Hidden treasure 

In the mid-1960s, my mom’s brother traveled to Europe to teach English and brought home a British bride. He introduced her to his parents, sister, and Bubby, who lived with the family. Bubby, herself an immigrant from a shtetl near Vilna almost 50 years earlier, warmly greeted the recent arrival and asked in her heavy accent, “How long have you been in America?” “A few days” was the response. Bubby was impressed: “And already your English is so good?!”

It took another 50 years until the new couple told this story to their nieces, my sister, and me. For this alone, it was worth the long trip.

Of course, there were many more treasured moments and memories shared.  We had accompanied our mom to visit her only sibling, our only uncle — our father was an only child. None of us had seen our uncle at his own home in years. He enthusiastically pointed out numerous treasures, from a kitchen lamp my mom had given him decades earlier after a move, to the china, crystal, and artwork I remembered from my grandparents’ home. Each item came with stories of how and when it was acquired, when it had been used, and how these memories are revived every time new memories are created by continuing to include these things in daily life.

On the surface, my mom and her brother would seem to have little in common. My Uncle Lenny is a true intellect, a real genius who spent his free time in high school studying Sanskrit, memorizing classical music, and conducting independent research and analysis of James Joyce’s “Ulysses.” (My teasing older brother joked that we should call him Un-cool Le-Nerd.)  He’s also a homebody, who needed persuasion to go out for brunch. My mom is a born extrovert, strummed folk and rock on her guitar throughout high school, barely eats a meal at home and left college sophomore year to start a family. She’s the life of the party and loves to entertain and shop, two activities her brother eternally avoids.

And yet, having grown up together in a close, loving family, their bond is eternal. How fun to hear them reminisce about their childhood, sharing stories we’d never heard of our beloved grandparents and family members, neighbors, the boarders upstairs, and each other.

Uncle Lenny’s wife, my Aunt Sandra, added color to family lore. It was no secret that my Mommom favored her brilliant son, but we never knew she bragged to his bride that as a baby, his hair was “like spun gold.” I can imagine their expressions during this exchange, Mommom beaming and Aunt Sandra suppressing an eyeroll. Overall, though, my aunt was a huge fan of her mother-in-law, sharing a love of literature, music, and especially fashion. We got to see a gorgeous suit of Mommom’s that Aunt Sandra still wears for special occasions, bearing the original 1950s label naming two legendary fashion icons, “Designed by Irene [Lentz] exclusively for Nan Duskin.”

Mommom’s radiance and exquisite taste were on full display in another hidden treasure we had never before seen: my uncle’s leather-bound, gold-leafed bar mitzvah album, dated December 10, 1955. It was amazing to see this fancy gathering of joyful, beautifully dressed Jews just a decade after the Holocaust, celebrating life as we Jews love to do. We spent over an hour reviewing page after page, my mom’s sometimes blurry memory now crystal clear as she and her brother identified dozens of relatives we never knew we had, or pointed out the only childhood photos we had ever seen of relatives we met in their later years.

The doctor cousin with a brownstone near Central Park started as that goofy boy, our sweet great-uncle had been a cad who had blown an inheritance in Vegas, and the aunties who came to our childhood seders in sensible shoes were decked out in high heels and strapless gowns, laughing in the table pictures, the image of glamour and happiness.

Of course, we had to reminisce about my uncle’s crowning achievement, his winning run as the captain of Temple University’s College Bowl team. I had recently come across an academic article about their win over Yeshiva University, published in the Johns Hopkins journal, American Jewish History. It refers to his team as one of the few historic champions, teams with five consecutive wins. Uncle Lenny could remember many of the specific questions still, especially those where his teammates hit the buzzer and answered incorrectly to questions he knew better. My mom added previously untold tales from her own attendance at the live broadcasts. As the camera panned the audience, my grandmother bounced from her seat, smiling and waving to make sure her brothers in California could see her on TV, despite the producer’s instructions to stay seated. My mom has upheld this family tradition at every graduation since.

I am known to repeat to my kids that their siblings are their greatest gift. No one knows you quite as well, and those formative years together forge a bond that endures any distance and absence. I can imagine no better proof than seeing this brother and sister spend two straight days in rapid fire conversation and nonstop laughter, their childhoods together creating an endless bounty of treasured memories waiting to be revealed.

Laura (Lori) Fein of Teaneck is a litigator at Eckert Seamans LLC. She is the daughter of the greatest mom ever, who she hopes is reading this, and the mom to five daughters who probably never will. Her podcast Mommash: The Oy and Joy of Family is available on all platforms, and she can be reached at mommash.podcast@gmail.com.