Idzia insisted that the B?dzin group unite as Warsaw did. She wanted to travel to the former Polish capital—at any price. “I must see their work with my own eyes,” she said. “Then I’ll return and plant the seeds of uprising here. I’ll also bring a gift: the first transport of weapons.” The comrades tried to convince her not to go: she didn’t have the right appearance and was shortsighted, which Chajka believed made her chronically nervous. But they couldn’t stop her. Idzia wanted to embolden other girls to follow in her steps. In February 1943 she left—but never returned. She managed to tell Warsaw of the B?dziners’ desire to fight, and to obtain three pistols and grenades, but then fell into Nazi hands in Cz?stochowa.
There were various hypotheses about her demise. According to one rumor, Idzia caught the attention of a secret agent, who followed her. She sensed his presence and meandered from street to street to lose him, but, unfamiliar with the Aryan side, she headed to the ghetto. The agent saw this and chased her. She ran, and a revolver fell from the loaf of bread that she was carrying. She was shot on the spot. In another version, when she realized that the secret agent was following her, she decided to flirt. He invited her back to his house—she had no choice but to go. Her contact in Cz?stochowa saw who she was with and left their meeting spot. The secret agent tried to attack her. She took out her revolver and shot at him, but he ran away and brought the police. Whatever the circumstances of Idzia’s death, the whole group felt deep sorrow and regret over her loss; they shouldn’t have sent their best.
Astrid took Idzia’s place. Also known as A, Estherit, Astrit, and Zosia Miller, Astrid was not “typical intelligence” but knew many contacts as well as all the trains, roads, and highways that connected Warsaw to the province. Each time she went out, she assumed a new identity—a peasant boy, for instance, or a teacher from the city, wearing a large hat. She carried weapons, money, letters, information, false documents, and detailed defense plans sewn into her clothes. She hid pistols in a large teddy bear （and looked very sweet clutching her stuffed animal）， a marmalade tin with a secret compartment, loaves of bread, or simply a coat pocket; she complained about feeling empty once she handed them over. Despite that, whenever Astrid arrived in B?dzin, they threw a party with vodka, as, after all, “Warsaw customs had to be introduced.” She also smuggled people.
Chajka noted that Astrid was attractive, with a shapely figure, but was also flighty and vain, going on about clothes, buying new outfits for every journey because, ostensibly, it was important to look neat and fashionable on the Aryan side. She possessed both a fine Aryan appearance and extraordinary courage. A real “daredevil,” according to Chajka, she’d look straight into the eyes of the secret agents with chutzpah and a naughty smile and ask if they wanted to check her documents. She was very lucky for a long time, but, like most of these courier girls, Astrid eventually ended up in prison. Tortured. Tragic. Dead.
*
Then, a flurry of communication. A letter about Hantze: her leaving the country was delayed, and, for now, she would remain in Warsaw. Another letter. The situation was dire. The general deportation might occur at any moment. “If you don’t hear from us again, it means the Aktion has begun,” wrote a Warsaw ZOB member. “But this time it will be much more difficult. The Germans are not prepared for what we have in store.” A courier arrived in B?dzin to report that there was great fear in the ghetto, but that the comrades were ready. Then she rushed back to Warsaw to make sure she could contact the ghetto from her base on the Aryan side.
A few weeks later, the courier returned. There had been a terrible slaughter in Warsaw, was all she knew. The battle raged on, but so many had fallen. A telegram came from the Aryan zone: “Zivia and Tosia are dead.”
Then, total silence from Warsaw. Nothing. No telegrams, no letters, no messengers. No information. No news. Was every single person dead? Had they all been murdered?
Someone had to go to Warsaw, with money, to obtain information. But so many women had been killed on the road already. The group needed a courier who didn’t look Jewish and who could pull off a fact-finding mission in these particularly dark moments. Frumka and all the leaders decided: Renia.