“M. Mory, my Fascist friend, had his wife roast up a beautiful rabbit for us. Worthy of a poetess – in a huge Dutch oven with a ring of brown roast potatoes and more than a hint of garlic.” So wrote Paul Deutschman in December 1942, recording one of his many memorable meals during his World War II service in North Africa. But this wasn’t just any soldier’s letter home – it was the careful observation of a man who would become one of the war’s most interesting chroniclers.

Before donning his uniform in 1942, Deutschman was an English student and copywriter. These skills would serve him well as he documented the daily life, struggles, and even humor of American GIs serving in the Mediterranean Theatre. As an ammunitions handler in the 319th Bombardment Group, he had a front-row seat to history – and he never stopped writing about it.

While serving in North Africa, Deutschman witnessed history in the making. The 99th Fighter Squadron, operating alongside his unit in Tunisia in 1943, would go on to become one of the war’s most decorated units. These airmen, best known as part of the Tuskegee Airmen, flew an astounding 1,578 missions and proved their exceptional skill and courage by destroying 136 enemy aircraft in the air and 273 on the ground. Their achievements – which included earning 95 Distinguished Flying Crosses, 14 Bronze Stars, and 744 Air Medals – came at a heavy cost, with the squadron suffering hundreds of casualties in their fight against the Third Reich and Fascist Italy.

Deutschman’s letters and diaries also paint vivid pictures of life as a Jewish American soldier during WWII. Along with his bunkmate “Rosie” (Meyer Rosenberg), he navigated both the physical challenges of desert warfare and the complex social dynamics of being Jewish in a unit where some mistook his Germanic surname for enemy heritage. The two men formed a close bond, united by their shared experiences of antisemitism within their own ranks. In one painful entry, Deutschman recounts being called “Jew bastards” by a member of the own unit. These moments of prejudice led him to explore his own family history in his writings, reflecting on his Jewish ancestors in Germany and their conversion to Lutheranism during the Reformation. Through it all, his friendship with Rosie provided a source of strength and understanding that helped him cope with both the horrors of war and the sting of discrimination from their own compatriots.

But it’s Deutschman’s sharp ear for language that really brings his wartime accounts to life. In one fascinating letter, he captures how American GIs adopted local Arabic expressions. “Some French finds its way into GI everyday talk, but for the most part Arabic expressions predominate,” he wrote. His favorite example was the word “malesh” – meaning “never mind” or “what the hell.” As he observed, soldiers’ relationship with this phrase evolved over time: “At first the GI thinks it’s funny; after a month or two the expression causes fits of frustration and rage; by the time you carry two overseas stripes on your arm you are a submissive part of the land – and use the expression yourself.

Even the local phrase for “no more” – “mafish” – became a survival tool, as Deutschman noted it “has saved many a GI’s rations of chewing gum and cigarettes” from persistent local children. And every soldier quickly learned “baksheesh” – the equivalent of “Buddy, y’a got a dime for a cup of coffee?”

These keen observations caught the eye of military publications. By 1943, Deutschman was editing for both his unit’s newspaper and YANK: The Army Weekly. His writing later expanded to LIFE magazine, where he shared GI experiences with the American public through powerful firsthand accounts.

His camera captured another side of the war as well. In the summer of 1944, Deutschman photographed German prisoners of war at Oran Hospital in Algeria, documenting a rarely seen aspect of the North African campaign. These images of former enemies receiving medical care presented American readers with a more complex view of the conflict – one that went beyond simple tales of victory and defeat.

After the war, Deutschman didn’t forget his fellow soldiers. In the 1970s, he started a newsletter called “Randy’s Flying Circus” to help members of the 319th Bombardment Group stay connected. Through this publication, he continued collecting and preserving their stories, creating what would become a valuable historical archive.

Deutschman went on to become a novelist, though his military experiences never left him. He was working on a World War II novel when he passed away in 2002, leaving behind an invaluable collection of wartime writings that capture the human side of history.

Today, Deutschman’s papers are preserved at the AHC, offering researchers and history enthusiasts a window into the daily lives of American soldiers during World War II – complete with roast rabbit dinners, cultural misunderstandings, and the gradual adoption of Arabic phrases that marked their time in North Africa.

Post researched by Archives Aide Jade Vandel and written by Archivist Leslie Waggener.