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John Kinsella
what is not drawn out in a lesson or a response is as much what she’s addressing as what is there to be heard and seen. There is a particularly apt passage in George’s memoir where he lifts the portraits of a photo into the realm of being – an existential moment that’s ironically shared: ‘In a photo of my father, Motl, and Meyer, taken in the late 1940s on a park bench near my Uncle Meyer’s apartment in the Bronx, I see something less than titanic. Scoured by their North American experience, they have been resculpted as mere humans