My
husband and I recently journeyed from New Orleans to Israel—a first
trip for him, an always-sacred return for me. On our El Al return
flight, seated near us was an older gentleman. We briefly noticed him
when boarding the plane; he smiled and so did we, thinking little of the
encounter beyond the fleeting thought that he could be anyone’s sweet
grandfather.As everyone began to settle in, my husband noticed the numbers tattooed on the older man’s arm, and pointed them out to me.
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