Maria Ternovskaya knows that many of Russia's 100,000 orphans are raped or otherwise abused as they are growing up. She knows that 80 percent of those who are released from state orphanages when they reach adulthood will end up in prison within five years. But still, she says, it is pointless to change the system.


"You can't change them and you can't close them down," said Ternovskaya. "The best we can do is try to catch the children before they get to the orphanage."


That is exactly what Ternovskaya, a former physics teacher, plans to do by opening a new kind of orphanage -- one that tries to recreate a family environment rather than an institution.


Russia's detdoma, or orphanages, typically hold 100 to 200 children. But there are exceptions, such as one particularly mammoth institution in Moscow that houses 600. Each has one director who acts as a prolific parent and is responsible for the welfare of all of his charges. "How can one person be responsible for all those children?" asks Ternovskaya. "It's like growing up in a dormitory."


Abandoning the institutional pallor of the state orphanage, Ternovskaya's detdom will try to recreate a family environment, with one "social mother" looking after seven to 10 children. These children will attend regular public schools during the day, returning home to a full-time parent in the evening. Typically, large orphanages tend to be self-sufficient entities, with all meals, schooling and recreation going on under one roof.


Ternovskaya, who has been involved in charitable work for the last six years, has been working for the past few years with Christian Solidarity International, a charitable group based in Switzerland, to develop this project. After a few bureaucratic blocks from city authorities, Ternovskaya received approval from Moscow's education department, and just last week the city found her a location to set up shop -- an abandoned detsky sad, or day-care center, that closed its doors last November.


With rusty sinks, barren rooms and leaky ceilings, the detdom to be has all the warmth of a ransacked warehouse. On a recent visit to the new space, Ternovskaya started the tour in the former recreation room, where a collection of broken beds were piled into a corner.


"This is what was left over from the detsky sad," said Ternovskaya. On the windowsill Nadezhda Krupskaya's memoirs of Lenin sat unclaimed next to a paper hammer and sickle.


Ternovskaya moved to the window to open the lid of a cardboard box, revealing a bust of Lenin. "We try to hide him," she says, laughing. "Maybe we should use him for fundraising. Anyone want a Lenin statue?"


But Lenin and the broken beds will not be there for long. The city has already approved funds for renovations to begin, and by August Ternovskaya hopes to have two separate family units ready to accept children. While the city is footing the bill for the renovations and support of the orphanage, Christian Solidarity International will fund the other components of Ternovskaya's program, including individualized rehabilitation counseling for the children and a family placement service to recruit and assess foster families in the community.


Foster care is a radically new concept for Russia. The "family orphanages" started in the mid-1980s came closest to foster care, with one family taking in five to seven children, receiving a minimal stipend for each. But the major incentive to starting a family orphanage -- receiving a big apartment from the government -- has disappeared as real estate values soar. Ternovskaya knows of seven such orphanages around Moscow, and claims the numbers are not likely to grow. She recognizes that it will be difficult to recruit families for foster care, but the task is not impossible.


"There are plenty of single mothers and women in low-paying jobs who would like to stay home and take care of children," says Ternovskaya. "The trick will be to find them."