How Two Jews and 24 Red Necks Agreed to Bury the Hatchet And Fight the Germans Instead
Through the years, my memory has often taken me back to the night in Normandy in 1944 when “Swede” Jensen held an M1 rifle on me, sputtering through a drunken haze;
“I’ve always wanted to kill a Jew. If you move you’re dead.”
I huddled in a corner paralyzed for perhaps 20 minutes (it seemed like hours) until Swede passed out in a stupor. I beat a hasty retreat to my tent in the compound where we were holed up in France as our unit was waiting to join Gen. George Patton’s Third Army, as he chased the Germans across Europe.
