Who is this?

An old Russian Jew, left behind decades ago when the rest of the family fled to Israel, had finally been granted permission to leave by the Soviet government. But not without a few last indignities. When he arrived at the airport, his luggage was confiscated and thoroughly searched in front of him. The customs officer, after going through his luggage, pulled out an eight pound sold metal bust of Lenin.

"What is this?" the customs officer demanded.

"What is this? What is this?! **Who** is this! This is Lenin, who dreamed of a better society for every Russian. Somewhere along the line," the old man said, wagging his finger at the young customs officer, "we lost our way. Lenin did not fail. We failed *him*. And as I go into the exile in a far off land, I take this with me to remind me of the ideal I must strive for." Chagrined, the officer replaced the bust and sent the old man on his way.

Sadly, the old man met with similar suspicion when he arrived in Tel Aviv. Again his luggage was searched. Again the bust was found. And again, he was questioned.

"What is this?" the customs officer demanded.

"What is this? What is this?! **Who** is this! This is Lenin, the bastard who ruined our country and drove millions of us into desolation and exile. This is Lenin, whose grasp of human nature was only exceeded by his inability to find his own ass with both hands. This is Lenin, whose bust I will place in my new home in the toilet so that every morning, I can give him the treatment he so richly deserves!" Chagrined, the officer replaced the bust and sent the old man on his way.

The old man finally made it to the small community where his relations had settled. He had a joyful reunion with long lost cousins and met all those distant relations he had only before known through censored letters. And joy of joys, he met his dear great granddaughter, child of the sister who had died under Lenin's rule so very long ago.

The girl was delighted with her new relation and helped him as he unpacked. "Grandpapa," she asked, pulling the bust from his suitcase. "Who is this?"

"Who is this? Who is this?! **What** is this! This, my dear child, is some lead paint and *eight pounds of solid gold*."