I must confess that I am a hoarder. I strongly believe in keeping things "in case I need them in the future." I'm not a messy hoarder, and I usually know where to find what I have carefully put away, but I am always reluctant to let go of anything that is in good condition even if it has no immediate use.

It is the year of the corona. I have plenty of time to ponder on the vexing question: "What is the difference between being a hoarder, a careful housewife or a respectable collector?" All three hang on to objects that are not really necessary.

We haven't moved for decades so I have never had to ask myself "Do I really need this, when am I going to use it again?"

In the living room I am a collector. I have antique Judaica, miniature porcelain cups and silver candle sticks. In the kitchen I am the frugal housewife. I re-use plastic bags and make soups out of the sad vegetables I find in the fridge. As we get closer to the bedrooms my careful economy turns to hoarding. Toys that the third generation can play with, children's books whose illustrations are slightly old fashioned, board games that look as though they have come out of a toy museum. Then there are papers, documents and files stacked on shelves reaching up to the ceiling. "When do you ever open these?" my kids ask in exasperation.

Kosher for Pesach

Corona times. Everyone is stressed about Pesach shopping. How will they buy all the necessities? Not only matzos, eggs and meat but other basics like pepper, salt, sugar, toothpaste and soap. We forget some of these items till we actually start cooking. Being a natural hoarder I have not only put away the basics but also have kosher for Pesach mouth wash and even lipstick. The disposable plates and matching napkins have sat quietly in the cupboard waiting to be used again this year. This may sound like being a good Balaboster but considering that I haven't made Pesach the last seven years, it is true hoarding. Last year my husband urged me to "throw away all that junk, we're not going to make seders at home any more." In this year of the corona when we had to make Pesach just for the two of us I was lucky I hadn't taken his advice.

The joy of giving

I don't always listen to my instincts but allow myself to be convinced by my children's "chuck it out" philosophy.

After 30 years of hard work my kitchen finally protested. The drawers wouldn't slide, the cupboard doors wouldn't close. We had to renovate. "Mum, this is the opportunity of giving away things you don't use." So the odd saucers that had no cups, the faded plates that had seen better days all ended up in the bins together with the discarded wooden cupboards.

I took out a 12-person coffee set. It was in perfect condition, no cracks, no chips. The sugar bowl and the milk jug, as well as the cake plates were all there. I tried to remember when I had last used it. True, the brown and green design perfectly matched a tablecloth I sometimes used. I looked at the set. No sentimental feelings sprang up. I sighed. It took up a lot of cupboard space. I asked around, none of my friends showed any interest. I carefully packed up the box and left it opened near the entrance to the house. I wrote a sign "Kosher Halvi," leaving it on the plates. It was gone within an hour.

When hoarding is a virtue

A few weeks ago, listening to a radio program on Israeli ceramics and stoneware, I heard the interviewee say "Lapid ceramics have become a big collector's item." I missed out on that one. I could so easily have been considered a connoisseur collector instead of a simple hoarder.

Some time ago I was made aware of the fact that I could apply for a small pension. It was a very late gesture connected to reparations from the Holocaust.

I go to the office and ask about the details. I am given a list of all the documents I would need to put in an application. The items are rather bizarre - my mother's birth certificate, my own birth certificate, proof of my parents' wedding (70 years later), but the most preposterous request is a copy of the exam marks I received in the eighth grade. Who on earth keeps a school report card for 60 years! Being a careful hoarder I know exactly where to find mine. The school I attended issued each Junior High pupil with a report book. Starting from the seventh grade the marks were carefully entered at the end of each term. All your successes and failures were there for eternity. For some inexplicable reason I still have mine.

From these, almost impossible conditions, it was apparent that the government in question was hoping there would be very few applicants that would be eligible.

It took some time but I did eventually get a small, monthly, thousand-shekel pension. After I had signed all the relevant papers I asked, out of curiosity, how many people had received this pension. "Only 41 people, worldwide managed to bring all the necessary documents," the lawyer answered. I must admit secretly, that I felt a bit smug.

Clothing

The given wisdom is to throw out clothes that have not been worn for two years. That rule may work in Europe or the U.S. but isn't applicable in Israel. Some winters are so mild that a heavy winter coat is an unnecessary burden, but some years it is so cold that I am happy to take out my pure wool Australian sweaters that I have carefully stored for more years than I will admit to in public. No, I don't automatically throw out winter clothes after two years. For special occasions I buy expensive classics. For my son's winter wedding I wore a black, hand-embroidered brocade coat. For HIS son's bar mitzah, 14 years later, I wore the same coat and received countless OOs and AHs, on how elegant it was.

Change of seasons is always a perplexing time for me. Putting away my summer clothes and bringing down the winter wardrobe makes me rethink the items of clothing that I have. Can I wear this T-shirt another season or is it so faded that it has to go?

Timing is everything

January 2020. As I was going through the annual ritual of changing seasonal clothes, I came across a package of face masks. They have been stored among my winter clothes for about 12 years. When I used to visit my mother in Australia I noticed that people in Asia wore masks (even prior to corona) when travelling. Maybe they know something I don't, I thought to myself and bought a pack to put in my handbag. I never actually wore one but nevertheless kept it in my travelling bag. My mother passed away 10 years ago. "I won't be travelling to Australia again. What do I need this for? Stop hoarding, Let go." I admonished myself and without a second thought dumped the packet of face masks into the bin.

To quote Kohelet* "There is a time to keep and a time to throw out." Unfortunately I haven't yet learnt the difference.

*Kohelte 3:6

Tova Teitelbaum is a child Holocaust survivor who grew up in Australia but has been living in Israel for many years She is the author of a number of articles and short stories on Jewish themes. She is also the author of professional articles on teaching children with dyslexia.