Gusta was frustrated that women were not only barred from attending high-level resistance meetings but also were admonished for merely disturbing the men. Women were seemingly equal—the group had many active leading females—yet they remained outside the select circle of major decision makers. She worried that the four male leaders could be hotheaded and stubborn, but she consoled herself by hoping that at least one of the men would remember: every life counted.
*
A balmy October day, the sun’s autumnal rays still strong, no sense of anything unusual. But this was the morning of a massive Nazi Aktion in Kraków. Taking place a day earlier than the movement expected, they were caught off guard. Gusta and her comrades were unable to save their parents, barely making it out of the ghetto alive themselves. They hid in a warehouse, then moved from basement to basement. The worst part, Gusta felt, was the absolute silence. If in other towns the Aktions were grotesque, bloody affairs, with whole families being mowed down by machine guns, this was a “capital city” event: quiet and orderly. Most of the Jews were too weak from hunger to even scream. This silence, the loss of their families, the horror—all spurred on the youth. For distraction and revenge, they launched into action.
It was an exceptionally beautiful fall. “The leaves held on to their green freshness well into the season,” Gusta wrote. “The sun turned the earth to gold, warming it with benevolent rays.” But the movement knew that each day was a gift. When the cold, wet autumn arrived, it would be too difficult for them to navigate the forest. And so, they changed tack. The fighters decided to commit their acts right there in the city, targeting high-ranking Nazis so that “even a minor attack here would strike at the heart of authority and could damage an important cog in the machine,” Gusta wrote, eager to raise havoc and stir anxiety among the authorities. “Rational voices” told the youth to wait it out and not arouse the Nazis with small acts, but the fighters simply didn’t think they’d be alive much longer.
This was an incredibly busy time, with all the comrades working dusk to dawn. They quickly set up bases inside and outside the ghetto, as well as contact points and safe apartments in surrounding cities. The comrades went in groups of two or three to make inquiries, work as couriers, spy on the secret police, continue technical work, distribute flyers on busy streets, and confront enemies. Fighters would jump from a dark alley, deliver a blow, confiscate a weapon, and disappear. They prioritized killing traitors and collaborators. Because they looked Jewish, it was hard for many of them to work on the Aryan side without disguises; one leader donned a Polish police uniform and then “promoted himself” to a Nazi.
New and intense bonds formed among the group, and the members created a novel kind of family life to help heal from the ones that had been destroyed. For comrades across the country, the movement was their whole world, and their decisions were life-or-death, their mutual reliance paramount. The youth were college age, a time in life when partnerships are central to self-concept and identity. Some became lovers, their development rushed, rerouted. Sexual relations were often passionate, urgent, and life-affirming. Others became surrogate parents, siblings, and cousins to one another.
In Kraków, the ghetto base at 13 Jozefinska Street, a first-floor, two-room apartment, accessible off a long, narrow corridor, became their home—one that they all knew would probably be their last. Because most youth were the only living members of their families, they brought their “inheritances” （underwear, clothes, boots） to the hideout and would “arrange a liquidation”： redistributing belongings to those who needed them. Or they’d sell them for common funds. They deeply wanted to love and be loved, and created a commune where they shared all, with a common cash box and kitchen. Elsa, an intense but good-humored comrade, took the reins at the stove, and “dedicated her life and soul to kitchen management.” The kitchen was tiny, with pots and pans stacked on the floor. One had to move them to open the door. The apartment served as the base of operations, where they’d check in and then be dispatched to their posts. A minute before curfew, they all ran back, reporting success or failure, telling tales of dodging bullets—literally.
The group ate meals together at Jozefinska. Every evening was extraordinary, with conversation and laughter. Anka, who was so strong that when she was arrested, it looked like she was walking the police; Mirka, charming and radiant; Tosca, Marta, Giza, Tova. Seven people slept per bed, others on chairs or the floor. It was neither sophisticated nor particularly clean, but it was their cherished abode and the final place where they could live their true identities.