ISI's BRILLIANT EXISTENCE VERSUS THE FUCKING POPE

This week I read some shit about Pope Benedict XVI bringing back into his circle a Holocaust-denying Bishop. Ooops. Maybe read a book? Get out of the cloisters? Listen to something other than G_D? Meet Isi, my friend Shira's wonderful, lucid Grandfather. ISI. A couple of Saturdays ago, a group of us left the city for Teaneck, New Jersey, where Isi has lived for over 50 years. We spent a few hours listening and looking through his letters, photos, visas, postcards, and ID cards from the early 20th century, leading up to/through/after WWII, which he was, unfortunately, a part and a victim of. His wife experienced the same, but has since passed away. Isi carries on. As he has always only done. The name of the game is not "how are you?" "i'm ok. kind of stressed. got a lot of homework. things kind of shitty at work." No, the name of the game is "how are you?" "i'm good grandpa. i'm alive." His M.O. is one of survival, and self-preservation, and love/laughter, and looking at the past and understanding that it has shaped him and that he will never be able to mentally escape from all the shit even though he has physically escaped, safely, home-free, etc...shit....his memory lane is less an historical, nostalgic amble...and more of a crevice that he could potential fall into and find hell at the bottom, once again.