LABEL WHAT YOU'RE LEAVING — Sharon Mark Cohen

This cleaning marathon I’ve been on has me reacquainting myself with a wide variety of once hidden family treasures. It all started during the lockdown to combat the world coronavirus pandemic, which coincided with the time for an extensive spring/Passover cleaning.

Some of the things I've rediscovered are so important to my husband and me that they're hanging on our walls. Photographs of revered ancestors complement the adjacent wall of pictures highlighting ten of our uncles who served in WWII. The image of one of our two uncles who were in World War I is part of the collection. In light of COVID-19, it’s particularly noteworthy that two of our hero uncles are known to have survived the 1918 Spanish Influenza.

Sepia-toned school pictures, which include our family members with their classmates, date as far back as the 1920s, and join our other keepsakes. The hanging of the pictures required due diligence, which entailed recording identifying information on the backing of the frames.

While standing on a ladder to clean the glass panels of our secretary-bookcase, I stumbled upon a hidden gem. Gently opening the doors, I spotted a used can of No. 9 Requa’s Charcoal Tablets for Stomach Troubles resting on a shelf. A crumbled strip of paper sat inside the dented container.

As soon as I opened the 1912 metal box, once filled with medicinal charcoal tablets, I recognized my aunt’s handwriting. On the rust-stained paper, my Aunt Fannie had written: "Mother[']s wedding ring." Some 25 years ago, when I originally found the hidden ring stored amongst her belongings, I wisely thought to add another note.

Recording my paternal grandmother’s maiden name, along with her married name and its Americanized version, will ensure that no one will be confused as to which “Mother[‘]s Wedding Ring” is tucked away in the pillbox. Although the plain, thin gold band merely holds sentimental value, it’s nice to know who wore it.

On the other side of our family room rests a violin in its original case, atop a chair skillfully created from tree branches. At the side of the chair sits a basket, also designed of branches. Zayda, my husband's maternal grandfather, a carpenter, once handled those items, which we affectionately display. That Zayda played and fixed that violin, crafted the chair, and wove the basket, is very moving.

As I meander from room to room, more and more sentimental items catch my eye. Touching the 1925 Treadle Singer Sewing Machine, once used by my paternal grandmother, fills me with emotion. I can visualize her sitting there guiding the fabric, while rhythmically operating the cast iron base presser pedal with her foot.

Shortly before our 1975 wedding, my parents gifted us two silver candlesticks for lighting Sabbath candles. After I gave birth to our first child, my parents presented us with an heirloom brass candelabrum, designed with three candle holders. They wanted us to have it to light an additional candle each week, representing our growing family.

When I questioned where the ornate piece was from, the unconfirmed answer was that my paternal grandparents gave it to my uncle and his bride-to-be on the occasion of their 1937 betrothal. I wish I knew the actual history of that antique brass piece, which I still use every week to light Sabbath candles.

Ignited by the sprinkling of family heirlooms described here, an inventory of all of our worldly possessions swirls around in my head. Now is the perfect time to make a detailed list of all those prized items in our inventory. Follow my lead. Someday, whether you’re around or not, someone will thank you.

A version of this blog post was published in the Jewish Link newspaper on May 21, 2020

Photographs of our ten uncles who served in WWII and one of our two uncles who served in WWI.

Silver candlesticks/heirloom brass candelabra

1937 Wedding Invitation of my Aunt Esther and Uncle Morris Mark

Zayda’s violin, chair and basket he made out of tree branches