡ ΡΠ°Π±ΠΎΡΡ Π²ΠΎΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°ΠΆΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ, ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅Ρ ΠΎΠ΄ΡΡ ΠΊ Π·Π°ΡΡΠΈΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΈΠ½ΡΠΎΡΠΌΠ°ΡΠΈΠΈ. Π ΡΡΠΎΡ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠΈΠΎΠ΄ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΡΠ°Π½ΠΎΠ²ΠΈΡΡΡΡ ΠΏΠΎΡΠ»Π΅Π΄ΠΎΠ²Π°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ, Π½Π΅ΠΏΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²Π½ΡΠΌΠΈ ΠΈ Π½Π°ΠΏΡΡΠΌΡΡ Π·Π°Π²ΠΈΡΡΡ ΠΎΡ ΡΠΌΠΎΡΠΈΠΎΠ½Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠΈΡ ΡΠ΅Π±Π΅Π½ΠΊΠ°.
ΠΠΎΠ»ΡΠ·Π° ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ½ΡΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠΉ.
ΠΠΎΡΠ»Π΅ ΠΈΡΡΠ»Π΅Π΄ΠΎΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΡ, ΠΏΡΠΎΠ²Π΅Π΄Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Π² ΡΠ½ΠΈΠ²Π΅ΡΡΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅ Π‘Π°Π½-Π€ΡΠ°Π½ΡΠΈΡΠΊΠΎ, Π±ΡΠ»ΠΎ ΠΎΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄Π΅Π»Π΅Π½ΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΊΠ°ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²ΠΎ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠΉ ΠΎΡΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°ΠΆΠ°ΡΡ ΡΡΠΎΠ²Π΅Π½Ρ ΡΠ΄ΠΎΠ²Π»Π΅ΡΠ²ΠΎΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ ΠΆΠΈΠ·Π½ΡΡ.
Π‘ΠΎ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ΅Π½Π΅ΠΌ Π΄Π°ΠΆΠ΅ Π½Π΅Π³Π°ΡΠΈΠ²Π½ΡΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΈΠ½ΠΈΠΌΠ°ΡΡΡΡ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΎΠΏΡΡ ΠΈ ΠΌΠΎΠ³ΡΡ ΡΡΠ°ΡΡ Π½Π΅ΠΉΡΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ Π΄Π°ΠΆΠ΅ ΠΏΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠΆΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ.
ΠΡΠ²ΠΎΠ΄:
- ΠΡΠΆΠ½ΠΎ ΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΡΠ΅ ΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅Π΄ΠΎΡΠ°ΡΠΈΠ²Π°ΡΡΡΡ Π½Π° Π½Π΅Π³Π°ΡΠΈΠ²Π΅ ΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΈΠ½ΠΈΠΌΠ°ΡΡ Π²ΡΠ΅ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΏΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΡΠΉ Π½Π΅ Π·ΡΡ ΠΎΠΏΡΡ.
- Π‘ΠΎΠ±ΡΡΠΈΡ ΠΈΠ· ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ, Π²ΡΠ·ΡΠ²Π°ΡΡΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠ»ΡΠ±ΠΊΡ β ΡΡΠΎ ΡΠ°Π±ΠΎΡΠ° ΠΌΠΎΠ·Π³Π°, Π° Π·Π½Π°ΡΠΈΡ ΡΠ»Π΅ΠΌΠ΅Π½Ρ, ΡΠ»ΡΡΡΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠΉ ΠΏΠ°ΠΌΡΡΡ.
- ΠΡΠΈΡΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ β ΡΡΠΎ Ρ ΠΎΡΠΎΡΠ°Ρ ΠΌΠΎΡΠΈΠ²Π°ΡΠΈΡ. Π Π΅Π·ΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°ΡΡ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠΎΠ»ΠΊΠ°ΡΡ Π½Π° Π΄ΠΎΡΡΠΈΠΆΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ Π±ΡΠ΄ΡΡΠΈΠ΅, Π° Π½Π΅Π³Π°ΡΠΈΠ²Π½ΡΠ΅ ΡΡΠΎΠΊΠΈ Π²ΡΠ΅Π³Π΄Π° ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ΡΠΊΠ°ΠΆΡΡ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ Π΄Π΅Π»Π°ΡΡ Π½Π΅ ΡΡΠΎΠΈΡ.
Π Ρ ΠΎΠ΄Π΅ Π½Π΅ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΡ ΠΈΡΡΠ»Π΅Π΄ΠΎΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΠΉ Π±ΡΠ»ΠΎ ΡΡΡΠ°Π½ΠΎΠ²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎ ΡΠΊΡΡΡΠ°Π²Π΅ΡΡΡ ΡΠΊΠ»ΠΎΠ½Π½Ρ Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠ΅ ΠΊΠΎΠ½ΡΠ΅Π½ΡΡΠΈΡΠΎΠ²Π°ΡΡΡΡ Π½Π° ΠΏΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠΆΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ ΠΌΠΎΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΠ°Ρ ΠΈΠ· ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ, Π² ΡΠΎ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΈΠ½ΡΡΠΎΠ²Π΅ΡΡΡ ΠΎΡΡΠ°Π²Π»ΡΡΡ Π² ΡΠ²ΠΎΠ΅ΠΉ ΠΏΠ°ΠΌΡΡΠΈ Π±ΠΎΠ»Π΅Π΅ ΡΡΠΎΠ³Π°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΠΈ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΡΠΎΠ±ΡΡΠΈΡ.
ΠΡΠΎΠΉΡΠΈ ΡΠ΅ΡΡ: ΠΈΠ½ΡΡΠΎΠ²Π΅ΡΡ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ ΡΠΊΡΡΡΠ°Π²Π΅ΡΡ?
ΠΠ°ΠΊ ΠΈΠ·Π±Π°Π²ΠΈΡΡΡΡ ΠΎΡ Π½Π΅ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ½ΡΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠΉ?
ΠΡΠ±ΡΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΠ²Π»ΡΡΡΡΡ ΠΎΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄Π΅Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ΠΌ Π½Π°ΡΠ΅ΠΉ ΠΈΠ½Π΄ΠΈΠ²ΠΈΠ΄ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ, Π° ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΆΠ΅ ΡΠΎΡΡΠ°Π²Π»ΡΡΡ ΡΠ°ΡΡΡ Π½Π°ΡΠ΅ΠΉ ΠΆΠΈΠ·Π½ΠΈ. ΠΡΠ»ΠΈ Ρ ΠΏΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠΆΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΠΌΠΈ Π²ΡΠ΅ ΠΏΠΎΠ½ΡΡΠ½ΠΎ, ΡΠΎ Π½Π΅Π³Π°ΡΠΈΠ²Π½ΡΠ΅ Π²ΡΠ·ΡΠ²Π°ΡΡ ΠΎΡΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΡΠΌΠΎΡΠΈΠΈ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ Π²Π²ΠΎΠ΄ΡΡ Π² Π΄Π΅ΠΏΡΠ΅ΡΡΠΈΡ.
Π‘ΠΏΡΠ°Π²ΠΈΡΡΡ Ρ Β«ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΡΠΏΠ°ΠΌΠΈΒ» Π²Π½Π΅Π·Π°ΠΏΠ½ΠΎ Π½Π°Ρ Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ²ΡΠ΅ΠΉ Π²ΠΎΠ»Π½Ρ Π½Π΅Π³Π°ΡΠΈΠ²Π° ΡΠ΄Π°Π΅ΡΡΡ Π½Π΅ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌ. Π§ΡΠΎ Π΄Π΅Π»Π°ΡΡ, Π΅ΡΠ»ΠΈ Π½Π°ΡΠΈΠ½Π°Π΅ΡΡΡ ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΡΠΏ?
1. ΠΠ°ΠΉΡΠΈ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠΈΠ²ΠΎΠ²Π΅Ρ.
ΠΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π±ΠΈΡΡ Π½Π΅Π³Π°ΡΠΈΠ²Π½ΡΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊΠΈΠΌΠΈ Π±Ρ ΠΎΠ½ΠΈ Π½Π΅ Π±ΡΠ»ΠΈ, Π²ΡΠ΅Π³Π΄Π° ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΎΠ³ΡΡ ΠΏΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠΆΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΠΈ ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ½ΡΠ΅. Π§ΡΠΎ Π΅ΡΠ»ΠΈ ΠΏΡΠΈΠΏΠΎΠΌΠ½ΠΈΡΡ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊΠΈΠ΅ ΠΊΡΠ°ΡΠΈΠ²ΡΠ΅ ΡΠΎΠ·Ρ ΡΠ°ΡΡΡΡ Ρ Π±Π°Π±ΡΡΠΊΠΈ Π² Π΄Π΅ΡΠ΅Π²Π½Π΅ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ Π²ΠΊΡΡΠ½ΠΎ ΠΏΠ°Ρ Π½Π΅Ρ Π½Π° ΠΊΡΡ Π½Π΅, ΠΊΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° Π³ΠΎΡΠΎΠ²ΠΈΡ ΠΌΠ°ΠΌΠ°. Π’Π°ΠΊΠΈΠ΅ ΠΎΡΠ³ΠΎΠ»ΠΎΡΠΊΠΈ ΠΌΠΎΠ³ΡΡ Π±ΡΡΡ Π½Π΅Π·Π½Π°ΡΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ, ΠΎΠ΄Π½Π°ΠΊΠΎ ΠΎΠ±Π΅ΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ°Ρ Ρ ΠΎΡΠΎΡΠΈΠΉ ΡΠΌΠΎΡΠΈΠΎΠ½Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΉ Π½Π°ΡΡΡΠΎΠΉ.
2. ΠΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΠΎΡΠΌΡΡΠ»ΠΈΡΡ.
ΠΡΠ»ΠΈ ΠΎΡΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΡΠΌΠΎΡΠΈΠΈ ΡΠΎΠΏΡΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠΆΠ΄Π°ΡΡΡΡ Π½Π°Π²ΡΠ·ΡΠΈΠ²ΡΠΌΠΈ Π½Π΅ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ ΠΌΡΡΠ»ΡΠΌΠΈ, ΡΡΠΎΠΈΡ ΡΠ²Π΅ΡΠ΄ΠΎ ΡΠ°Π·Π³ΡΠ°Π½ΠΈΡΠΈΡΡ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»ΠΎΠ΅ ΠΈ Π½Π°ΡΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅Π΅. ΠΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΈΠ½ΠΈΠΌΠ°Ρ Π½Π΅Π³Π°ΡΠΈΠ²Π½ΡΠ΅ ΡΠΈΡΡΠ°ΡΠΈΠΈ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΏΡΠΎΠΆΠΈΡΡΠΉ ΠΎΠΏΡΡ, Π³ΠΎΡΠ°Π·Π΄ΠΎ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ΅ ΠΈΡ ΠΏΡΠΈΠ½ΡΡΡ, ΠΎΡΠΏΡΡΡΠΈΡΡ, Π·Π°Π±ΡΡΡ.
3. ΠΡΠΈΠ½ΡΡΡ ΡΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠ²ΡΠ΅Π΅ΡΡ.
Π ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Ρ ΠΎΠ± ΠΎΠΏΡΡΠ΅: Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ Π±Π΅ΡΠΏΠΎΠΊΠΎΡΡ, ΠΊΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠΊΠ°Π·ΡΠ²Π°Π΅Ρ Π½Π° Π½Π°ΡΠΈ ΠΎΡΠΈΠ±ΠΊΠΈ. Π§ΡΠ²ΡΡΠ²Π° Π²ΠΈΠ½Ρ, ΡΡΡΠ΄Π°, ΠΎΠ±ΠΈΠ΄Ρ, Π½Π΅Π»ΠΎΠ²ΠΊΠΎΡΡΠΈ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ ΡΡΡΠ°Ρ Π° ΠΏΡΠΎΠ²ΠΎΡΠΈΡΡΡΡ Π½Π΅ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ½ΠΎΠ΅ Π²ΡΠΏΠ»ΡΠ²Π°ΡΡ Π² Π³ΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π΅ ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ²Π°. Π§ΡΠΎ Π΄Π΅Π»Π°ΡΡ Π² ΡΡΠΎΠΌ ΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°Π΅? ΠΡΠΈΠ½ΡΡΡ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ΡΠΊΠ°Π·ΠΊΠΈ Π½Π°ΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ ΠΌΠΎΠ·Π³Π°: ΡΠ΄Π΅Π»Π°ΡΡ ΠΎΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄Π΅Π»Π΅Π½Π½ΡΠ΅ Π²ΡΠ²ΠΎΠ΄Ρ, ΡΡΠΎΠ±Ρ ΠΈΠ·Π±Π΅ΠΆΠ°ΡΡ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ΠΎΠ±Π½ΡΡ ΡΠΈΡΡΠ°ΡΠΈΠΉ Π² Π±ΡΠ΄ΡΡΠ΅ΠΌ. ΠΠΎΠ½ΡΡΡ, ΡΡΠΎ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ Π½Π΅ Π²Π΅ΡΠ½ΡΡΡ, Π·Π°ΡΠ΅ΠΌ ΡΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° ΠΌΡΡΠ°ΡΡ ΡΠ΅Π±Ρ?
4. Π£Π±ΡΠ°ΡΡ ΡΠ°Π·Π΄ΡΠ°ΠΆΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΠΈ.
ΠΡΠ΅ ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΠ½ Ρ ΠΎΡΠΎΡΠΈΠΉ ΡΠΏΠΎΡΠΎΠ± ΠΈΡΡΡΠ΅Π±ΠΈΡΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅ Π΄ΠΎΠΊΡΡΠ°ΡΡ β ΠΈΠ·Π±Π°Π²ΠΈΡΡΡΡ ΠΎΡ Π²ΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎ Ρ Π½ΠΈΠΌΠΈ ΡΠ²ΡΠ·Π°Π½Π½ΠΎ (ΡΠΎΡΠΎΠ³ΡΠ°ΡΠΈΠΈ, ΠΎΠ΄Π΅ΠΆΠ΄Ρ, ΠΌΠ΅Π±Π΅Π»Ρ). ΠΡΠΈΡΡΠΈΡΡ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΡΡΠ°Π½ΡΡΠ²ΠΎ Π²ΠΎΠΊΡΡΠ³ ΡΠ΅Π±Ρ β Π·Π½Π°ΡΠΈΡ ΠΎΡΠΈΡΡΠΈΡΡ ΡΠ²ΠΎΠΉ ΡΠ°Π·ΡΠΌ ΠΎΡ Π²ΡΠ΅Π΄Π½ΡΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠΉ.
Π§ΡΠΎ ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠ΅ Π»ΠΎΠΆΠ½ΡΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ, ΠΏΠΎΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ ΠΎΠ½ΠΈ ΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²ΡΡΡ?
ΠΡΡΠ»Π΅Π΄ΠΎΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΡ Π³ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΡΡΡ, ΡΡΠΎ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ΠΌ Π½Π΅ Π²ΡΠ΅Π³Π΄Π° ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ Π΄ΠΎΠ²Π΅ΡΡΡΡ. ΠΠ΅Π΄Ρ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ΅ΡΡΡ Π·Π°ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΌΠΎΠ³ΡΡ Π½Π΅ ΠΎΡΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°ΠΆΠ°ΡΡ ΡΠ΅Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ Π΄Π΅ΠΉΡΡΠ²ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΡ, Π° ΠΈΡΠΊΡΠΈΠ²Π»ΡΡΡ Π΅Π΅.
ΠΠ»ΠΈΡΠ½ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠΌΠΎΡΠΈΠΉ Π½Π° ΠΏΠ°ΠΌΡΡΡ ΠΈΠ½ΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° Π½Π°ΡΡΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΠΎ ΡΠΈΠ»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ΅, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ΅Ρ Π²ΠΈΠ΄ΠΎΠΈΠ·ΠΌΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡΡ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ Π·Π°ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠ½ΠΈΠ²ΡΡΡΡΡ ΠΈΠ½ΡΠΎΡΠΌΠ°ΡΠΈΡ. Π€Π°Π½ΡΠ°Π·ΠΈΠΈ ΡΡΠ°Π½ΠΎΠ²ΡΡΡΡ ΡΠ°ΡΡΡΡ ΡΠ΅Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ, Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΈΠ½ΠΈΠΌΠ°Π΅ΡΡΡ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ Π°Π±ΡΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠ½Π°Ρ Π΄Π΅ΠΉΡΡΠ²ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΡ.
Π ΡΠΎΠΆΠ°Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΡ, Π½Π΅ ΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²ΡΠ΅Ρ ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠΎΠ΄Π°, ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΎΠ³Π°ΡΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ Π² ΡΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ ΠΎΡΠ»ΠΈΡΠΈΡΡ ΠΏΡΠ°Π²Π΄ΠΈΠ²ΡΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎΡ Π»ΠΎΠΆΠ½ΡΡ , Π° Π·Π½Π°ΡΠΈΡ Π»ΠΎΠΆΠ½ΡΠ΅ Π·Π°Π½ΠΈΠΌΠ°ΡΡ ΡΠ²ΠΎΠ΅ ΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠΎ Π½Π° ΡΡΠ΄Ρ ΡΠΎ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΠΌΠΈ.
ΠΠΎΠ½ΡΠ°Π±ΡΠ»ΡΡΠΈΡ.
Π ΠΏΡΠΈΡ ΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠ³ΠΈΠΈ ΡΠ²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ Π»ΠΎΠΆΠ½ΡΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠΉ ΠΈΠ½ΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ²Π»ΡΠ΅ΡΡΡ Π² Π²ΠΈΠ΄Π΅ ΠΊΠΎΠ½ΡΠ°Π±ΡΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠΈ. ΠΠΎΠ½ΡΠ°Π±ΡΠ»ΡΡΠΈΡ β Π²ΠΈΠ΄ΠΎΠΈΠ·ΠΌΠ΅Π½Π΅Π½Π½ΡΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ, ΡΠ°ΠΊΡΡ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅ ΠΎΡΠ»ΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡΡΡ ΠΎΡ ΡΠ΅Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ Π»ΠΈΠ±ΠΎ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΎΡΡΡΡΡ Π² Π΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΎΠΉ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠΈΠΎΠ΄ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ΅Π½ΠΈ, ΡΠΎΠΏΡΡΡΡΠ²ΡΡ Π½Π΅ΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²ΡΡΡΠΈΠΌ ΡΠΎΠ±ΡΡΠΈΡΠΌ.
Π ΠΏΡΠΈΡ ΠΈΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠΈ ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠ΅ ΡΠ²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠΈΠ½ΡΡΠΎ ΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎΡΠΈΡΡ ΠΊ ΡΠ°ΡΡΡΡΠΎΠΉΡΡΠ²Π°ΠΌ. ΠΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΈΡ Π½Π°ΡΡΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΠΉ ΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΡΡ ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡ ΠΏΠΎΡΡΠ΅Π΄ΡΡΠ²ΠΎΠΌ ΠΏΡΠΈΠ΅ΠΌΠ° Π½Π΅ΠΎΠ±Ρ ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΠΌΡΡ Π΄Π»Ρ ΠΏΡΠ°Π²ΠΈΠ»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΡΠ°Π±ΠΎΡΡ ΠΏΠ°ΠΌΡΡΠΈ Π²ΠΈΡΠ°ΠΌΠΈΠ½ΠΎΠ², Π»ΠΈΠ±ΠΎ ΠΊΠΎΠ³Π½ΠΈΡΠΈΠ²Π½ΡΠΌΠΈ ΡΠΏΠΎΡΠΎΠ±Π°ΠΌΠΈ.
ΠΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ β Π·Π΅ΡΠΊΠ°Π»ΠΎ Π½Π°ΡΠ΅ΠΉ ΠΈΠ½Π΄ΠΈΠ²ΠΈΠ΄ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ. ΠΠ½ΠΈ Π±ΡΠ²Π°ΡΡ ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΡΠ²Π»ΡΡΡΡΡ, ΡΡΠΎΠ±Ρ ΠΌΠΎΡΠΈΠ²ΠΈΡΠΎΠ²Π°ΡΡ, Π²ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΡΡ Π½Π°Π΄Π΅ΠΆΠ΄Ρ. ΠΠ½ΠΈ Π±ΡΠ²Π°ΡΡ Π½Π΅ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ, ΡΡΠΎΠ±Ρ Π½Π°ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠ½ΠΈΡΡ ΠΎ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»ΠΎΠΌ ΠΎΠΏΡΡΠ΅ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄ΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΡΡ ΠΎΡ Π³Π»ΡΠΏΡΡ ΠΎΡΠΈΠ±ΠΎΠΊ. ΠΠΎ Π²ΡΠ΅ ΠΆΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ β ΡΡΠΎ ΠΈΠ½Π΄ΠΈΠ²ΠΈΠ΄ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½Π°Ρ ΠΏΠ»Π°ΡΡΠΈΠ½ΠΊΠ° Π΄ΡΡΠΈ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΡ ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ ΠΈ ΡΡΠΎΠΈΡ ΠΈΠ½ΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° ΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ³ΡΠ°ΡΡ.
ΠΡΠΎΠΉΡΠΈ ΡΠ΅ΡΡ: Π¨ΠΊΠ°Π»Π° ΡΠ°ΠΌΠΎΡΠ²Π°ΠΆΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ
ΠΠΠ 1, -Π°, ΠΌΠ½. ΠΌΠΈΡΡΜ, ΠΌ. 1. Π‘ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠΊΡΠΏΠ½ΠΎΡΡΡ Π²ΡΠ΅Ρ ΡΠΎΡΠΌ ΠΌΠ°ΡΠ΅ΡΠΈΠΈ Π² Π·Π΅ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠΌ ΠΈ ΠΊΠΎΡΠΌΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΎΠΌ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΡΡΠ°Π½ΡΡΠ²Π΅; ΠΡΠ΅Π»Π΅Π½Π½Π°Ρ. ΠΡΠΎΠΈΡΡ ΠΎΠΆΠ΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΌΠΈΡΠ°.
ΠΠΠ 2, -Π°, ΠΌ. 1. Π‘ΠΎΠ³Π»Π°ΡΠΈΠ΅, ΠΎΡΡΡΡΡΡΠ²ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠ°Π·Π½ΠΎΠ³Π»Π°ΡΠΈΠΉ, Π²ΡΠ°ΠΆΠ΄Ρ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ ΡΡΠΎΡΡ. ΠΠΈΡΡ Π² ΠΌΠΈΡΠ΅.
ΠΡΠ΅ Π·Π½Π°ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π° Β«ΠΌΠΈΡΒ»ΠΠΜΠ Π, -Π°, ΡΡ. Π¦Π΅ΡΠΊ. ΠΠ»Π°Π³ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠ½Π½ΠΎΠ΅ ΠΌΠ°ΡΠ»ΠΎ (ΡΠΏΠΎΡΡΠ΅Π±Π»ΡΠ΅ΡΡΡ ΠΏΡΠΈ Π½Π΅ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΡ Ρ ΡΠΈΡΡΠΈΠ°Π½ΡΠΊΠΈΡ ΠΎΠ±ΡΡΠ΄Π°Ρ ).
ΠΡΠ΅ Π·Π½Π°ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π° Β«ΠΌΠΈΡΠΎΒ»ΠΠΠ‘ΠΠΠΠΠΠΜΠΠΠ, -Ρ, ΡΡ. 1. Π’ΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎ ΡΠΎΡ ΡΠ°Π½ΠΈΠ»ΠΎΡΡ Π² ΠΏΠ°ΠΌΡΡΠΈ; ΠΌΡΡΠ»Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²Π΅Π΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΡΠΎΠ³ΠΎ, Π²ΠΎΠ·ΠΎΠ±Π½ΠΎΠ²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄ΡΡΠ°Π²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠΉ ΠΎ ΠΊΠΎΠΌ-, ΡΠ΅ΠΌ-Π». ΠΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ Π΄Π΅ΡΡΡΠ²Π°. ΠΡΠ΅Π΄Π°ΡΡΡΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΠΌ.
ΠΡΠ΅ Π·Π½Π°ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π° Β«Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅Β»-
ΠΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° ΠΆΠ΅ ΠΏΠΎΠΊΠ°ΠΆΡΡΡΡ ΡΡΡΠ°ΠΆΠΈ Π½Π΅Π²ΠΈΠ΄ΠΈΠΌΡΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΎΡ Π² ΠΌΠΈΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠΉ?
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ΠΠΎΡΠΎΠΌ ΠΏΡΠΈΡ ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ Π² ΡΠ²ΠΎΠΈ ΠΊΠ°Π·Π°ΡΠΌΡ, ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΊΠ°Π·ΡΠ²Π°Π»ΠΈ ΡΠΎΠΏΠ»Π΅ΠΌΠ΅Π½Π½ΠΈΠΊΠ°ΠΌ Π²ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ°ΡΠ»Π΅Π½ΠΈΡ, Π½Π΅ ΠΌΠΎΠ³Π»ΠΈ Π·Π°ΡΠ½ΡΡΡ ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΡΡΠΎΡΠ½Π½ΠΎ Π²ΠΎΠ·Π²ΡΠ°ΡΠ°Π»ΠΈΡΡ Π² ΠΌΠΈΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠΉ.
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ΠΠ΅Π΄Π»Π΅Π½Π½ΡΠΉ ΡΠ°Π½Π΅Ρ, ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ½Π°Ρ ΠΌΡΠ·ΡΠΊΠ° ΡΠ½Π΅ΡΠ»ΠΈ Π² ΠΌΠΈΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠΉ.
ΠΡΠΈΠ²Π΅Ρ! ΠΠ΅Π½Ρ Π·ΠΎΠ²ΡΡ ΠΠ°ΠΌΠΏΠΎΠ±ΠΎΡ, Ρ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΏΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ½Π°Ρ ΠΏΡΠΎΠ³ΡΠ°ΠΌΠΌΠ°, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΠ°Ρ ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΎΠ³Π°Π΅Ρ Π΄Π΅Π»Π°ΡΡ
ΠΠ°ΡΡΡ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ². Π― ΠΎΡΠ»ΠΈΡΠ½ΠΎ
ΡΠΌΠ΅Ρ ΡΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡ, Π½ΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠΊΠ° ΠΏΠ»ΠΎΡ
ΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠ½ΠΈΠΌΠ°Ρ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΡΡΡΡΠΎΠ΅Π½ Π²Π°Ρ ΠΌΠΈΡ. ΠΠΎΠΌΠΎΠ³ΠΈ ΠΌΠ½Π΅ ΡΠ°Π·ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°ΡΡΡΡ!
Π‘ΠΏΠ°ΡΠΈΠ±ΠΎ! Π― ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ·Π°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎ Π½Π°ΡΡΡΡΡ ΠΎΡΠ»ΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡ ΡΠΈΡΠΎΠΊΠΎ ΡΠ°ΡΠΏΡΠΎΡΡΡΠ°Π½ΡΠ½Π½ΡΠ΅ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π° ΠΎΡ ΡΠ·ΠΊΠΎΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΠΈΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ .
ΠΠ°ΡΠΊΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠ½ΡΡΠ½ΠΎ Π·Π½Π°ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π° ΠΏΡΠΈΠ²Π΅ΡΠ°ΡΡ (Π³Π»Π°Π³ΠΎΠ»), ΠΏΡΠΈΠ²Π΅ΡΠ°Π»ΠΈ:
ΠΡΠΈΡΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎ
ΠΏΠΎΠ½ΡΡΠ½ΠΎ
ΠΠΎΠ½ΡΡΠ½ΠΎ
Π² ΠΎΠ±ΡΠΈΡ
ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ°Ρ
ΠΠΎΠ³Ρ ΡΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΠΎ
Π΄ΠΎΠ³Π°Π΄ΡΠ²Π°ΡΡΡΡ
ΠΠΎΠ½ΡΡΠΈΡ Π½Π΅ ΠΈΠΌΠ΅Ρ,
ΡΡΠΎ ΡΡΠΎ
ΠΡΡΠ³ΠΎΠ΅
ΠΡΠΎΠΏΡΡΡΠΈΡΡ
ΠΠ°ΠΊ ΠΏΡΠ°Π²ΠΈΠ»ΡΠ½ΠΎ ΠΏΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΡΡ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²ΠΎ Π§ΠΠ’ΠΠ’Π¬ ΠΠΠ‘ΠΠΠΠΠΠΠΠΠ―
Π§ΠΠ’ΠΜΠ’Π¬, —Π°ΜΡ, —Π°ΜΠ΅ΡΡ; ΠΏΡΠΈΡ. Π½Π°ΡΡ. ΡΠΈΡΠ°ΜΡΡΠΈΠΉ; ΠΏΡΠΈΡ. ΡΡΡΠ°Π΄. Π½Π°ΡΡ. ΡΠΈΡΠ°ΜΠ΅ΠΌΡΠΉ, —ΡΠ°ΜΠ΅ΠΌ, -Π°, -ΠΎ; ΠΏΡΠΈΡ. ΡΡΡΠ°Π΄. ΠΏΡΠΎΡ. ΡΠΈΜΡΠ°Π½Π½ΡΠΉ, —ΡΠ°Π½, -Π°, -ΠΎ; Π½Π΅ΡΠΎΠ²., ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅Ρ . (ΡΠΎΠ². ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡ). 1. ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΆΠ΅ Π±Π΅Π· Π΄ΠΎΠΏ. ΠΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΈΠ½ΠΈΠΌΠ°ΡΡ ΡΡΠΎ-Π». Π½Π°ΠΏΠΈΡΠ°Π½Π½ΠΎΠ΅ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ Π½Π°ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ°ΡΠ°Π½Π½ΠΎΠ΅ Π±ΡΠΊΠ²Π°ΠΌΠΈ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ Π΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΈΠΌΠΈ ΠΏΠΈΡΡΠΌΠ΅Π½Π½ΡΠΌΠΈ Π·Π½Π°ΠΊΠ°ΠΌΠΈ, ΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π½ΠΎΡΡ Π²ΡΠ»ΡΡ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²ΠΎΠ΄Ρ ΠΏΡΠΎ ΡΠ΅Π±Ρ. Π§ΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡ Π³Π°Π·Π΅ΡΡ. Π§ΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡ ΠΏΠΈΡΡΠΌΠΎ.
ΠΡΠ΅ Π·Π½Π°ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π° Β«ΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡΒ»ΠΠΠ‘ΠΠΠΠΠΠΜΠΠΠ, -Ρ, ΡΡ. 1. Π’ΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎ ΡΠΎΡ ΡΠ°Π½ΠΈΠ»ΠΎΡΡ Π² ΠΏΠ°ΠΌΡΡΠΈ; ΠΌΡΡΠ»Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²Π΅Π΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΡΡΠΎΠ³ΠΎ, Π²ΠΎΠ·ΠΎΠ±Π½ΠΎΠ²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄ΡΡΠ°Π²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠΉ ΠΎ ΠΊΠΎΠΌ-, ΡΠ΅ΠΌ-Π». ΠΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ Π΄Π΅ΡΡΡΠ²Π°. ΠΡΠ΅Π΄Π°ΡΡΡΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΠΌ.
ΠΡΠ΅ Π·Π½Π°ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π° Β«Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅Β»-
Π‘ΡΡΠ°ΡΠ½ΠΎ ΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΡΠ»Π΅Π΄Π½ΠΈΡ Π³ΠΎΠ΄Π°Ρ ΠΈ ΡΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΠΈ Π΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ.
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Π§ΠΈΡΠ°Π» Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΈ Π½Π°ΡΠΊΠ½ΡΠ»ΡΡ Π½Π° ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π²ΠΎΠ΄ ΡΡΠΈΡ ΠΎΠ² Π°Π»Ρ ΠΈΠΌΠΈΠΊΠΎΠ².
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ΠΠ°Π·Π°Π»ΠΎΡΡ Π±Ρ, Π½Π°ΡΠΈ Π·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄Π²ΠΈΠ³Π°Ρ ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΠ²ΡΠ΅Π΄Π½Π΅Π²Π½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΆΠΈΠ·Π½ΠΈ Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ½Π³ΡΠ°Π΄ΡΠ΅Π² Π² 1941 β 1944 Π³ΠΎΠ΄Π°Ρ ΠΌΠ°Π»ΠΎ ΡΡΠΎ ΠΌΠΎΠ³ΡΡ ΠΏΡΠΈΠ±Π°Π²ΠΈΡΡ ΠΊ ΡΠΆΠ΅ ΠΈΠ·Π²Π΅ΡΡΠ½ΠΎΠΌΡ, ΠΎΠ΄Π½Π°ΠΊΠΎ, ΡΠΈΡΠ°Ρ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΠ½ΠΈΠ²Π΅ΡΡΠ°Π½ΡΠΎΠ², ΠΏΠΎΠ½ΠΈΠΌΠ°Π΅ΡΡ, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΊΠ°ΠΆΠ΄ΡΠΉ ΠΈΠ· Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΠΆΠΈΠ» Β«ΡΠ²ΠΎΡΒ» Π±Π»ΠΎΠΊΠ°Π΄Ρ.
ΠΡΠΈΠ²Π΅Ρ! ΠΠ΅Π½Ρ Π·ΠΎΠ²ΡΡ ΠΠ°ΠΌΠΏΠΎΠ±ΠΎΡ, Ρ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠΏΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ½Π°Ρ ΠΏΡΠΎΠ³ΡΠ°ΠΌΠΌΠ°, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΠ°Ρ ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΎΠ³Π°Π΅Ρ Π΄Π΅Π»Π°ΡΡ
ΠΠ°ΡΡΡ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ². Π― ΠΎΡΠ»ΠΈΡΠ½ΠΎ
ΡΠΌΠ΅Ρ ΡΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡ, Π½ΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠΊΠ° ΠΏΠ»ΠΎΡ
ΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠ½ΠΈΠΌΠ°Ρ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΡΡΡΡΠΎΠ΅Π½ Π²Π°Ρ ΠΌΠΈΡ. ΠΠΎΠΌΠΎΠ³ΠΈ ΠΌΠ½Π΅ ΡΠ°Π·ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°ΡΡΡΡ!
Π‘ΠΏΠ°ΡΠΈΠ±ΠΎ! Π― ΡΡΠ°Π» ΡΡΡΠΎΡΠΊΡ Π»ΡΡΡΠ΅ ΠΏΠΎΠ½ΠΈΠΌΠ°ΡΡ ΠΌΠΈΡ ΡΠΌΠΎΡΠΈΠΉ.
ΠΠΎΠΏΡΠΎΡ: ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΎΡΡ β ΡΡΠΎ ΡΡΠΎ-ΡΠΎ Π½Π΅ΠΉΡΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ΅, ΠΏΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠΆΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ΅ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ ΠΎΡΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ΅?
ΠΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠΆΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ΅
ΠΡΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ΅
β ΠΠΎΡΡΠΎΠΌΡ Π΅ΡΡ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ. Π’ΠΎΡ Π±ΡΠ» Π½Π΅Π²ΡΠ΅Π΄ΠΈΠΌ, Π½ΠΎ ΡΠΎΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°ΠΆΠ°Π» ΡΠ»Π°Π±ΠΎ, ΠΈ ΠΏΠ°ΠΌΡΡΡ ΠΏΠΎΠ½Π°ΡΠ°Π»Ρ ΠΎΡΠΊΠ°Π·ΡΠ²Π°Π»Π°ΡΡ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄Π½ΠΈΠΌΠ°ΡΡ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ. Π Π²Π΅Π΄Ρ Ρ ΠΌΠ΅Π½Ρ Π΅ΡΡ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΡΠ°Ρ Π½Π°Π·Π°Π΄ ΡΠ°ΠΌ ΡΡΡΡ Π² ΡΡΠ°Π½Ρ ΠΎΡ ΡΡΡΠ°Ρ Π° Π½Π΅ Π½Π°Π΄Π΅Π»Π°Π». Π ΠΏΠ°ΠΌΡΡΠΈ Π±ΡΠ»ΠΈ Π΅ΡΡ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎ ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠΌ ΠΆΠ΅ Π½Π΅Π²ΠΈΠ½Π½ΠΎΠΌ Π²ΠΈΠ·ΠΈΡΠ΅ Π² Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΠ½ΠΈΡΡ ΠΊ ΠΊΠ»ΠΈΠ΅Π½ΡΡ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠΉ Π·Π°ΠΊΠΎΠ½ΡΠΈΠ»ΡΡ Π±ΠΎΠ΅ΠΌ Ρ Π±Π°Π½Π΄ΠΎΠΉ ΡΠ±ΠΈΠΉΡ, Π±Π΅Π³ΡΡΠ²ΠΎΠΌ ΠΈ Π΄Π»ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΏΠΎΠ³ΠΎΠ½Π΅ΠΉ. Π ΡΡΡ ΠΌΠ΅Π½Ρ ΠΊΠΎΠ»ΡΠ½ΡΠ»ΠΎ Π΅ΡΡ ΠΎΠ΄Π½ΠΎ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠ΅Π΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅. Π’Ρ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΡΠΎ ΠΏΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΡ ΠΎΠ± ΡΡΠΎΠΌ ΡΠΏΡΡΡΡ 3 Π³ΠΎΠ΄Π°, ΠΏΠΎ Π΅ΡΡ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈΠΌ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΠΌ ΠΎ ΡΠ²ΠΎΠ΅ΠΌ ΠΎΠ±ΡΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΠΈ. ΠΡΡ ΠΆΠΈΠ²Ρ Π±ΡΠ»ΠΈ Π²Π΅ΡΠ΅ΡΠ°Π½Ρ, Π΅ΡΡ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ. ΠΠΎΡΠ²ΠΈΠ»ΠΎΡΡ ΠΎΠ΄Π½ΠΎ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠ΅Π΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΎ Π²ΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅ Ρ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΎΠΉ. β Π£ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠ»ΠΈΡΡ ΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°ΠΈ, ΠΊΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° ΠΎΡΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠ°ΠΌ β ΠΊΠΎΡΡΠ΅ΠΊΡΠΈΡΠΎΠ²ΡΠΈΠΊΠ°ΠΌ ΠΏΡΠΈΡ ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡΡΡ ΡΠ°Π±ΠΎΡΠ°ΡΡ ΡΠΎ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈΠΌΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΠΌΠΈ, ΠΊΠ°ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠΌΠΈΡΡ Π»ΡΠ±Π²ΠΈ. ΠΠΎΡΡΠΎΠΌΡ ΠΏΡΡΠΌΠΎ ΡΠ΅ΠΉΡΠ°Ρ, ΠΎΡΠΎΠ±Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠΊΠ° ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ, Ρ ΡΠΆΠ΅ ΠΈΠΌΠ΅Π» ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄ΡΡΠ°Π²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΡ, ΡΡΠΎ Π΄Π΅Π»Π°ΡΡ. ΠΡΠ΅ ΡΡΠΈ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΏΡΠΎΠ½ΠΎΡΠΈΠ»ΠΈΡΡ Π² Π³ΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π΅ ΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π΄ΠΎΠΌ, ΡΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΡ ΠΊΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠ½ΠΊΡ Π΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΎΠΉ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ Π² ΠΊΠ°Π»Π΅ΠΉΠ΄ΠΎΡΠΊΠΎΠΏΠ΅. ΠΠ΅ΡΠΆΠ°Π»ΡΡ ΠΎΠ½ Ρ Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠΌ Π΄ΠΎΡΡΠΎΠΈΠ½ΡΡΠ²ΠΎΠΌ, Ρ ΠΎΡΡ ΠΈ Π±ΡΠ» ΠΈΡΠΏΡΠ³Π°Π½ Π½Π΅ΠΈΡΡΠΎΠ²ΡΡΠ²ΠΎΠΌ ΡΠΎΠ»ΠΏΡ, ΠΏΡΠΎΠ±ΡΠ΄ΠΈΠ²ΡΠΈΠΌ Π² Π½ΡΠΌ Π΅ΡΡ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠ΅Π΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΎ ΡΠ΅Π½ΡΡΠ±ΡΡΡΠΊΠΈΡ Π΄Π½ΡΡ . Π ΠΏΠ°ΠΌΡΡΠΈ ΡΡΡΠΈΡΡ Π΅ΡΡ Π±ΡΠ»ΠΈ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎ Π½Π΅Π΄Π°Π²Π½Π΅ΠΌ ΠΈΠ½ΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΡΠ½Π΅ΠΉΡΠ΅ΠΌ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠ»Π΅Π΄ΠΎΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΠΈ. ΠΠΎΠ»Π΅Π΅ Π±ΠΎΠ»Π΅Π·Π½Π΅Π½Π½ΡΠ΅ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ Π΅ΡΡ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠ΅-ΡΠΎ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ ΠΎΡΡΠ°Π½ΡΡΡΡ Π² ΠΊΠΎΡΠ½ΡΡ . ΠΠΎΠΆΠ΅Ρ, Ρ ΠΌΠ°ΠΌΠΎΠΉ ΠΏΡΠΈΠ΅Π΄Ρ, ΡΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° Ρ Π²Π΅ΡΠ°ΠΌΠΈ ΠΈ ΡΠ°Π·Π±Π΅ΡΡΠΌΡΡ, Π° ΠΏΠΎΠΊΠ° Π΅ΡΡ ΡΠ»ΠΈΡΠΊΠΎΠΌ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ. ΠΡΠΆΠ½ΠΎ Π±ΡΠ»ΠΎ Π²ΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ Π»ΠΈΡΡ Π²Π·ΡΡΡ ΠΊΠΈΡΡΡ, ΠΏΠ°Π»ΠΈΡΡΡ, ΠΊΡΠ°ΡΠΊΠΈ ΠΈ, Π½Π΅ ΠΎΡΠΊΠ»Π°Π΄ΡΠ²Π°Ρ Π½Π°Π΄ΠΎΠ»Π³ΠΎ, ΠΏΠΎΠΊΠ° ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ, ΠΏΡΡΠΌΠΎ Ρ Π½Π°ΡΡΡΡ Π½Π°ΠΏΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡ Π½Π° Ρ ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠ΅ ΠΏΠΎΡΡΡΠ΅Ρ Π°Π½Π³Π΅Π»Π°. Π― Π΅Π΄Π²Π°-Π΅Π΄Π²Π° ΠΎΡΠΏΠΈΠ»ΡΡ, Π΄ΠΎ ΡΠΈΡ ΠΏΠΎΡ Π²ΠΎ ΡΡΡ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ. Π‘Π»ΠΈΡΠΊΠΎΠΌ ΡΠ°ΡΠΊΠ° ΠΏΡΠΈΡ ΠΈΠΊΠ°, ΡΠ»ΠΈΡΠΊΠΎΠΌ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ, ΡΠ»ΠΈΡΠΊΠΎΠΌ Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΠ½ΠΎ… Π΄Π° ΠΊ ΡΠΎΠΌΡ ΠΆΠ΅ Π² ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠΌ Π²ΠΈΠ΄Π΅ ΠΌΠ΅Π½Ρ Π½Π΅ ΠΏΡΡΡΡΡ Π΄Π°ΠΆΠ΅ Π½Π° ΠΏΠ°ΠΏΠ΅ΡΡΡ, Π½Π΅ ΡΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎ Π² ΠΏΡΠΈΠ»ΠΈΡΠ½ΡΠΉ Π΄ΠΎΠΌ. ΠΠ΄ΡΠΈ Π² ΡΡΠΎΡ ΡΠ°Π· ΠΎΠ½ ΡΠ΅ΡΠΈΠ» Π΄Π»ΠΈΠ½Π½ΡΠΌ ΠΏΡΡΡΠΌ ΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π· ΠΏΠΎΠ»Π΅, ΡΡΠΎ Π±Ρ Π»ΠΈΡΠ½ΠΈΠΉ ΡΠ°Π· Π½Π΅ Π±ΡΠ΄ΠΎΡΠ°ΠΆΠΈΡΡ, Π±Π΅Π· ΡΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Π΅ΡΡ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ Π² Π³ΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠ²Π΅. ΠΡΡ, Π½Π΅Π±ΠΎΡΡ, ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎ ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ΅ΠΉΠ½ΡΡ ΡΠ°Π·Π³ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΡΠ°Ρ Π½Π° ΠΏΠΎΠ²ΡΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΡΡ ΡΠΎΠ½Π°Ρ . ΠΡΡ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎΡ ΠΏΠΎΠΈΡΠΊΠΎΠ² ΠΆΠΈΠ»ΡΡ. Π― Π½ΠΈΠΊΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° Π½Π΅ ΡΡΡΠ» Π±Ρ ΡΠΊΠΎΠ»Ρ-Π½ΠΈΠ±ΡΠ΄Ρ ΠΏΡΠ°Π²Π΄ΠΈΠ²ΡΠΌ, ΠΈ ΠΈΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠΈΠΌ ΡΠΎΠ»ΠΈΠΊΡ Π΄ΠΎΡΡΠΎΠ²Π΅ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ Π² ΡΡΠ»ΡΡΠ°Π½Π½ΠΎΠΌ, ΠΊΠ°Π±Ρ Π½Π΅ Π±ΡΠ»ΠΈ Ρ ΠΌΠ΅Π½Ρ ΡΡΠΎΠ»Ρ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎΠ± ΡΠΎΠΌ ΡΡΠΌΠ°Π½Π΅. Π’Π°ΠΊΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠΈΠ»ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΠΎΡΠ³ΠΎΠ»ΠΎΡΠΊΠΈ ΠΌΠΎΠ³ΡΡ Π±ΡΡΡ ΡΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΡΠ»Π΅ ΠΎΡΠΊΠ°ΡΠ°, Π° Ρ ΠΌΠ΅Π½Ρ… Π‘Π»ΠΈΡΠΊΠΎΠΌ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎ ΡΠΎΠΌ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠ²ΠΎ ΡΡΠΎ. Π’ΡΡ-ΡΠΎ ΠΈ ΠΎΡΠ½ΡΠ»Π°ΡΡ ΡΠΎΠ²Π΅ΡΡΡ: ΠΎΠ½Π° ΡΠ³ΠΎΠ΄Π»ΠΈΠ²ΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ΡΡΠ½ΡΠ»Π° Π΅ΡΡ ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎ Π±Π΅Π»ΠΎΠΉ ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠ½Π°ΡΠ΅ Π±Π΅Π· Π΄Π²Π΅ΡΠ΅ΠΉ. Π₯ΠΎΡΠΎΡΠΈΠΉ ΡΠΏΠΎΡΠΎΠ± Π΄Π»Ρ ΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²ΡΡΡΠΈΡ ΠΊΠ»ΠΈΠ΅Π½ΡΠΎΠ² β ΠΏΡΠΎΠ²Π΅ΡΠΊΠ° ΠΊΠ°ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²Π° ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ»ΡΠΆΠΈΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΠ°Π· Π² Π³ΠΎΠ΄, Π½Π°ΠΏΡΠΈΠΌΠ΅Ρ Π² ΡΠ½Π²Π°ΡΠ΅, ΠΏΠΎΠΊΠ° Π΅ΡΡ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ΅Π΄ΡΠΈΡ ΡΠΎΠ±ΡΡΠΈΡΡ . ΠΠ΄Π΅ΡΡ Π΅ΡΡ Π±ΡΠ»ΠΈ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎ ΡΠΎΠ²Π΅ΡΡΠΊΠΎ-ΠΏΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠΊΠΎΠΉ Π²ΠΎΠΉΠ½Π΅ 1933 Π³ΠΎΠ΄Π°. Π ΠΏΠ°ΠΌΡΡΠΈ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ΅ΡΡΠΎΡΠ° Π΄ΠΎ ΡΠΈΡ ΠΏΠΎΡ Π±ΡΠ»ΠΈ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎ Π²Π΅ΡΡΠΌΠ° Π½Π΅ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠΎΠΉΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΡΡΡΠΊΠ΅, ΡΡΠΈΠ½ΡΠ½Π½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΏΠ°ΡΠΎΡΠΊΠΎΠΉ ΡΡΡΠ΄Π΅Π½ΡΠΎΠ² β ΡΡΠΈ Ρ ΡΠ»ΠΈΠ³Π°Π½Ρ Π΄ΠΎΠ΄ΡΠΌΠ°Π»ΠΈΡΡ Π½Π°ΠΌΠ°Π³Π½ΠΈΡΠΈΡΡ Π΄Π»ΠΈΠ½Π½ΡΠΉ ΡΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ Π»ΠΎΠΌ, ΠΏΠ»ΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎ Π½Π°Π²ΠΈΠ² Π½Π° Π½Π΅Π³ΠΎ ΠΏΡΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠ΄ ΠΈ ΠΏΡΠΎΠΏΡΡΡΠΈΠ² ΠΏΠΎ Π½Π΅ΠΌΡ ΡΠΎΠΊ ΠΎΡ Π°ΠΊΠΊΡΠΌΡΠ»ΡΡΠΎΡΠ°. Π£ΡΡΠ°Π²ΠΈΠ»ΡΡ Π½Π° ΠΌΠ΅Π½Ρ ΡΡΠΆΡΠ»ΡΠΌ ΠΈΠ·ΡΡΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠΌ Π²Π·Π³Π»ΡΠ΄ΠΎΠΌ, Π½Π΅ΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ½ΠΎ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΌΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠ²Π°Ρ Ρ Π½ΠΎΠ³ Π΄ΠΎ Π³ΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠ²Ρ, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠ·Π²ΠΎΠ»ΠΈΠ»ΠΎ Π½Π° Π½Π΅ΡΠΊΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΠΎ ΡΠ΅ΠΊΡΠ½Π΄ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠ»Π°Π±ΠΈΡΡΡΡ ΠΈ ΠΎΠΊΡΠ½ΡΡΡΡΡ Π² ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ. ΠΠ΄Π΅-ΡΠΎ ΡΠ°ΠΌ, Π³Π΄Π΅ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠΈΠ²Π°Π»ΠΈΡΡ ΡΠΎ ΡΠΌΡΡΠ½ΡΠΌΠΈ ΡΠ΅Π½ΡΠΌΠΈ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ, Π±ΡΠ»ΠΈ Ρ Π½Π΅Π³ΠΎ Π΅ΡΡ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊΠΈΠ΅-ΡΠΎ ΠΊΠ°ΡΡΠΈΠ½Ρ ΠΈ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°Π·Ρ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠ΅ Π΅ΠΌΡ β ΡΠ΅ΠΉΡΠ°Ρ, ΠΏΠΎ ΠΊΡΠ°ΠΉΠ½Π΅ΠΉ ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ΅, β Π½Π΅ Ρ ΠΎΡΠ΅Π»ΠΎΡΡ Π±Ρ ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠΆΠΈΡΡ. ΠΡΠ΅ΡΡΡΡΠ½Π΅ ΠΏΠΎΠ½ΠΈΠΌΠ°Π»ΠΈ ΡΡΠΎ ΠΈ ΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ½ΠΎ ΡΠ²Π°ΠΊΡΠΈΡΠΎΠ²Π°Π»ΠΈΡΡ β Π² ΠΏΠ°ΠΌΡΡΠΈ ΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΈΡ ΠΈΠ· Π½ΠΈΡ Π΅ΡΡ Π±ΡΠ»ΠΈ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎ Π΄ΠΎΠ»Π³ΠΎΠΉ ΠΈ ΠΊΡΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠΏΡΠΎΠ»ΠΈΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ Π²ΠΎΠΉΠ½Π΅, ΡΠΆΠΈΠ³Π°Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΉ ΠΌΠΈΡ Π΄Π²Π°Π΄ΡΠ°ΡΡ Π»Π΅Ρ Π½Π°Π·Π°Π΄. Π’ΡΠ³ΡΡΡΡ ΠΌΠ°ΡΡΡ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΡΠΈΡΠ°Π΅ΠΌ ΠΈ ΡΠ΅Π΄ΡΠΎ ΡΠΌΠ΅ΡΠΈΠ²Π°Π΅ΠΌ Ρ ΡΠ°Ρ Π°ΡΠΎΠΌ, ΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡ, ΠΏΠΎΡΠ»Π΅ Π½ΠΎΡΠΈ ΡΠ»Π°Π΄ΠΊΠΈΡ ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ², Π³Π΄Π΅ Π΅ΡΡ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎ Π·Π½ΠΎΠΉΠ½ΡΡ Π·Π°ΠΊΠ°ΡΠ°Ρ ΠΈ Π²Π΅ΡΡΠ»ΠΎΠΌ ΡΠ°ΡΠΊΠ°ΡΠΈΠ²Π°Π½ΠΈΠΈ Π² Π»Π°Π·ΡΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ Π²ΡΡΠΈΠ½Π΅, Π±ΡΠ²ΡΠΈΠ΅ ΡΡΡΠΊΡΡ ΡΡΠ°Π½ΠΎΠ²ΡΡΡΡ Π²Π°ΡΠ΅Π½ΡΠ΅ΠΌ. ΠΠΎΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΠΌΡΡΠ»ΠΈ, ΠΏΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠ΄Ρ Π½Π΅ΡΠΎΠ²Π΅ΡΡΠ΅Π½ΡΡΠ²Π° ΠΎΠΊΡΡΠΆΠ°ΡΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ ΠΌΠΈΡΠ°, Π²ΡΠ½ΡΡΠ½ΡΠ² ΠΈΠ· ΡΡΠΌΠ½ΡΡ ΡΠ³ΠΎΠ»ΠΊΠΎΠ² ΠΏΠ°ΠΌΡΡΠΈ, ΡΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ°Π»ΠΈΡΡ ΡΠΎ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈΠΌΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΠΌΠΈ ΠΈ ΠΊΠ°Π½ΡΠ»ΠΈ ΠΊΡΠ΄Π°-ΡΠΎ Π² Π»Π°Π±ΠΈΡΠΈΠ½ΡΡ ΠΈ Π±Π΅ΡΠΊΠΎΠ½Π΅ΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΠΊΠΎΡΠΈΠ΄ΠΎΡΡ ΠΌΠΎΠ·Π³Π°, ΠΎΡΠ²ΠΎΠ±ΠΎΠΆΠ΄Π°Ρ ΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠΎ Π΄Π»Ρ ΡΠ»Π΅Π΄ΡΡΡΠΈΡ Π±Π΅Π· ΠΎΡΠ΅Π½ΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎ β ΡΠΎΠ·Π΅ΡΡΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ ΠΌΡΡΠ»Π΅ΠΉ ΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠΉ… Π Π½Π° ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ°ΡΠ½ΠΎΠΌ ΠΏΡΡΠΈ Π΄ΠΎΠΌΠΎΠΉ, ΠΊΠΎΠ³Π΄Π° ΠΎΠ½ΠΈ Π½Π΅ΡΠ»ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΠ»Π½ΡΠ΅ ΠΏΠ»Π΅ΡΡΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΠΊΠΎΡΠ·ΠΈΠ½ΠΊΠΈ Ρ ΠΌΠ°Π»ΠΈΠ½ΠΎΠΉ, ΠΎΠ΄Π½Π°ΠΆΠ΄Ρ, Π² ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠ»ΠΎΠΌ Π³ΠΎΠ΄Ρ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΆΠ΅ΡΡΡ, β ΠΈΠΌ Π²ΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΠΈΠ»Π°ΡΡ Π»ΠΈΡΠ°, ΠΈ ΡΡΠΎ Π±ΡΠ»ΠΎ ΡΡΠΊΠΎΠ΅ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠ΅Π΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅. Π£ Π²ΡΠ΅Ρ Π΅ΡΡ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎ Π½Π΅Π΄Π°Π²Π½Π΅ΠΉ Π²ΠΎΠΉΠ½Π΅, Ρ Π²ΡΠ΅Ρ Π΅ΡΡΡ ΠΏΠΎΠ³ΠΈΠ±ΡΠΈΠ΅ ΠΈ ΡΠ°Π½Π΅Π½ΡΠ΅… Π, Π³Π»Π°Π²Π½ΠΎΠ΅, Π½Π΅ Π·Π°Π±ΡΠ²Π°ΠΉ: ΠΌΠΎΠΉ ΠΎΡΠ΅Ρ Π΄Π°Π» ΡΠ»ΠΎΠ²ΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎ Π±ΠΎΠ»Π΅Π΅ Π½ΠΈ ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΠ½ Π²Π°ΠΌΠΏΠΈΡ Π½Π΅ Π²ΠΎΠΉΠ΄ΡΡ Π² ΡΠ»ΡΡΠΈΠΉΡΠΊΡΡ Π΄Π΅ΡΠ΅Π²Π½Ρ. Π‘Π΅ΠΉΡΠ°Ρ ΡΠΆΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠ°ΠΊΡΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈ Π½Π΅Π²ΠΎΠ·ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ Π²ΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΠΈΡΡ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ, Π² ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΡ ΡΠ°ΠΊ ΠΆΠΈΠ²ΠΎ ΠΈ Π»Π΅Π³ΠΊΠΎ, Ρ ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠΉ ΡΠ°ΠΌΠΎΠΈΡΠΎΠ½ΠΈΠ΅ΠΉ ΠΈ ΠΎΡΡΡΠΎΡΠΌΠΈΠ΅ΠΌ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΊΠ°Π·ΡΠ²Π°Π΅ΡΡΡ ΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΠ²ΡΠ΅Π΄Π½Π΅Π²Π½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΆΠΈΠ·Π½ΠΈ Π½Π° ΠΏΡΠΎΡΡΠΆΠ΅Π½ΠΈΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΡΡΠΈ Π²ΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ XX Π²Π΅ΠΊΠ°. Π§Π΅ΡΠ΅ΡΡΡΡ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎ ΠΊΠΎΠ»ΠΎΡΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ ΠΏΠΎΡΠ΅ΡΡΡ Π² Π²ΠΎΠΉΠ½Π΅, Π΄Π° ΠΈ ΡΠ²ΡΠ·ΡΠ²Π°ΡΡΡΡ Ρ ΡΡΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΄Π΅ΡΠΆΠ°Π²Π°ΠΌΠΈ β ΡΠ΅Π±Π΅ Π΄ΠΎΡΠΎΠΆΠ΅! Π§ΠΈΡΠ°ΡΠ΅Π»Ρ Π½Π°ΠΉΠ΄ΡΡ Π΅ΡΡ ΠΎΠ΄Π½ΠΎ Ρ ΡΠ΄ΠΎΠΆΠ΅ΡΡΠ²Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠΎΠΈΠ·Π²Π΅Π΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅, Π½Π°ΠΏΠΈΡΠ°Π½Π½ΠΎΠ΅ Π² ΡΠΎΠΉ ΠΆΠ΅ ΡΠ΅Π°Π»ΠΈΡΡΠΈΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΌΠ°Π½Π΅ΡΠ΅, ΡΠΎΠ·Π΄Π°Π½Π½ΠΎΠ΅ ΠΏΠΎ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈΠΌ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΠΌ. ΠΡΡ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎ Π±ΡΠΎΡΠΈΠ²ΡΠ΅ΠΉ Π³Π΅ΡΠΎΡ Π΄Π΅Π²ΡΡΠΊΠ΅, ΡΠ°ΠΊ Π³ΠΎΡΡΠΊΠΎ ΠΈ Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΠ½ΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΆΠΈΠ·Π½Ρ ΠΊΠ°ΠΆΠ΅ΡΡΡ Π°Π΄ΠΎΠΌ ΠΈ ΡΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΠΎ ΡΠΎΡΡΠ²ΡΡΠ²ΠΈΠ΅ Π΄ΡΡΠ³Π° ΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΎΠ³Π°Π΅Ρ Π½Π΅ ΡΠΎΠΉΡΠΈ Ρ ΡΠΌΠ°. Π ΡΡΡ Π΅ΡΡ ΠΈ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΎ ΠΏΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²ΠΈΠΈ ΠΏΠΎ Π³ΠΎΡΠΎΠ΄Ρ, Π½Π΅ΠΏΡΠΈΠ²ΡΡΠ½Π°Ρ ΠΎΠ΄Π΅ΠΆΠ΄Π° ΠΈ ΠΎΡΡΡΡΡΡΠ²ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΎΡΡΠΆΠΈΠ΅, ΡΡΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΠΈΠ΅ Π½Π΅ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ, ΡΡΠ΅Π²ΠΎΠΆΠ½ΡΠ΅ ΠΌΡΡΠ»ΠΈ… ΠΡ Π²ΡΡΠ°ΡΠΈΠ»ΠΈ Π½Π° Π±Π°Π»ΠΊΠΎΠ½ ΡΠΎΠ»ΠΎΠΌΠ΅Π½Π½ΡΠ΅ ΠΊΡΠ΅ΡΠ»Π°, ΡΡΠΎΠ»ΠΈΠΊ, ΡΠΊΡΡΠ»ΠΈΡΡ ΠΏΠ»Π΅Π΄Π°ΠΌΠΈ ΠΈ, ΠΏΠΎΡΡΠ³ΠΈΠ²Π°Ρ ΡΠ»Π°Π΄ΠΊΠΈΠΉ Π²Π΅ΡΠΌΡΡ, Π½Π°ΡΠ»Π°ΠΆΠ΄Π°Π»ΠΈΡΡ ΠΏΡΠΈΠ±ΡΠ΅ΠΆΠ½ΡΠΌ ΡΡΠΌΠΎΠΌ ΠΈ ΡΠ²Π΅ΠΆΠΈΠΌΠΈ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΠΈΠ½Π°Π½ΠΈΡΠΌΠΈ. 90000 What Is Mood Congruent Memory & What Can It Teach Us? 90001 90002 Updated March 09, 2020 90003 90002 Reviewer Wendy Boring-Bray, DBH, LPC 90003 90002 90003 90002 90009 Source: rawpixel.com 90010 90003 90002 Your memory is not just a monolithic concept; there are many branches of memory one must study if they want to see the fuller picture. In this post, we will look at the mood congruent memory effect and see what it is.Then, we will discuss other ways that emotion can affect your memory. 90003 90014 90015 What Is The Mood Congruent Memory Effect? 90016 90017 90002 The mood congruence effect is when you can remember something that’s happened to you if the memory is matching your current state. In other words, you will remember sad memories if you’re sad, happy memories if you’re happy, and so on. This can create a tough cycle to break. If you’re depressed, you remember depressive memories, and this makes you even more depressed.90003 90002 It makes sense that the emotions you have during an experience can affect how you recall it. If you are happy when an event happens, you are likely to remember it in a positive light. Emotions can affect the encoding of your memory in quite a few ways, including if the memory can be recalled or not. 90003 90002 Let’s look at the Gordon Bower study of 1981, which first suggested the idea of a mood congruence effect. The study had subjects, and it was discovered that they could remember events that had a similar emotional state as their current mood.If the subject was annoyed, they may remember other memories where they were annoyed. 90003 90002 This also helps you recall certain news. If you are depressed, you may remember negative news more than you could positive. 90003 90002 So why does our emotions influence your memory? Why are not we rational people who use judgment to encode a memory, and not emotions? Why is our brain programmed that way? Why do we remember something bad that happened to us as a child, but can not remember where we left our wallet in the morning? 90003 90002 With many odd traits in humans, the answer is usually that it was something we used for our survival back in the prehistoric days.Remembering an emotional memory can make us be wary of danger. For example, if we were thinking about fighting a strong animal, memories of animal attacks may make us think twice about it. These negative memories can prevent us from engaging in danger, while happy memories give us a feeling of comfort that encourages us not to go into danger. 90003 90002 90015 How Our Brains Encode Emotional Memory 90016 90003 90002 When it comes to research, it has been discovered that our brains will focus on emotional stimuli.In one study, participants were shown images. Some were neutral in emotions, while others were shown images of an injury. This study found that when people looked at the injury photos, they were more likely to remember them. 90003 90002 90003 90002 90009 Source: rawpixel.com 90010 90003 90002 We should also consider the fact that our brains witness a lot every day. We live hundreds of days where little happens, and then an extremely emotional memory happens. It sets itself apart from our mundane lives and allows us to recall it better.90003 90002 90015 Emotions And The Brain 90016 90003 90002 As you may have assumed, the brain is quite a mysterious organ. There are many aspects about the brain that we are yet to know about, and how your brain processes and recalls emotions is something that is not yet fully understood. 90003 90002 However, the current science we know gives us some clues. There are two regions of the brain that may play an important part, since they process emotions and memories. These are known as the hippocampus and the amygdale regions.Since they process memories and emotions, it may be a safe assumption that there is some link between the two concepts and that these parts make us recall emotional memories the way that we do. 90003 90002 One proposal is that the amygdala helps to modulate how the hippocampus processes activity. This can influence how new memories are formed. 90003 90002 90015 How Memories Are Rehearsed And Retrieved 90016 90003 90002 Emotions can turn the events that happened into an entirely different experience.However, as this article has told you, the mood you’re in can affect how you’re able to recall these memories. 90003 90002 If you’re on vacation, you can remember other nice vacation memories better. It gives you that extra feeling of happiness to know that the memories you recall are pleasant and it enhances the vacation. 90003 90002 90003 90002 90009 Source: rawpixel.com 90010 90003 90002 Meanwhile, a bad experience can create a cycle of sadness. For instance, if a relative dies, you may remember all the other losses you have experienced in your life, and that can make you even more emotional.Your mood really does affect what you are able to recall, and it proves that our ability to recall memories is not neutral. 90003 90002 There were a few experiments to prove this phenomenon. One was the Clark University experiment. In it, the participants had their moods artificially changed through different facial expressions. 90003 90002 When a participant smiled, they felt feelings of happiness. When they tried to make a fearful face, they felt fear. As it turns out, it is much easier to change one’s mood than you would think.All it may take is a certain stimuli, such as a facial expression that is associated with that emotion. For example, you may be happier if you look at happy faces, and vice versa. 90003 90002 This also helps support the theory that recalling certain memories depends on your mood. Subjects were able to access certain memories better, as they were able to change their emotions. 90003 90002 90015 Fading Affect Bias 90016 90003 90002 The fading affect bias seems to involve certain memories that we end up forgetting.This is when we learn how to forget negative memories and focus on positive memories instead. This is why people romanticize their childhood. Many people may look at the past and think everything was better then and that everything is not as good now. This is because of their biases. The past could have been just as bad, but the memories you have make it seem better than it is. 90003 90002 There have been studies to back this up, too. In 2009 one study proved that people could recall positive memories more than negative memories.The older the person, the more likely they are to recall a memory that is positive rather than negative. This is known as the rose-tinted glasses effect. 90003 90002 Not everyone views their past through this bias, but many do. This is why nostalgia is so easy to cash in on. Everyone wants to relive their childhood that may not have existed in the way they remember it. 90003 90002 90015 What Happens When One Suppresses Emotions? 90016 90003 90002 You may wonder what would happen if you tried to suppress your emotions during an event.Would it change how you recalled it? 90003 90002 90003 90002 90009 Source: pexels.com 90010 90003 90002 One study tried this idea. At Stanford University, participants were shown stimuli. Some were asked to suppress their emotions while others were allowed to be themselves. Those who did suppress their emotions seemed to have a hard time recalling the stimuli. As it may turn out, if you try to focus on your emotional state and suppress it, it can be harder for you to observe the environment around you and encode certain memories.As such, it’s hard for someone to encode a memory and make it emotionally neutral. 90003 90002 90015 So What Can We Learn From This? 90016 90003 90002 The overall implication, and what you can learn from all of this, is that emotions are very important when it comes to encoding and recalling memories. It’s quite interesting to know that, and then look back at your memories with a critical eye. How many of your memories are truly reliable? They may have truth to them, but the emotions you felt during the encoding of the memory can distort some key facts.90003 90002 This makes eyewitness testimonies all the more interesting. Most of us know that testimonies from eyewitnesses are important in a court case. But when there is emotion involved, it can become a bit problematic. How do we know that person’s memory is reliable? The emotion could change a key fact that could incriminate or free the defendant. There is also controversy as to whether or not your memories can be changed through interrogation and other means. 90003 90002 In the end, it seems that only recording your memories is the best way to have memories that are reliable.90003 90002 If you want to recall certain memories, try changing your emotions. Think about your childhood, and then look at certain stimuli that change your mood from happy to sad and so on. This will allow you to find some memories that you may not have been able to access. 90003 90002 90003 90002 90009 Source: rawpixel.com 90010 90003 90002 90015 Seek Help! 90016 90003 90002 Sometimes, your memories can trigger intense emotion, and you may not know how to cope with them.In cases like these, there is no shame in seeking a counselor for help. A therapist can help you recall memories or learn to cope with them. They can also teach you techniques to remain rational and look at your memories through a more critical lens. 90003 .90000 How Memories Form and Why So Many May Be False 90001 90002 A false memory is a recollection that seems real in your mind but is fabricated in part or in whole. 90003 90002 An example of a false memory is believing you started the washing machine before you left for work, only to come home and find you did not. 90003 90002 Another example of a false memory is believing you were grounded for the first time for not washing dishes when you were 12, but your mom tells you it was because you were disrespectful to her — and it was not the first time.90003 90002 Most false memories are not malicious or even intentionally hurtful. They’re shifts or reconstructions of memory that do not align with the true events. 90003 90002 However, some false memories can have significant consequences, including in court or legal settings where false memories may convict someone wrongfully. 90003 90002 Read on to learn more about how false memories are formed, what their impact can be on you and others, and how you can correct them. 90003 90002 Memories are complex.While you might imagine a memory as a black or white element, the truth is memories are subject to change, malleable, and often unreliable. 90003 90002 Events are moved from your brain’s temporary memory to permanent storage while you sleep. The transition, however, is not absolute. Elements of the memory may be lost. This is where false memories can begin. 90003 90018 False memory implantation 90019 90002 False memories are created in several ways. Each of these affects what changes about the memory or how it’s stored.90003 90002 It may be hard to know which of these issues caused your false memories, but knowing can ultimately help you understand why false memories are so common. 90003 90024 Suggestion 90025 90002 Inference is a powerful force. You may create new false memories with someone else’s prompting or by the questions they ask. 90003 90002 For example, someone may ask you if the bank robber was wearing a red mask. You say yes, then quickly correct yourself to say it was black. In actuality, the robber was not wearing a mask, but the suggestion they were planted a memory that was not real.90003 90024 Misinformation 90025 90002 You can be fed improper or false information about an event and be convinced that it actually did occur. You can create a new memory or combine real memories with artificial ones. 90003 90024 90035 Inaccurate perception 90036 90025 90002 Your brain is like a computer, storing what you give it. If you give it bad information, it stores bad information. The gaps left by your story may be filled in later with your own created recollections. 90003 90024 Misattribution 90025 90002 In your memory, you may combine elements of different events into a singular one.90003 90002 When you recall the memory, you’re recalling events that happened. But the timeline is jumbled or confused with the assortment of events that now form a singular memory in your mind. 90003 90024 Emotions 90025 90002 The emotions of a moment may have a significant impact on how and what’s stored as a memory. Recent research suggests negative emotions lead to more false memories than positive or neutral emotions. 90003 90002 Therapeutic memory recovery is controversial. Psychotherapy techniques, like hypnosis and guided meditation, have been used as a way for people to find suppressed memories.These memories are often traumatic, such as childhood sexual abuse. 90003 90002 These memories may directly relate to a person’s behavior today. They may inform their identify and relationships. This is called false memory syndrome, or the creation of a reality around a memory that is not true. 90003 90002 No techniques can determine the validity of these memories, and science does not yet have a way to prove that a recovered memory is true or false when independent evidence is lacking. For now, the practice of recovering memories remains a debated practice.90003 90002 Memory is not permanent. Indeed, it’s pliable and often ever-changing. Certain people or events may make you more likely to develop false memories. These include: 90003 90018 Eye witnessing 90019 90002 If you witness a crime or an accident, your testimony is important — but not conclusive. That’s because experts and law enforcement officials know memories and recollections can and do change, whether through suggestion or the passage of time. 90003 90002 Any gaps in events may be filled in by your memory, turning a reliable recall into a faulty one.90003 90018 Trauma 90019 90002 Research suggests people who have a history of trauma, depression, or stress may be more likely to produce false memories. Negative events may produce more false memories than positive or neutral ones. 90003 90018 OCD 90019 90002 Individuals with obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) may have a memory deficit or poor memory confidence. 90003 90002 They may be more likely to create false memories because they do not have confidence in their own memories. This often leads to the repetitive or compulsive behaviors that are associated with this disorder.90003 90018 Aging 90019 90002 As both you and a memory age, details about that memory may be lost. The gist of a memory becomes stronger, while the details fade away. 90003 90002 For example, you may remember you went to the beach on your honeymoon, but you do not remember the name of the hotel, what the weather was like, or even the city you stayed in. 90003 90002 The only answer or treatment for false memories is independent evidence that corroborates or disproves your memories. 90003 90002 Yes, false memories may seem quite real and even highly emotional.Your confidence in them makes them feel more tangible, but it does not guarantee authenticity. 90003 90002 Likewise, the presence of false memories does not mean your memory is bad or that you’re developing a type of memory disorder, like dementia or Alzheimer’s disease. 90003 90002 False memories, for better or worse, are an element of being human and not having an impermeable brain. 90003 90002 False memories are not rare. Everyone has them. They range from small and trivial, like where you 90089 swear 90090 you put your keys last night, to significant, like how an accident happened or what you saw during a crime.90003 90002 False memories can happen to anyone. Some people may be more likely to experience them. The good news is most false memories are harmless and may even produce some laughs when your story conflicts with someone else’s memory of it. 90003.90000 How Our Brains Make Memories | Science 90001 90002 Sitting at a sidewalk cafΓ© in Montreal on a sunny morning, Karim Nader recalls the day eight years earlier when two planes slammed into the twin towers of the World Trade Center. He lights a cigarette and waves his hands in the air to sketch the scene. 90003 90002 At the time of the attack, Nader was a postdoctoral researcher at New York University.He flipped the radio on while getting ready to go to work and heard the banter of the morning disc jockeys turn panicky as they related the events unfolding in Lower Manhattan. Nader ran to the roof of his apartment building, where he had a view of the towers less than two miles away. He stood there, stunned, as they burned and fell, thinking to himself, «No way, man. This is the wrong movie. » 90003 90002 In the following days, Nader recalls, he passed through subway stations where walls were covered with notes and photographs left by people searching desperately for missing loved ones.»It was like walking upstream in a river of sorrow,» he says. 90003 90002 Like millions of people, Nader has vivid and emotional memories of the September 11, 2001., attacks and their aftermath. But as an expert on memory, and, in particular, on the malleability of memory, he knows better than to fully trust his recollections. 90003 90002 Most people have so-called flashbulb memories of where they were and what they were doing when something momentous happened: the assassination of President John F.Kennedy, say, or the explosion of the space shuttle Challenger. (Unfortunately, staggeringly terrible news seems to come out of the blue more often than staggeringly good news.) But as clear and detailed as these memories feel, psychologists find they are surprisingly inaccurate. 90003 90002 Nader, now a neuroscientist at McGill University in Montreal, says his memory of the World Trade Center attack has played a few tricks on him. He recalled seeing television footage on September 11 of the first plane hitting the north tower of the World Trade Center.But he was surprised to learn that such footage aired for the first time the following day. Apparently he was not alone: ββa 2003 study of 569 college students found that 73 percent shared this misperception. 90003 90002 Nader believes he may have an explanation for such quirks of memory. His ideas are unconventional within neuroscience, and they have caused researchers to reconsider some of their most basic assumptions about how memory works. In short, Nader believes that the very act of remembering can change our memories.90003 90002 Much of his research is on rats, but he says the same basic principles apply to human memory as well. In fact, he says, it may be impossible for humans or any other animal to bring a memory to mind without altering it in some way. Nader thinks it’s likely that some types of memory, such as a flashbulb memory, are more susceptible to change than others. Memories surrounding a major event like September 11 might be especially susceptible, he says, because we tend to replay them over and over in our minds and in conversation with others-with each repetition having the potential to alter them.90003 90002 For those of us who cherish our memories and like to think they are an accurate record of our history, the idea that memory is fundamentally malleable is more than a little disturbing. Not all researchers believe Nader has proved that the process of remembering itself can alter memories. But if he is right, it may not be an entirely bad thing. It might even be possible to put the phenomenon to good use to reduce the suffering of people with post-traumatic stress disorder, who are plagued by recurring memories of events they wish they could put behind them.90003 90002 Nader was born in Cairo, Egypt. His Coptic Christian family faced persecution at the hands of Arab nationalists and fled to Canada in 1970, when he was 4 years old. Many relatives also made the trip, so many that Nader’s girlfriend teases him about the «soundtrack of a thousand kisses» at large family gatherings as people bestow customary greetings. 90003 90002 He attended college and graduate school at the University of Toronto, and in 1996 joined the New York University lab of Joseph LeDoux, a distinguished neuroscientist who studies how emotions influence memory.»One of the things that really seduced me about science is that it’s a system you can use to test your own ideas about how things work,» Nader says. Even the most cherished ideas in a given field are open to question. 90003 90002 Scientists have long known that recording a memory requires adjusting the connections between neurons. Each memory tweaks some tiny subset of the neurons in the brain (the human brain has 100 billion neurons in all), changing the way they communicate. Neurons send messages to one another across narrow gaps called synapses.A synapse is like a bustling port, complete with machinery for sending and receiving cargo-neurotransmitters, specialized chemicals that convey signals between neurons. All of the shipping machinery is built from proteins, the basic building blocks of cells. 90003 90002 One of the scientists who has done the most to illuminate the way memory works on the microscopic scale is Eric Kandel, a neuroscientist at Columbia University in New York City. In five decades of research, Kandel has shown how short-term memories-those lasting a few minutes-involve relatively quick and simple chemical changes to the synapse that make it work more efficiently.Kandel, who won a share of the 2000 Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine, found that to build a memory that lasts hours, days or years, neurons must manufacture new proteins and expand the docks, as it were, to make the neurotransmitter traffic run more efficiently. Long-term memories must literally be built into the brain’s synapses. Kandel and other neuroscientists have generally assumed that once a memory is constructed, it is stable and can not easily be undone. Or, as they put it, the memory is «consolidated.»90003 90002 According to this view, the brain’s memory system works something like a pen and notebook. For a brief time before the ink dries, it’s possible to smudge what’s written. But after the memory is consolidated, it changes very little. Sure, memories may fade over the years like an old letter (or even go up in flames if Alzheimer’s disease strikes), but under ordinary circumstances the content of the memory stays the same, no matter how many times it’s taken out and read. Nader would challenge this idea.90003 90002 In what turned out to be a defining moment in his early career, Nader attended a lecture that Kandel gave at New York University about how memories are recorded. Nader got to wondering about what happens when a memory is recalled. Work with rodents dating back to the 1960s did not jibe with the consolidation theory. Researchers had found that a memory could be weakened if they gave an animal an electric shock or a drug that interferes with a particular neurotransmitter just after they prompted the animal to recall the memory.This suggested that memories were vulnerable to disruption even after they had been consolidated. 90003 90002 To think of it another way, the work suggested that filing an old memory away for long-term storage after it had been recalled was surprisingly similar to creating it the first time. Both building a new memory and tucking away an old one presumably involved building proteins at the synapse. The researchers had named that process «reconsolidation.» But others, including some prominent memory experts, had trouble replicating those findings in their own laboratories, so the idea was not pursued.90003 90002 Nader decided to revisit the concept with an experiment. In the winter of 1999 ΡΠΎΠΊΡ, he taught four rats that a high-pitched beep preceded a mild electric shock. That was easy-rodents learn such pairings after being exposed to them just once. Afterward, the rat freezes in place when it hears the tone. Nader then waited 24 hours, played the tone to reactivate the memory and injected into the rat’s brain a drug that prevents neurons from making new proteins. 90003 90002 If memories are consolidated just once, when they are first created, he reasoned, the drug would have no effect on the rat’s memory of the tone or on the way it would respond to the tone in the future.But if memories have to be at least partially rebuilt every time they are recalled-down to the synthesizing of fresh neuronal proteins-rats given the drug might later respond as if they had never learned to fear the tone and would ignore it. If so, the study would contradict the standard conception of memory. It was, he admits, a long shot. 90003 90002 «Do not waste your time, this will never work,» LeDoux told him. 90003 90002 It worked. 90003 90002 When Nader later tested the rats, they did not freeze after hearing the tone: it was as if they’d forgotten all about it.Nader, who looks slightly devilish in his earring and pointed sideburns, still gets giddy talking about the experiment. Eyes wide with excitement, he slaps the cafΓ© table. «This is crazy, right? I went into Joe’s office and said, ‘I know it’s just four animals, but this is very encouraging!’ «90003 90002 After Nader’s initial findings, some neuroscientists pooh-poohed his work in journal articles and gave him the cold shoulder at scientific meetings. But the data struck a more harmonious chord with some psychologists.After all, their experiments had long suggested that memory can easily be distorted without people realizing it. 90003 90002 In a classic 1978 study led by Elizabeth Loftus, a psychologist then at the University of Washington, researchers showed college students a series of color photographs depicting an accident in which a red Datsun car knocks down a pedestrian in a crosswalk. The students answered various questions, some of which were intentionally misleading. For instance, even though the photographs had shown the Datsun at a stop sign, the researchers asked some of the students, «Did another car pass the red Datsun while it was stopped at the yield sign?» 90003 90002 Later the researchers asked all the students what they had seen-a stop sign or yield sign? Students who’d been asked a misleading question were more likely to give an incorrect answer than the other students.90003 90002 To Nader and his colleagues, the experiment supports the idea that a memory is re-formed in the process of calling it up. «From our perspective, this looks a lot like memory reconsolidation,» says Oliver Hardt, a postdoctoral researcher in Nader’s lab. 90003 90002 Hardt and Nader say something similar might happen with flashbulb memories. People tend to have accurate memories for the basic facts of a momentous event-for example, that a total of four planes were hijacked in the September 11 attacks-but often misremember personal details such as where they were and what they were doing at the time .Hardt says this could be because these are two different types of memories that get reactivated in different situations. Television and other media coverage reinforce the central facts. But recalling the experience to other people may allow distortions to creep in. «When you retell it, the memory becomes plastic, and whatever is present around you in the environment can interfere with the original content of the memory,» Hardt says. In the days following September 11, for example, people likely repeatedly rehashed their own personal stories- «where were you when you heard the news?» — in conversations with friends and family, perhaps allowing details of other people’s stories to mix with their own .90003 90002 Since Nader’s original experiment, dozens of studies with rats, worms, chicks, honeybees and college students have suggested that even long-standing memories can be disrupted when recalled. Nader’s goal is to tie the animal research, and the clues it yields about the bustling molecular machinery of the synapse, to the everyday human experience of remembering. 90003 90002 Some experts think he is getting ahead of himself, especially when he makes connections between human memory and these findings in rats and other animals.»He oversells it a little bit,» says Kandel. 90003 90002 Daniel Schacter, a psychologist at Harvard University who studies memory, agrees with Nader that distortions can occur when people reactivate memories. The question is whether reconsolidation-which he thinks Nader has demonstrated compellingly in rat experiments-is the reason for the distortions. «The direct evidence is not there yet to show that the two things are related,» Schacter says. «It’s an intriguing possibility that people will now have to follow up on.»90003 90002 A real-world test of Nader’s theory of memory reconsolidation is taking place a few miles from his Montreal office, at the Douglas Mental Health University Institute. Alain Brunet, a psychologist, is running a clinical trial involving people with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). The hope is that caregivers might be able to weaken the hold of traumatic memories that haunt patients during the day and invade their dreams at night. 90003 90002 Brunet knows how powerful traumatic memories can be.In 1989, when he was studying for a master’s degree in psychology at the University of Montreal, a man armed with a semiautomatic rifle walked into an engineering classroom on campus, separated the men from the women and shot the women. The gunman continued the massacre in other classrooms and hallways of the university’s Γcole Polytechnique, shooting 27 people and killing 14 women before killing himself. It was Canada’s worst mass shooting. 90003 90002 Brunet, who was on the other side of campus that day, says, «this was a very powerful experience for me.»He says he was surprised to discover how little was known at the time about the psychological impact of such events and how to help people who’ve lived through them. He decided to study traumatic stress and how to treat it. 90003 90002 Even now, Brunet says, the drugs and psychotherapy conventionally used to treat PTSD do not provide lasting relief for many patients. «There’s still plenty of room for the discovery of better treatments,» he says. 90003 90002 In Brunet’s first study, PTSD patients took a drug intended to interfere with the reconsolidation of fearful memories.The drug, propranolol, has long been used to treat high blood pressure, and some performers take it to combat stage fright. The drug inhibits a neurotransmitter called norepinephrine. One possible side effect of the drug is memory loss. (In a study similar to Nader’s original experiment with rats, researchers in LeDoux’s lab have found that the drug can weaken fearful memories of a high-pitched tone.) 90003 90002 The patients in Brunet’s study, published in 2008, had each experienced a traumatic event, such as a car accident, assault or sexual abuse, about a decade earlier.They began a therapy session sitting alone in a nondescript room with a well-worn armchair and a television. Nine patients took a propranolol pill and read or watched TV for an hour as the drug took effect. Ten were given a placebo pill. 90003 90002 Brunet came into the room and made small talk before telling the patient he had a request: he wanted the patient to read a script, based on earlier interviews with the person, describing his or her traumatic experience. The patients, all volunteers, knew that the reading would be part of the experiment.»Some are fine, some start to cry, some need to take a break,» Brunet says. 90003 90002 A week later, the PTSD patients listened to the script, this time without taking the drug or a placebo. Compared with the patients who had taken a placebo, those who had taken the propranolol a week earlier were now calmer; they had a smaller uptick in their heart rate and they perspired less. 90003 90002 Brunet has just completed a larger study with nearly 70 PTSD patients. Those who took propranolol once a week for six weeks while reading the script of their traumatic event showed an average 50 percent reduction in standard PTSD symptoms.They had fewer nightmares and flashbacks in their daily lives long after the effects of the drug had worn off. The treatment did not erase the patients ‘memory of what had happened to them; rather, it seems to have changed the quality of that memory. «Week after week the emotional tone of the memory seems weaker,» Brunet says. «They start to care less about that memory.» 90003 90002 Nader says the traumatic memories of PTSD patients may be stored in the brain in much the same way that a memory of a shock-predicting tone is stored in a rat’s brain.In both cases, recalling the memory opens it to manipulation. Nader says he’s encouraged by the work so far with PTSD patients. «If it’s got any chance of helping people, we have to give it a shot,» he says. 90003 90002 Among the many questions that Nader is now pursuing is whether all memories become vulnerable when recalled, or only certain memories under certain circumstances. 90003 90002 Of course, there is the even bigger question: why are memories so unreliable? After all, if they were less subject to change we would not suffer the embarrassment of misremembering the details of an important conversation or a first date.90003 90002 Then again, editing might be another way to learn from experience. If fond memories of an early love were not tempered by the knowledge of a disastrous breakup, or if recollections of difficult times were not offset by knowledge that things worked out in the end, we might not reap the benefits of these hard-earned life lessons. Perhaps it’s better if we can rewrite our memories every time we recall them. Nader suggests that reconsolidation may be the brain’s mechanism for recasting old memories in the light of everything that has happened since.In other words, it just might be what keeps us from living in the past. 90003 90002 90087 Greg Miller 90088 writes about biology, behavior and neuroscience for 90089 Science 90090 magazine. He lives in San Francisco. 90087 Gilles Mingasson 90088 is a photographer based in Los Angeles. 90003 90094 90095 90094 90095 Karim Nader, a neuroscientist at McGill University in Montreal, challenged orthodox ideas about the nature of memories.(Gilles Mingasson) Memories are stored in a region of the brain called the hippocampus, shown in red in this computer illustration.(Photo Researchers, Inc.) Microscopic nerve cells, (stained green) are connected in dense networks that encode information.(Photo Researchers, Inc.) Researchers often study «flashbulb memories,» our seemingly photographic mental images of startling evens like the space shuttle Challenger explosion in ΡΠΈΡΡΡΡ Π΄Π΅Π²’ΡΡΡΠΎΡ Π²ΡΡΡΠΌΠ΄Π΅ΡΡΡ ΡΡΡΡΡ.(AP Images) Most people have so-called «flashbulb memories» of where they were and what they were doing when something momentous happened, such as the assassination of President John F.Kennedy. But as clear and detailed as these memories feel, psychologists find they are surprisingly inaccurate. (AP Images) The memory of the World Trade Center attack has played a few tricks on Nader.He recalled seeing television footage on September 11 of the first plane hitting the north tower of the World Trade Center. But he was surprised to learn that footage aired for the first time the following day. (AP Images) Memories change the way nerves exchange signals at points of contact called synapses.In this image, magnified thousands of times, a nerve fiber, shown in purple, meets a yellow cell body. (Photo Researchers, Inc.) Memory is surprising malleable, says Elizabeth Loftus, a psychologist at the University of California, Irvine.(Gilles Mingasson) In a classic experiment, Loftus found that people who saw pictures of a staged car crash could be led to misremember crucial details.(Elizabeth Loftus) People who saw the car at a stop sign were later tricked into thinking they’d seen a yield sign.(Elizabeth Loftus) Studies by psychologist Alain Brunet show signs of helping people with post-traumatic stress disorder.(Gilles Mingasson) Patients who recalled their trauma after taking a drug that disrupts memory formation felt less anxiety when later reminded of the event.Brunet’s assistant Elena Saimon demonstrates. (Gilles Mingasson) .90000 Memento (2000) — Frequently Asked Questions 90001 90002 There tend to be several schools of thought regarding the film’s interpretation. One is that Teddy is lying at the end and that there is no full exposition in the film or even that the film encourages one to create their own explanation. Another school of thought is that Teddy provides the exposition for the film. Even though there is no confirmation of Teddy’s story, there is also nothing refuting it and Teddy is the only source of information in the film for the events from the attack to the start of the film, so it is the most complete explanation which can come from the film.The events leading up to and through the movie are with this presumption (also included are added «facts» from the supplemental material for completeness). Unlike the movie, this explanation is presented in chronological order. 90003 90002 Leonard is an insurance investigator. One of his early cases is Sammy Jankis. Leonard relates how Sammy was in a car accident and acquired «anterograde memory dysfunction» (AMD). Leonard studies up and learns about this condition, and investigates Sammy and his testing.Sammy is not married and he is eventually discovered to be faking his condition. [It seems that the big «giveaway» to the audience is due to Sammy’s incorrect assumptions on this condition. He did not pretend to learn through conditioning and kept getting shocked by the same electrified objects instead of learning to avoid them, as someone with AMD would do.] 90003 90002 Later Leonard and his wife were attacked. His wife was raped. Leonard killed one of the attackers, but he was hit in the head by the second attacker.His wife, however, did not die in the attack. After the attack, Leonard (ironically) got AMD, the same condition he studied about earlier. Leonard was not focused and was content to just pretty much do nothing. He had no goals to drive him to do anything. [There are many possibilities about what happened with this investigation, most likely the cops took an easy way out (as Leonard suggested) and never looked for a second attacker …] His wife tried working with him, but eventually got «sick of this «and decided to try to snap Leonard out of it or just wanted to die.She used her diabetes to either «test Leonard» or (more likely) have him assist in killing her with an insulin overdose. At this point, Teddy is brought in to investigate Leonard’s wife’s death. Leonard, on some level, «remembers» killing her and starts to become more «focused». 90003 90002 Teddy and Leonard do some investigating on finding Leonard’s new quest, the hunt for the second attacker. They eventually discover a partial name (John G), which coincidentally also matches Teddy’s name. Leonard eventually is found «not guilty» of the death (most likely due to his condition) and is placed in a mental institute.During his stay, he learns to cope better with his condition, through notes and photos. He has a focus and a goal (finding and killing John G). 90003 90002 Leonard escapes from the institute and somehow hooks back up with Teddy. Teddy and Leonard track down and kill the second attacker. Leonard gets his picture taken with his finger pointing to his chest. Leonard’s quest is complete, Teddy is happy to have helped in the vengeance. But, the «killing» does not «stick». Leonard does not believe it as well as some other elements of the truth, and starts to «delete items» from the file.Teddy leads Leonard along, continuing the investigation for some time. Eventually Teddy reluctantly decides to try and make Leonard happy again, by finding some «bad guy», killing him, and also making some money. He decides on Jimmy Grantz. He feeds info to Leonard to indicate that the first name may also be «James» (not just «John») and begins the feeding to Leonard of the information. 90003 90002 The movie takes place a little over a year since the killing of the second attacker, Leonard discovers the truth and decides to setup Teddy.Like the items in his file that do not match Leonard’s belief of what happened, the evidence that he has already killed two «John G» s is destroyed, and Teddy is «marked for deletion» by Leonard with the «fact» of the license plate. Leonard finds a note from Natalie (meant for Jimmy to meet her «after») and thinks it is for him. He meets Natalie at Ferdy’s bar. Natalie tries using Leonard to kill Dodd, Jimmy’s partner, who she wants out of the picture because she says Dodd may come after her looking for the money.Leonard will not kill for Natalie but runs Dodd out of town. Natalie takes pity on Leonard and helps him in his quest by running the license plate for him. Leonard then meets Teddy after convincing himself that Teddy is John G, and kills him. Leonard probably killed the first John G right after escaping (which was «over a year ago» as Teddy said in the film). Edit 90003 .