Written by Bernie Friedenberg
Bernie Friedenberg was an Army combat medic who landed on Omaha Beach on June 6, 1944, D-Day. In 2002, he returned to Omaha Beach for the first time and recorded his account of the visit below. Bernie passed away in 2018, and his daughter Susan spearheaded an effort to preserve his memory and honor the sacrifices of all World War II veterans with a memorial in Atlantic City, New Jersey. Bernie’s account is shared courtesy of Susan Friedenberg.
My daughter presented me with a most remarkable gift for my eightieth birthday, a week in France for my wife and I. My daughter has a French couple, Marilyn and Eric Leroy, with whom she has become very friendly. Marilyn’s parents are Holocaust survivors, and Eric’s parents were very active with the French Resistance during the occupation of France. When my daughter told them that we were going to visit Paris and that I had landed on Omaha Beach with the initial assault and had been awarded the Silver Star Medal for action on D-Day, Marilyn became very excited and said they wanted to take us to the beach. It was then that she went to work.
Marilyn called the American Embassy and spoke to a general, probably the military attaché in Paris. He wanted to know my full name, former rank, serial number, and which unit I was part of. I e-mailed her the information and she passed it on to the general. He checked it out and called her back to advise that he had arranged for the director of the entire installation, beaches, cemetery area and chapel to meet us and guide us personally. Friday morning they picked us up and we were on our way to Normandy.
After a three hour drive through the French country side we arrived at a small very typical French inn. When we stopped in front of it I looked up and saw a large American flag hung over the entrance. Marilyn told us that they had hung the flag there in my honor. The owner of the inn was outside waiting to welcome us and it was all very flattering. We had a light lunch and then set out on our tour.
Our first stop was Le Mémorial de Caen, The Museum For Peace. As the name so clearly implies, the Memorial aims to fulfil remembrance of a town that was one of our primary objectives on D Day, a town that was totally devastated in it’s taking. The museum details the spread of total war from the sides of the American, British, Soviet and German perspectives. It finishes up with the Nobel Peace Prize winner’s gallery, a gallery with large pictures and resumes of each of the prizewinners. I must admit to a feeling of disgust when I saw the picture of Arafat displayed amongst these wonderful and distinguished persons. I left the museum with two things indelibly imprinted in my mind. One was a picture of two young people, a boy and a girl, both age seventeen with a noose around their necks and a German officer hauling the ropes up and hanging them. I have no idea what their offense was. The other thing I’ll always remember was an inscription on a wall, a saying of Elie Wiesel. He said, “PEACE IS NOT A GIFT FROM GOD TO MAN. PEACE IS A GIFT FROM MAN TO HIMSELF.”
We left the town of Caen and continued out tour.
Our next stop was the town of Carentan, a village that was most significant to us as my wife’s brother was killed there, First Lieutenant David Rogers, a paratrooper with the 101st Airborne Division. He jumped into Normandy in advance of the invasion and lasted four days. He was killed on June 10th. We took photos of ourselves in front of a monument honoring the American dead. Some citizens of Carentan saw us and recognized the fact that we were not just ordinary tourists. They approached us and when Marilyn told them that I had been with the first troops to land on Omaha Beach and Phyllis’s brother had been killed in their town, they shook our hands and embraced us and kept saying, “Merci beaucoup.” They were so appreciative.
It was then that I realized the difference between the people of Normandy and the Parisians. The Normans had witnessed the terrible loss of life of the Allied troops and suffered the total destruction of their homes and villages as well as having been compelled to live under the yoke of the German occupiers of their country. On the other hand the Parisians had it relatively easy. There was no actual combat in Paris as it was declared an “open city.” We fought up to the outskirts of the city and then stopped to let the French forces march in and appear to be their liberators. This I can understand and appreciate to a degree but I resented the fact that this gave the Germans a chance to withdraw and regroup. We had the enemy on the run but we gave them time to withdraw and to dig in and reorganize. I’m sure this resulted in the added loss of American lives.
We left the town of Carentan and then proceeded directly to Omaha Beach. I couldn’t help but think how vastly different my approach to Omaha Beach was as compared to the last time I was there. This time I approached from land that had been swarming with German soldiers and was driven there in the great comfort of a B.M.W. automobile. The other time I stepped off of a landing craft and waded in amongst the dead bodies of our troops that were floating in the sea. As directed, we drove up to the administration building and met with the director of the entire installation. He greeted us warmly and we set out for the beach. When we arrived there we were standing at the top of a bluff that descended on a forty five degree angle down to the beach which was several hundred yards from the waters edge. This was the area that we had to cross under withering fire from the German artillery, mortar, machine gun and small arms fire in addition to the miles of barbed wire and the mine fields. As I looked across the beaches to the sea I couldn’t help but wonder how any of us made it alive. Most of us didn’t. The beaches looked so peaceful now and I saw nothing that bore resemblance to the Omaha Beach I remembered. I could feel no emotion whatsoever as I gazed out but I do remember that I did not want to walk on that beach. I felt that it was blood soaked and hallowed ground. While I was looking out over the beach I saw three elderly ladies standing off and watching me. They walked over to Marilyn, our interpreter, and asked about me. Marilyn told them that I had landed there on D Day with the initial assault troops. They came over to me and took my hands and were kissing them and blessing me with tears in their eyes. They were nuns. I didn’t stay at the beaches very long. From there we proceeded to the cemetery area.
When I saw the Normandy American Cemetery, it took my breath away. There were almost ten thousand American soldiers buried there under stone crosses and Stars of David. Each grave marker bore the name of the soldier interred, his name, rank and regiment. There were one hundred forty seven Stars of David. Our guide told me that there had been many times that number of Jewish soldiers that had been buried there but their families had requested the remains to be sent home so they could be buried in family plots. Phyllis’s brother had been buried at a nearby American cemetery, Sainte-Mère-Église, and it took four years before her parents could bring themselves to request that his remains be returned home. We walked among the graves for quite a while and placed a pebble on each Jewish soldier’s headstone. While doing this I was all choked up. I looked at all the inscriptions on the grave markers and there were so many from the First Division, Sixteenth Infantry Regiment, my regiment. I wonder how many wounded were there that I, a combat medic, had given first aid to knowing that they were too severely wounded and that they would not survive. I’m sure there were many. From there we went to the chapel.
The chapel was a beautiful little stone structure right in the middle of the cemetery. It was divided in half. Inscribed on the marble walls of one side of the chapel was a cross and a prayer. On the other side was inscribed a Star of David and a prayer written in Hebrew. Our guide and our friends respectfully stayed outside while Phyllis and I went in. We held hands and said Kaddish, not only for the Jewish soldiers who had died there but for all of the boys who were entombed there. It was then that we both broke down completely. It took quite a while before we were able to compose ourselves and rejoin our friends.
It was 4:30 P.M. and the director told us that they wished to bestow an honor upon me. There were two very tall flagpoles at the entrance to the cemetery and I was to bring down and fold both flags while the bugler blew taps. This I did while everyone saluted. Needless to say I did indeed feel greatly honored. It was now the end of a very long but unforgettable day.
I went on this trip with very mixed emotions. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to make this trip or not but now I’m glad that I went. I don’t think a day passes that I don’t think of some of my combat experiences and the comrades who did not come back. Perhaps this trip to Omaha Beach will give me some sort of closure.
—Bernard I. Friedenberg
Commander Post #39
Jewish War Veterans Of The U.S.A.
