*
One can imagine Frumka’s joy at seeing her old friend and trusted comrade Zivia walk into their headquarters. For several months, she had been a main leader of the Freedom movement in Warsaw, helping to reestablish Dzielna as a site of family, of warmth, hope, and passion, despite all the new horrors.
Born near the overwhelmingly Jewish and intellectual eastern city of Pinsk, Frumka Plotnicka was the same age as Zivia, twenty-five, which suddenly made them among the eldest members of the group. Frumka, with her pronounced features, her high forehead and straight hair, was the middle of three daughters in a poor Hasidic family that followed the Karliner rabbi, whose values included straightforwardness and the pursuit of perfection. Frumka’s father had trained to be a rabbi but, on his rabbi’s advice, instead became a merchant in order to support his family. The family business was the steer trade. Unfortunately, he was not a natural steer trader. Frumka’s parents could not afford to educate her, so she was taught by her older sister, Zlatka, a sharp thinker who excelled at a gymnasium （Polish prep school）。 Zlatka was a Communist who, like their father, held her emotions close.
Frumka, on the other hand, was like their mother: industrious, devoted, and humble. An ardent socialist Zionist, she joined Freedom at age seventeen and was fully committed—an extra sacrifice for a poor girl whose family needed her help. Though she was a deeply analytic thinker, she was awkward, with a serious and somber demeanor. She had trouble connecting with people and sustaining friendships, and remained on the sidelines of the movement for some time. Through activity, however, Frumka channeled her turbulent emotions and her natural compassion. She cared for comrades and insisted that a sick member stay at the training camp rather than go home; she managed retreats, organizing everything from curricula to catering, and disciplined the youths, getting lazy ones to work, and refusing handouts from local farmers. She shone in a crisis, where her moral compass was unwavering.
“In gray times, she hid in a corner,” a senior emissary wrote about her, “but in critical moments, she held herself at its head. Suddenly she revealed greater merit and virtue than anyone; her moral vigor, the intensity of her analysis always led to action.” Frumka, he continued, had the unique ability to “unite her capabilities at analyzing life experience with gentleness, love, and motherly worry.” Another friend explained, “Her heart never beat to the rhythm of minutia. She seemed to be waiting for the big moments where she could unload the love inside her.”
Frumka could usually be found wrapped in her wool coat, in a dark crook of the room, listening. Really listening. She remembered every detail. On other occasions, she would suddenly address the whole room in her “magical accent”—a folksy, literary Yiddish. One comrade recalled a spontaneous speech she gave “about the fears of a Jewish girl who found her way but still hasn’t found peace in her heart.” She gripped everyone’s attention with her simplicity and sincerity: “the blush in her face turned into fire.” A friend wrote a story about their time together in the Bia?ystok public garden, noting how Frumka skipped through the flowers, entranced by their beauty.
Frumka’s soft chin rounded out her stark features, revealing her warmth. Comrades appreciated her composure and passion, and she was constantly being asked for advice. Like shy Zivia, Frumka had been an obedient introvert, and she, too, surprised family with her leadership role. If dedicated, no-nonsense Zivia was the group’s big sister, then empathetic, gentle Frumka became “Die Mameh” （the mother, in Yiddish）。
After slowly ascending the ranks, one rung at a time, and traveling around the country teaching seminars, Frumka moved to Warsaw to work for The Pioneer headquarters with Zivia. In the summer of 1939, activity proliferated, but emissaries from Palestine began postponing their visits, and Frumka took on senior responsibilities. Moving to Eretz Israel, the “land that’s all sun,” was her dream. She was supposed to make “aliyah” （emigrate to Palestine） that summer, but the leadership asked her to wait until the fall. She dutifully accepted, even though her yearnings overwhelmed her, and she was terrified of never making it. Indeed, it was not a good fall.