5

OPERATION TORCH AND LOCAL JEWS

THE FIRST MAJOR ALLIED AMPHIBIOUS INVASION OF THE WAR

The idea of Allied landings in Morocco and Algeria (French North Africa) in November 1942 came from British prime minister Winston S. Churchill, who convinced the American president to establish a foothold on the Mediterranean shores and check the advance of the German and Italian forces in the Middle East. Churchill was intent on thwarting the troops led by General Erwin Rommel who had served in the Wehrmacht of Nazi Germany. As commander of Afrika Korps, the German Field Marshal reached Tripoli in northwest Libya in February 1941.

French North Africa was part and parcel of the French colonial empire and under the authority of the collaborationist Vichy government, with which the Roosevelt administration maintained diplomatic (yet controversial) relationships.

President Roosevelt hoped that North Africa would become an arena of French anti-German activity where army or partisan units could be secretly recruited. To that end, General Eisenhower was in contact with General Mast of the French army, senior American diplomat in Algiers Robert Murphy, and several American vice-consuls serving as intelligence agents. In November 1942, cooperation between the Allied forces and French generals in North Africa, especially the commander in chief, Admiral Jean François Darlan, was far from clear. Would the French generals oppose the landings and stand with the Vichy forces? The final aim of the Allied operation was to advance to the Tunis area to engage the Germans there. In his memoirs, General Eisenhower explained that it was of the utmost importance that the landings succeed in the capital of Algeria, Algiers. To secure victory, the Allied landings must not meet with any harsh opposition. In his papers, Eisenhower underlined the importance of the French Resistance in standing against the Vichy regime established in French North Africa.¹ Resistance fighters cooperated with the Allied forces in what came to be known as Operation Torch in November 1942, a secret operation that began on the night of November 7 to November 8 under the American general’s command. An expeditionary corps of one hundred thousand men landed on the French North African coast at Casablanca, Algiers, and Oran.

Map 5.1 Operation Torch landings in North Africa, November 8, 1942, and the pursuit to Tunisia (November 1942–February 1943). Courtesy of United States Military Academy Department of History. Public domain.

General Eisenhower recorded the main goal of the campaign in his memoir: “The minimum objective of the North African invasion was to seize the main ports between Casablanca and Algiers, denying their use to the Axis as bases for submarines, and from them to operate eastward toward the British desert forces.”²

As early as autumn 1940, a paramilitary organization was established in Algiers under the guise of a sports club. Led by a twenty-year-old Jewish medical student named José Aboulker, non-Jewish officers joined the group and were involved in establishing contact with Anglo-American military command.³ To what extent did Jewish members of resistance groups in Algeria participate as Jews? Most Jews in Algeria cherished French patriotic values out of gratitude to France, which had granted their ancestors French citizenship in 1870. They were proud to show that their parents had fought in World War I.

Oral testimonies given later show that several hundred young French Jews from Algeria played a crucial role in the French Resistance and in assisting the Anglo-American landings.⁴ Aboulker’s unit comprised about four hundred men; more than three-quarters were of Jewish origin. Their operation assumed the character of a seizure of power. In the middle of the night, small detachments of insurgents mounted surprise attacks, seizing the police headquarters, post office, radio station, and—most importantly—the headquarters of the military command of Algiers, the telephone lines of which had been cut. A number of French officers, including Admiral Darlan, the most prominent Vichy leader present in North Africa, were taken prisoner, while throughout the night, Radio Algiers transmitted orders to the French troops not to resist the Allied forces. Though Aboulker’s resistance groups suffered two casualties in Algiers, the Allies landed without having to fire a single shot. Shortly afterward, Admiral Darlan joined the Anglo-American forces, followed by the French generals under his command, finally deciding to side with the victors. Because Operation Torch was a secret, it is likely that most members of the French underground were only informed of its launch on the eve of the Allied invasion.⁵

The Jews of Algeria, who had enjoyed French citizenship since the Crémieux Decree of 1870, were the first victims of Vichy legislation. Most had become assimilated Jews—just like Jews in metropolitan France—and were French patriots. But in October 1940, the French government abolished the Crémieux Decree, which had naturalized the Jews of Algeria and given them civil equality with French citizens. With their French citizenship revoked, French-speaking Jews living in Algeria could not fill any public function, and their children could no longer attend public schools. As men were dismissed from the French army, they thought about resistance to express their refusal to submit to injustice.

In the cosmopolitan city of Oran, the landings faced greater difficulties. General Eisenhower reported: “In Oran we got ashore, but the French forces in that region, particularly the naval elements, resisted bitterly. . . . There were casualties. On November 10th, all fighting ceased, but they had been harsh.”⁶

For instance, Corporal Bernard J. Kessel, from Brooklyn, was put in the tank unit when the assault against the seaport of Oran was underway. Placed in the driver’s seat, he was told to drive on. When he saw a roadblock barring the way, he accelerated and smashed through it. Although there were guns facing him, he “rammed the gun position at full speed and went on,” destroying everything on his way, a war correspondent reported. The boys from his crew “opened fire in all directions.” The newspaper headline that summarized the story read “Orphan Tank Almost Takes Oran by Itself.” When Kessel’s mother read the story, she expressed astonishment and relief. How could this have happened to her son, who did not know how to drive and “was just naturally unhandy when it came to mechanics?”⁷

In the newspaper, no mention was made of the Jewish origin of Corporal Kessel, as he was but a soldier in the American army, which did not have a segregated Jewish unit as it did a Black unit. Jews were part of the American nation and, as such, were patriots. As mentioned previously, whether they were drafted or enlisted of their own volition, they often volunteered for the front lines out of patriotism and defiance to prove that they were no cowards. That is precisely what young Kessel did. Numerous Jews served in the infantry and distinguished themselves, such as Private First Class A. Rodman of Ferndale, California, who received the Silver Star for making “a prompt and vital sortie” under enemy fire during the November landings. Others, like Private Milton Gorobetz of Brooklyn, who swam to the beach under heavy fire and helped wounded men, were awarded the Silver Star. Sergeant Robert Arch of Valley Stream, New York, ignored danger when facing heavy enemy machine gun fire from the French Vichy forces. With 254 combat hours over North Africa, Sergeant Schiller Cohen, a New Yorker, was awarded thirteen medals. In Tunisia, Sergeant Herbert Friedwald, another New Yorker, received the Silver Star and the French Croix de Guerre for heroism, as did Sergeant Stanley Lowitz of Jamaica, New York, who distinguished himself during the Oran offensive.⁸

In the 1943 edition of the abridged prayer book, dedicated to “Jews in the Armed Forces of the United States” and published by the National Jewish Welfare Board (JWB), the preface highlights that “this little volume of devotion serves not only the men who use it, but also the highest ideal of America.” It stresses the universal character of the Jewish religion. Here is one example: “The prayers here gathered together speak of the eternal aspirations of the Jewish people and, indeed, of all mankind.”⁹ This pocket-sized volume emphasizes the congruence between American and Jewish values by stressing the need for prayers “to give courage to spurn evil and hold fast to faith in the ultimate triumph of the good.”¹⁰

Fig. 5.1 Abridged Jewish prayer book issued by the National Jewish Welfare Board, 1943, used by soldiers, sailors, airmen, and women in the military. Collection of the author.

In stressful moments—before a battle or after a tragic loss—prayer books were a comfort. It is important to note that the JWB agreed to publish a prayer book that would represent Conservative, Orthodox, and Reform Judaism. Among the passages that were often dog-eared by soldiers is “Prayer for Home.” It reads, in reference “to those I love” and “far from home”: “Keep me under the influence of the ties that bind me to them, so that even in strange surroundings I may conduct myself in ways that do them honor.”¹¹ It is probably with that moral obligation in mind that Jewish American soldiers encountered the Jewish families who invited them to their homes and synagogues for the Sabbath and Jewish festivals in North Africa, giving them a break from army life and fighting.

From that perspective, attending a synagogue was akin to finding an anchor. It was also a means to express thankfulness for being alive after the landings; a dozen GIs drowned on the shores of Algiers and Oran during Operation Torch, which resulted in an Allied victory.¹² For the most observant soldiers, prayers powerfully conjured associations of family life at home.

Herbert Cohen, one of the fifty-two veterans who submitted an essay to the YIVO contest on “the experiences and observances of a Jew in World War II,” provided a rather literary rendering of what he went through, referring to himself as “GI Joe.” His voice deserves to be heard, as it stresses the universal character of his experience as a soldier before evoking the specificity of his encounters as a Jew whose Jewish identity could not be concealed because of his surname.

Twenty-eight days aboard a British transport hardened his soul, as daily scaling maneuvers up and down the ship in Mid-Atlantic proved of inestimable benefit to him when the gray dawn crept upon the huge convoy as it slipped into Oran harbor, November 8th. His efforts in turning the invasion from doubt into clear-ringing success were confined to unloading supplies, vehicles, ammunition and all the prerequisites for warfare . . . Jews, Protestants, Catholics—all had joined hand in hand in the greatest tasks of Allied force and output in evolving the highest pinnacle of success. Once the battle had subsided in the immediate area of Oran, Joe renewed his stance in the exploration of civilization, strange in outward appearance but human and identical under the skin.¹³

Cohen, previously stationed in London, had met English Jews at Yom Kippur services in Glasgow “just in time for Kol nidre,” where he felt “religiously imbued.” In Oran, he participated in religious services that led him to build friendships: “Joe maintained most friendly relations, uncovering true feelings and sentiments of a segment of the Jewish race that had felt in all its fury, the fang of hatred and sting of injury and yet, had the courage to hurdle such obstacles with a heavy heart but grinning countenance.”¹⁴ In a number of soldiers’ accounts of experiences in North Africa, the reader realizes that North African Jews managed—in their broken English, or thanks to soldiers’ knowledge of a smattering of the French language—to show how much they suffered from antisemitism.

JEWISH REFUGEES, LOCAL JEWS, AND THE SENSE OF JEWISH PEOPLEHOOD

While non-Jewish soldiers often went off to see various places in North Africa and elsewhere, most Jewish soldiers (whose background was often “skeletonized,” to borrow the term from a Jewish GI) rushed to the Jewish sections of the towns they were in. They not only observed closely the lives of local Jews but also described them with deep insight, as did this serviceman near Oran, after battles ended: “To his amazement, he [i.e., the GI] discovered that Jewish families, some of them escaped refugees from German tyranny, were in abundance. However, just as populous as they were, so were they secretive in the revelation of their identities, for the stigma of persecution bore its irreplaceable mark upon minds and souls. Later developments imparted credence to this belief as a meeting with one family determined.”¹⁵ Close contact with Jews who had been deprived of status and property often appears in the essays collected for the YIVO competition at the beginning of 1946. The resilience, courage, and dignity of suffering Jews had “raised the prestige of Jews and Judaism in the eyes of those previously estranged,” as Moses Kligsberg aptly analyzed. Kligsberg considered “estranged” the American servicemen who felt their Jewishness as a burden.¹⁶

The presence of refugees fleeing Nazism was also noted by another GI who attended Friday night religious services in Casablanca. Harold Ribalow, a twenty-three-year-old former yeshiva student and Zionist from the Bronx, served as a radio operator with the air force and spent twenty-six months in North Africa, India, and Ceylon. He, too, came to feel that the Jews from North Africa and Europe were more interesting to observe in Casablanca than the mere environment, as shown in this short scene.

There were fruit stands on the streets, just like the stands at home, in the Bronx, in Brooklyn, or Hester Street. Turbaned natives, sat in Indian fashion before they cried out in loud wailing voices. . . . I began to bargain with a dealer for the fruit (an orange). Then I saw a baggy European, wearing green American fatigues, a G.I. wool knit cap and an American field jacket.

I did not ask him who he was. His appearance seemed to speak for him. He looked like a refugee from Hitler’s Europe. His eyes had worry in them. His hands, thin and bluish, trembled slightly. His fingers were slim. His face was a good one, once handsome.

“You see these people would take what they can from you.” He shrugged his shoulders a bit resignedly. “Why not?”, he asked of no one in particular. “They are poor and they see in you easy money.” . . . His French was fluent. He talked to the Arab fruit dealer. “I got you ten of them for five francs,” he said. . . . “When I was in Vienna I thought of your country as a brawling, noisy, ignorant land.” His command of English was good. His accent was faintly un-American. . . . “And then you came to Africa. But I came first. Here I was, a graduate of a British University, an Austrian musician, a Jew, and I came to Casablanca long ago.” . . . The shadows of night fell across his face and gave him a gaunt expression. Suddenly I saw his face as if it were a distortion. Before I could speak, he looked at me and said “Goodnight” and disappeared. We never saw him again.¹⁷

This vivid exchange, fraught with silences and meaning, reveals to what extent the uprooted Jewish serviceman could understand the Jewish refugee with fear in his eyes. Ribalow, who spoke Hebrew and Yiddish with his parents, could identify with Jews from central and eastern Europe. Attending Sabbath services in Casablanca for the first time since his induction into the army, he remarked how much religious services connected him to home as well as to Jews overseas. Barely a year after the end of the war in Europe, he wrote: “The draft was the greatest educational institution in the world.”¹⁸

Other testimonies confirm those of the GIs and show that North Africa was not a safe refuge for persons who fled Nazi persecution in Europe. A few refugees from Germany and Austria who worked as interpreters in Tunisia were deported by the SS when their identities were discovered. In Casablanca, some Jews confessed to Jewish GIs their fear that the Nazis were going to kill them. American servicemen were not only perceived as liberators but also as confidants.¹⁹

On the eve of WWII, there was a vibrant community of about 120,000 Jews in Algeria. At that time, Algeria was a French territory, while Tunisia and Morocco were French protectorates. Jews in Algeria lived among Europeans who generally fostered anti-Jewish feelings, especially during the Vichy regime.

GIs’ observations of the Arab population in North Africa are also interesting. Here and there, a serviceman’s observations run counter to the stereotyped vision of animosity between Jews and Arabs. This is what Herbert Cohen noticed: “Wherever one crossed the other’s path, friendly greetings were exchanged and the atmosphere was one of complete accord, both in business and in neighborhood.”²⁰ The American soldier justified his observation by providing another explanation: “Especially was this so in peril and mortal danger, for huddled together in common prayer and eager demands for safe deliverance, Jew and Arab sought refuge and moral support from the Almighty as each wave of German planes loosed their missiles of terror and destruction.”²¹

Our soldier then provided a lively and meaningful portrait of Passover in Algeria in April 1943: “A mixture of fez hats added that certain native hue unmatched anywhere and the influx of American, British, Free French and Colonial troops enhanced the extraordinary color scheme of the congregation. It was Passover and as the chant rose and fell in crescendo, the sacred teachings of the Torah were expounded in glorified tribute and respect to the holiday.”²² The soldier’s flowery description continues with an explanation of how servicemen were invited by Jewish families to celebrate Passover and attend the traditional seder, the special religious ceremony and meal that commemorates Passover, at their homes: “The intervention of the Battalion Chaplain, augmented by a directive from the Theater Commander furthered the grant of pass privileges to all members of Armed Forces of Jewish extraction and so it was that Joe indulged in the ceremonious rites of Pesach [Hebrew for Passover], the environment, one of total tranquility and exuberant passion.”²³

A Haggadah (booklet containing the Passover Eve ceremony) was hastily printed in Casablanca and “prepared for use of Jewish Personnel of the Army and Navy of the United States in French North Africa during the year 1943.” It bore the following words in red on its front page: “Because the Passover is the Feast of the Delivrance [sic].” From the misspelling of “deliverance,” one is inclined to think it was printed in a hurry.²⁴ Like most religious publications for American Jews in the armed forces, “Haggadot” were produced by the JWB, which authored the abridged prayer book published in 1941 and 1943. The Haggadah outlines what needs to be told and taught, what is to be eaten as symbolic food, and what passages from relevant sacred texts provide the framework for the narrative of Passover. Since the seder is a family reunion, a religious requirement as well as a recapitulation of the Exodus from Egypt, it is household centered. During and immediately after World War II in North Africa, it was conducted in large rooms adjacent to a synagogue. Eating matzah instead of bread for eight days is an important requirement that symbolizes the haste with which the Hebrews departed from Egypt.

When in Algeria, Jewish American GIs were surprised to see that the matzah (plural: matzot) did not resemble the flattened unleavened bread eaten in America, which looks like a big cracker, but rather artistically baked pretzels, while bitter herbs symbolized the bitterness of slavery both in North Africa and in America. The significance and texture of haroset (a mixture of dates, apples, wine, and ground nuts) serve as a reminder of the mortar Jews used to relentlessly build the Pharaohs’ pyramids and monuments.

The rituals of Passover, which teach the evils of slavery and celebrate freedom, could not have been more relevant during the war; they reminded soldiers about Nazi enslavement in concentration camps, as news of the death camps started to spread in 1942. The Jewish celebration of the Exodus and liberation from enslavement in Egypt had a positive psychological impact on Jewish soldiers. North African Jewish homes became a substitute for the soldiers’ own homes they had left to fight a war overseas. Viewed in that light, Jewish observance, far from being a burden, was an asset that instilled strength and serenity in the soldiers’ minds. The testimony quoted above at length is representative of many others that share a sense of belonging inspired by memories of home in connection to rituals—even for nonobservant Jews, who experienced a collective feeling of belonging beyond the boundaries of their own countries. Transferred to Italy “in the harsh winter of 1944,” our soldier “bade farewell to a life of ease and embarked upon an adventure that promised unbounded thrills and peril.”²⁵

While the essay quoted above evinces an effort to express these observations in a literary fashion, another YIVO contestant, focusing on the hospitality of Jews in Tunisia, remarked with humor that “their hearts were bigger than their cupboards.” But as a witness of religious services in Le Kef, Tunisia, where Jews had been for some six months under German occupation (November 9, 1942, to May 8, 1943), the GI could not help but be impressed by the warmth and religious fervor of the French-speaking Jews. A young Jew born in Philadelphia in 1921 to a father from Poland and a mother from Russia, our observer considered himself imbued with “average religious inklings,” having had a bar mitzvah and gone to Hebrew school. Before enlisting, he attended evening classes in accountancy and law at the University of Pennsylvania. This is how he recalled his encounters barely two years later, with a wealth of picturesque details that describe a close and exotic encounter with another world and another type of Jewry.

It was all subsequent to the capitulation of all Axis forces that we arrived in Cape Bon. Inasmuch as our unit was in an inactive status at the time and were enjoying the fruits of well-earned victory by resting, we had plenty of time on our hands. Each afternoon, we would make the 20 mile hop to Nabeul, and it was by every conceivable mode of transportation, excepting the swaying, stiff-legged camels.

It was a hot, sticky afternoon that we arrived in Nabeul. By good fortune, the day was Friday. And still better yet we heard that Friday evening services were to be held, the first time since the occupation by German forces. When the local people discovered that we were American Jews, they thronged about us, touched us, plying us with a million of questions, and finally imploring us to attend services that evening.²⁶

The “indelible imprint” of these scenes, in the words of that veteran, indicates that warmth coupled with religiosity became associated with emotional memories of home while these soldiers were far away. Deep in their minds, they must have been reminded of the gestures or acts of their parents or grandparents, such as lighting candles on Friday eve to welcome the spirituality of sabbatical rest. That same soldier went on to describe the religious service and the feelings it aroused: “Prayers were recited and hymns sung with such passion and with such fervor that I couldn’t but feel humble before these people.”

Paradoxically enough, the soldier’s feeling of humbleness when faced with these people, fervently praying and thanking their Creator for deliverance, awakened not only his interest in Judaism but also a feeling of pride in his Jewishness that probably helped him rebuff any antisemitic slur to come. This interpretation is confirmed by the enthusiasm felt in the rendering of his war experiences: “Before the service was completed, the Grand Rabbi made a benediction for all the Americans present in the synagogue.” At this point, the feeling of empathy with Tunisian Jewry reached a peak, as the GIs received a benediction that gave them a feeling of home. The “boys” sensed that someone other than their parents or next of kin cared for them, and this instilled in them strength to pursue the war in Italy, France, Germany, or in other remote and hostile countries. It is therefore not surprising that the young veteran who authored that essay used the adjective “intimate” at least twice to describe his experience in North Africa. He described a Passover service in a synagogue in Le Kef, Tunisia, recalling “the scarcity of able-bodied men” but also the emotions aroused: “There was a light and a sparkle in the eyes of the small boy singing near me, and I felt a lump in my throat as I noticed the way all the young children sang their prayers entirely by heart and in unison. I was filled with a feeling of ecstasy for, in my heart, I could feel that no matter how desperate the position of these people, no matter how miserable their life, they drank the joy of newly won freedom.”²⁷ Far from home, many observant and nonobservant Jews took comfort in traditional Judaism.

Another sociological aspect is that the presence of Jewish GIs drew attention to the poverty of members of Tunisian Jewry at the time. It is interesting to point out that the soldiers were probably the first Americans to notice the prevalence of couscous in inexpensive Friday evening meals in North Africa among local Jews, the humbleness of which was noted: “The only illumination came from two small candles conveniently placed in the room. We sat down at the table to a very heavy evening meal of koos-koos [sic], green vegetables and wine. The Kooskoos is a grainy food covered with gravy, and acts as the main staple of diet for the North Africans.” These pieces of information are accompanied by a comment on what appeared to the GI as something common in Jewish homes, and probably acted as a reminder of his own home in Pennsylvania: “Their homes were surrounded by fifth and squalor, but here was typical Jewish cleanliness within.”²⁸

MUTUAL BOOSTING OF MORALE BETWEEN JEWISH GIS AND NORTH AFRICAN JEWS

Meeting with local populations in North Africa strengthened the Jewish identity of many soldiers, while erasing some negative effects of anti-Jewish perceptions. For instance, GIs were proudly shown pictures of French Jewish soldiers from North Africa who had been decorated when fighting in France during World War I.

The reassuring succession of sabbatical meals gave some support and joy to soldiers; proof is found in the letters of a soldier to host families with which he remained in contact for some years. The oral testimonies I collected from Jews whose families invited soldiers from Allied armies mention the gifts for the kids that GIs sent in 1944 and 1945. Archival materials provide a few examples of soldiers who attended synagogue services on Passover 1943 and received a letter of invitation from the rabbi of Algiers. This was the case with Samuel Appel, who wrote many letters to the Jewish friends he met. Letters from French Jews in Oran, written in English between 1944 and 1948, testify to the warm relationships between Jewish soldiers and local Jews.²⁹ The following is an example of a Jewish American soldier’s impressions of a special service in the Grand Synagogue in Oran.

Religion has had little influence on me. . . . Yet how can I explain the flow of tears, involuntary streaming, when attending services at a synagogue for the first time in twenty years? Was I moved by the spectacle of hundreds of men in uniform, from all the States of the Union? . . . Can I attribute it to the loneliness I often felt here (in Oran), the loneliness which comes not from separation alone (from the family), but that which invariably is sensed when a stranger comes among those who shun him? Prejudice naturally exists here as it does at home.³⁰

In Oran, like in other places in North Africa, Jewish homes became a refuge for soldiers who suffered from anti-Jewish hostility from their fellow soldiers. In these homes, a powerful bond was created between Jewish servicemen and local Jews. When French Jews hosted Jewish GIs and their non-Jewish friends, it provided encouragement for the rest of the war. As a matter of fact, GIs were acclaimed and admired as liberators by the Jewish population, fearing the occupation of French North Africa by the Germans. In the case of German occupation, many French non-Jews expected to benefit from the local Jews’ assets, as was the case in occupied France.

The arrival of Allied forces boosted the morale of Jews in Oran, who had been stripped of their citizenship in 1940 by Vichy France and suffered from social exclusion. Emile Moatti, a former student of the elite French Ecole Polytechnique, could not forget the anguish he felt at home before the Allied invasion. Yet the landings brought about a “liberating atmosphere.” He was then eleven years old, and this metamorphosis was etched in his mind.³¹ In the Bedeau labor camp, located south of Oran, French Jewish soldiers enthusiastically shouted “Hello, boys” at American jeeps passing nearby. As inmates of a camp that functioned like a concentration camp, they were severely rebuked. Five or six were beaten up, according to a report about “the mistreatment of French soldiers of Jewish descent.”³² Starting in July 1941, a piece of legislation required the confiscation of all Jewish property except for personal homes. Vichy authorities awarded Jewish-owned businesses to “trustees” who could pay themselves with the profits of the business. A published testimony reveals that a family living on a large estate would have been forced to hand over its farm to trustees had the Allied soldiers not landed in time. The arrival of American GIs to their estate was perceived as a stroke of luck. The writer of a memoir recorded what she felt as a young woman: “An outburst of joy flooded our little town. . . . Each house had its GI, its cigarettes, and chocolate and a feeling of freedom in the heart. After a period of hesitation, the families on the far-right (non-Jewish and pro Vichy) joined the manifestations of joy and of course found soul mates among the liberators.”³³

Huguette Lancry, a teacher born in Oran in 1929, recalled the joy shared by the Jews who saw American troops from their balconies following the Allied landings of November 8. She also remembered the disappointed antisemitic neighbors who dared to shout: “We expected the Germans, not the Americans.” She was then a thirteen-year-old girl who had been terribly humiliated when she was expelled from the Lycée Stéphane Gsell for girls in Oran, a secular public school, on account of being Jewish. These are the memories she retained from that November day when so many friendly soldiers were seen in her town: “When the GIs entered the streets of the town of Oran, we stood on our balconies. Trucks crowded with black and white soldiers who lavishly distributed chewing gum and chocolate candies to the Arab children in the streets who now clung to the GIs’ vehicles. It was as if America had entered Oran.” She made it clear that her family knew that meters of yellow fabric were stored at the prefecture in Oran to make yellow stars for the Jewish population to wear had the Allied forces not arrived just in time to avoid that visible discrimination and degradation.³⁴

The daring amphibious invasion of North Africa prevented Jews from being deported and engendered immense gratitude toward the Allied troops. American Jewish GIs joined religious services at the synagogues and made America closer. A French sociologist studying the impact of the Vichy antisemitic laws on the lives of Jews in Algeria confirms the above testimony through interviews. All her interviewees shared painful memories: “Each of them related humiliating experiences: having to stand in separate lines in front of food stores, being dismissed from civil service, their children being banned from their schools, and lawyers’ and doctors’ practices being forcibly closed.” What prevails at this juncture in their life stories is a deep feeling of solitude and exclusion: “The anti-Jews were having a field day, seeing our degradation,” said one interviewee, echoing what several other respondents said. An Algiers-born doctor scoffed: “The settlers—well, they were all antisemitic! When Vichy began, they were all ecstatic and rushed to join Marshal Pétain’s movement.” While a majority of French settlers in Algeria were indeed antisemitic, the picture the sociologist drew from her respondents about the Arabs’ attitudes toward the Jews is no better: “The Arabs were wholeheartedly anti-Jewish—they’d call their donkeys ‘Yehud ben Yehud’ (Jew, son of a Jew) while kicking them to go faster. They had never stomached the Crémieux Decree because we were natives just as they were, and France had made us superior to them. They relished seeing us stripped of our citizenship.”³⁵

For the Jews of Algeria, this period, which entailed the temporary loss of citizenship, was most traumatic. After holding French citizenship from 1870 to 1940, they were degraded to the status of “natives” (indigènes) until the reinstatement of their citizenship on October 21, 1943. Tunisian or Moroccan Jews, unlike their counterparts in Algeria, had never been endowed collectively with French citizenship. Though they had Tunisian or Moroccan passports, their culture, too, was French.

A question arises: Why did Jews in Algeria not recover their citizenship with the Allied landings? Although the answer is complex, it transpired that in return for Admiral Jean-François Darlan’s cooperation with General Eisenhower in neutralizing a coup d’état in Algiers on November 8, the American general recognized Darlan as high commissioner for North Africa. This controversial deal meant that Admiral Darlan, who had been appointed by the Vichy regime, was allowed to remain as head of the French administration in North Africa. Darlan had been regularly pressured by Robert Murphy, the top American diplomat in Algiers, to restore the rights of Algerian Jews.³⁶

When exhausted American soldiers approached Oran on Sunday, November 8, Arabs greeted them with stiff-armed fascist salutes, mistaking them for Germans. Indeed, some French fascists and antisemitic French North Africans had hoped for the arrival of Germans. One of the aims of the American army was to convert the town of Oran into a supply depot, but this was no easy task because of the resistance of the Vichy French armed forces. Journalist Rick Atkinson described in detail the eventful capture of the city of Oran: “Before noon, on November 8, Company C of Terry Allen’s 18th Infantry had been ambushed, driven off, then driven again when it turned to St. Cloud with the bulk of the 1st Battalion.”³⁷ In a description not devoid of humor, the journalist pictured the lively American encounter with the local population: “Festive crowds filled the sidewalks, flashing Vs with their fingers and flinching at occasional sniper fire. The pretty girls Allen had promised blew kisses from balconies on Boulevard Joffre and dropped hibiscus garlands onto tank turrets. A potbellied burgher with a black felt hat and a white flag rapped on a tank hull, introduced himself as Oran mayor, and offered to surrender his town.”³⁸

The American military gave code names to Algerian villages near Oran. Those names were drawn from soldiers’ hometowns, like Brockton, Syracuse, or Brooklyn.³⁹ But the strange landscape and the discovery of a poor Arab population, begging, their faces “eaten away by syphilis,” was a shock for GIs. Stories of Arabs selling women are reported in the war diary of the 526th Fighter Bomber Squadron, which came to the La Sénia Airfield near Oran in May 1943. With the surrender of the city of Algiers and the capture of Oran in November 1942, the Allies “possessed” Algeria. In this confidential diary, the search for a GI brothel is openly reported. With that goal in mind, many men left the airport to explore the various facets of the city of Oran. The reason put forward for this virile necessity was that soldiers found it difficult to get closer to the “beautiful French girls” they saw because these girls “walked with a chaperon and not on their own.”⁴⁰ The same war diary also accounts for difficulties linked to a hostile environment, some described by the renowned French author Albert Camus in his novels. American soldiers noted that the water was terrible and deplored the “numerous cases of drunkenness among both the officers and the enlisted men” resulting from the lack of drinkable water. While waiting for planes heading to Tunisia, GIs took showers, but “there are no showers except in salt water, which leaves the hair sticky”—and hordes of “mosquitoes here are so discriminating so as to look at the dog tags before taking a bite to make sure they get the proper blood type.”⁴¹ The soldiers’ sense of humor under trying conditions was probably one of their best weapons against homesickness and depression.

Considering the efforts to be accepted as Jews in the army and to not be excluded from social activities, meeting other Jews in Algiers or Oran answered both an urge for a social outlet and a desire to feel at home, “home” being a set of references that reminded them of the familiar gestures of relatives and friends, like lighting the Sabbath candles.

INSPIRING INTERACTIONS

A handwritten essay authored by a GI in 1946 and sent to the YIVO competition about “my experiences and observations as a Jew in World War II” contains these significant lines about an invitation to a home for Passover 1944 in Tunis (April 7–8): “What warmth, what spontaneous understanding. Shalom Aleichem brother, Aleichem Shalom . . . How they fought to possess a soldier. . . . The services started soon and the Seder was interesting. Salomon [the host] chanted Hebrew with Arabic intonation, and as he prayed, passed the matzots over our heads in a rotary motion. Many of us had forgotten the prayers and ritual, but Solomon tolerantly forgave our paganism.” Not only did the spicy food warm the soldiers’ hearts but the author of the essay also admitted that from then on, he understood the universal character of Judaism, which had escaped him. This proud understanding would serve him right against Jew haters: “I saw more in a few days to refute the persistent typology theory of anti-Semites than I had previously read in many formal arguments on the subject. If there was anything universal about us, it is our universal misfortune to unjustly bear the burden of man’s depravation upon our shoulders.”⁴²

Through this encounter with North African Jews, some Jewish GIs learned that Jewishness was not a separate part of their identity and realized the similitudes inherent in Judaism beyond the differences. Most of all, awareness of the universal meaning behind ritual practices empowered Jewish American soldiers, providing them with tools and arguments to defend themselves against antisemitic slurs.

Chaplain Werfel’s report to the chaplaincy commission is significant regarding the interactions between American and North African Jews. It especially pinpoints the joy these interactions brought him: “It was an inspiring sight to watch those French-speaking, Sephardic-familied youngsters, about 200 of them, singing the same Palestinian songs that our youngsters sing back in the US.”⁴³

Chaplain Werfel’s name is one of the fourteen inscribed on a monument for fallen Jewish chaplains in Arlington National Cemetery’s Chaplains Hill. He was the only Orthodox chaplain killed in action in World War II. Chaplain Werfel’s statement that “the war has brought me changes of attitude, the full significance of which I still cannot recognize,” could apply to most of the Jewish GIs who went overseas.

Chaplains were morale builders. The exemplary deeds of two who served in North Africa will suffice to demonstrate this point. Chaplain Louis (Eliezer) Werfel was on duty with the Twelfth Air Force Service Command in North Africa. He was nicknamed “The Flying Rabbi” because he wanted to reach as many servicemen as possible, an endeavor only feasible by plane. How else could he serve his soldier congregations both in Algeria and Morocco? On the way back to conduct a Hanukkah service in Casablanca in 1943, he was warned that “ceilings were low and it might be dangerous flying,” but he decided he had no choice; he had to visit servicemen in many locations throughout North Africa, since American troops were dispersed over vast expanses. On a foggy day, his plane crashed into an unseen mountain top shortly after takeoff on December 24, 1943. As noted in a national government publication by the United States Air Force, hope sustained chaplains’ faith, whether they were Jewish, Protestant, or Catholic: “Perhaps their faith was vindicated in the unexpressed feelings of many servicemen who hoped and dreamt that their efforts would make a better world.”⁴⁴ This faith can be seen in Werfel’s motivation to serve despite his poor eyesight preventing him from serving overseas as a soldier. On his insistence, he was assigned to air force units in North Africa and met his death at age twenty-seven.⁴⁵ It is now known that in one of his last requests to the JWB, Werfel asked for ten thousand prayer books in French translation to be sent to the Jewish men serving in the French Free Forces.⁴⁶ The presence of about sixty Jewish soldiers accompanying him to his final resting place in the American Military Cemetery in Oran was a last mark of gratitude and fellowship.⁴⁷

Chaplain Irving Tepper of Chicago, who also served in North Africa, was the first Jewish chaplain killed in France. He died at age thirty-one while serving with the Ninth Infantry Division, where he was called “Chaplain Courageous”; he was considered a morale builder by Chaplain W. MacLeod, his non-Jewish roommate in England as they were waiting for D-Day.⁴⁸ It seems that chaplaincy in wartime, and overseas in particular, empowered rabbis, who became physically tougher, if not spiritually stronger, as they understood the need not only to serve Jews but also to provide for the spiritual and religious needs of Christians when there was no Christian chaplain available, as was required by the American military.

In every war, demoralization plays a part, and the encouragement and warmth of encounters between persecuted French Algerian Jews and American servicemen was a transformative experience for both sides. Among the Sephardic French Jews of Algeria, Tunisia, and Morocco, traditional rituals, joyful celebrations, and tasty food played a crucial part in boosting GIs’ morale. Lasting relationships between Jewish veterans and North African Jews that began in 1942, together with many interviews and testimonies, document this point. All this is without mentioning the marriages after the war: although the beautiful French girls mentioned in the war diary previously quoted were not easily approached, Jewish soldiers invited for the Sabbath or Jewish festivals could gain direct access to girls in families. This is why war brides were not unusual in North Africa. In other cases, the definite departure of handsome young men in uniform who had promised marriage resulted in inconsolable broken hearts. Max Benhamou, a citizen of Casablanca, reminisced that most of the Jewish families in Morocco extended hospitality to American servicemen, “not necessarily Jewish.” He mentioned discovering chewing gum, Campbell Soup, and American literature through the small, lightweight paperbacks intended to reduce stress before an imminent battle or provide comfort.⁴⁹ The American government, along with publishers, dispatched millions of books to servicemen in all branches of the military and in most war theaters. Mobile libraries were created once a place was secured. There, American servicemen could borrow Armed Service Editions (ASEs) to help reconnect with home. ASEs reached wounded soldiers in hospitals in Tunisia through Red Cross volunteers.⁵⁰

Jewish American soldiers in North Africa symbolized both liberation and a world in which Judaism could be legitimately expressed in the public sphere, unlike in the French territories, where secularity remained a requirement. It is also significant that starting with the landing of American soldiers, French Jews in North Africa gave American names to their newborns. Some of the most popular were James or William, while Daisy was a favorite during and after World War II.

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As we reflect on the far-reaching consequences of the encounters of Jewish GIs with local and Jewish populations in North Africa, four points may be highlighted. These encounters were mutually influential, benefiting both sides. They encouraged lobbying efforts of the leaders of the French Jewish community in Algeria, who appealed to the American Jewish Committee and the World Jewish Congress (WJC).⁵¹

Another result of these interactions was the boost provided to the morale of Jewish soldiers, reinforcing their courage to continue the war in Italy and in other theaters. A point worthy of note is the fact that war experiences brought a sense of collective responsibility for Jews coreligionists. American Jews realized they had come to North Africa to fight both an American and a Jewish battle against the Third Reich and its allies, especially for those whose parents came from Europe, particularly Germany.

Therefore, this interaction helped bridge Jewish communities overseas and triggered a sense of awareness of the unity of one Jewish world. For young, estranged Jews, there was a sudden realization that Jews are a world diaspora, to use a current term. In-depth testimonies point to a sort of brotherhood expressed in letters exchanged long after the encounter. For some, the meeting aroused an interest not only in the Jewish religion or tradition but also in other cultures at a time when American youngsters might have been somewhat xenophobic. Virulent antisemitism on the part of European settlers during the Vichy regime was perceived in this way by a soldier in his essay: “The first things which struck my eyes when I strolled through the streets of Oran were the vicious slogans painted all over the buildings: ‘Vive Pétain, mort à la Juiverie.’”⁵²

In the testimonies quoted above, the expression of emotions ranges from anger to compassion and friendship, associated with memories of home. Thus, examining behaviors through this prism enriches the traditional conception of history. It also sheds light on the resilience of soldiers. Captain Max Zera, who fought with the Fighting First Infantry Division in Normandy on D-Day, wrote a significant letter a couple of months after the Tunisian campaign encapsulating a wide range of emotions expressed by combat soldiers. The voice of this twenty-eight-year-old, born in New York, who joined the army as a private in March 1941 and whose parents came from Poland, needs to be heard; it provides a global perspective on the war in North Africa from the viewpoint of a Jewish fighter. In the limited space of his letter, there is no mention of the Jewish communities he might have met.

The last look at Africa. You’re not particularly unhappy about leaving the country. You have seen all of it you care to. Many thoughts run through your head. The day you landed at Oran, and your subsequent journeys over the Atlas Mountains. Your visits to Constantine, Algiers, and Tunis. The Arabs. The rain and the mud. The sun and the heat. The frost and the snow (yes, in Africa), the wines and the women. You think of all these.

But above all you think about the war. About the bombs and the shells and the bullets . . . of the destroyed vehicles, tanks and planes. Of the men you knew who are no more. Of the graves with the crosses and the stars . . . And then you realize that you are going forward into just so much more of this. Only you realize this will have to be tougher. You’ve got to land before you can dig in. And there is no telling who will be waiting to receive you.⁵³

The next chapter will also convey the importance of the role of emotions in history, examining Jewish GIs’ war experiences in contrasted territories such as India and the Pacific.