Alison Stern Golub, a writer living in Israel, relays a story about a friend of hers who found himself in a bar in Beer Sheva, staring down an Auschwitz-style tattoo on a guy too young to have been in the camps on anything other than a March of the Living trip. Turns out, he got his grandmother’s blessing to have her concentration camp number inked into his flesh as a tribute.
I’m not sure what kind of “licious” this is. But since there’s no “Shoah-licious” category (and I’m not suggesting that there should be…), I’ve filed this under Jewlicious and Popalicious.
My synopsis here.
Hat tip: Lyss at NoBlog