Recently, I traveled for a family event; a young cousin’s Bar Mitzvah.

I don’t have a very close relationship with the Bar Mitzvah boy (haven’t seen him for years), but I have a very special fondness for his grandmother. Eight years ago, when I was trying to start a new life in a new town, Judy became my family.

Ten years younger than my mother, she welcomed me to her home for frequent meals. She was also a wealth of information on local doings. She was ready to offer advice on where I could take a Qigong class or where I could buy myself a nice arrangement of flowers when my mood needed elevating.

More importantly, she created a safe space for talking about difficult things.

We shared thoughts about writing and feelings about establishing roots and a sense of place in a new setting. A poet and scholar in her own right, she came to live in a Midwestern college town because of her husband’s teaching career.

She always displayed a great respect for tradition and a strong curiosity. She was a great storyteller and introduced me to many factoids about my mother’s family that I didn’t hear before. She also knew a lot about emerging writers and trends in art and music.

As I was preparing for my trip, I went through mental checklist of what I wanted to pack and bring with me.

Toothbrush –- check. Bar Mitzvah card – check. Cellphone charger – check. Pantyhose — check… (I wear stockings so seldom, I had to buy a pair for the occasion.)

…And while I was packing, the thought crossed my mind that I should comb my guest room closet for a piece of artwork I was storing there.

I dated an artist almost fifteen years ago. I lived with him for a few passionate but uncomfortably chaotic months. Before settling in Chicago, he defected from Romania and made his way west through Yugoslavia and Italy.

Somewhere in Europe during this time, he acquired a few pieces of artwork that were easy to roll up into tubes and travel with. One piece was an engraving on silk depicting a rabbi engrossed in his morning prayers, Das Morgengebet II.

He recognized the quality of workmanship in Siegfried Laboschin’s piece and, I think, had a romantic feeling for the subject. Though not Jewish himself, he thought of the Jewish families he grew up with as the intelligentsia of his country, a group, perhaps, he liked to consider himself belonging to.

Weeks after we split up (Befitting our relationship, getting him to clear out of my apartment was not a quiet affair), he wanted to gift me this engraving. Maybe he wanted to feel magnanimous after he caused so much turmoil. Or, maybe he thought it represented something positive for me to remember him by.

I liked the print and accepted the gift, but, because of my associations with the control and craziness he brought into my life, I couldn’t bring myself to hang it on my wall.

It sat in my closet for years, in a pillowcase, an old wooden frame barely holding the matted fabric engraving in place. From time to time, I wondered whether it was “worth” something – as in monetary worth. But I didn’t change my attitude about not wanting to display it in my home.

A year or so ago, I decided to re-frame it, as a good first step to pass it on to someone who would likely appreciate it. It remained in my closet, but now it was wrapped in bubble wrap, under museum quality glass with new sable brown frame.

As I was packing for Benji’s Bar Mitzvah, the thought just came into my head that I should give the piece to Judy. She was much more identified with the Jewish faith and was actually quite a scholar of Hebrew.

I printed a paragraph about the artist for her, a Polish Jew born in 1868 and trained in Germany. I gave her Das Morgengebet II when I shared Sabbath dinner with her and a handful of other family members from out of town the evening before the main event.

I wanted to believe she would find a place for it in her home and ENJOY it, but I decided that even if she didn’t hang it in her own hallway, she would act as a link in the chain -– getting the engraving to someone who would want to hang it and think of it as theirs.

I thought of the saying, It’s better to give than to receive. What makes this true, or at least feel true, most of the time?

I give away clothes periodically, but that’s largely about my own need to free up space. I don’t think of this process as gifting.

I give some money each year to causes I support. I think of this as more than a tax deduction but not up to the level of gifting.

There’s a special kind of satisfaction in giving something to someone who NEEDS that thing. That’s close to why it’s better to give (than receive), but there’s more to it.

The joy is not about having a surplus of what you’re giving away, or not needing something. The emphasis has to be on the GIVING and not on the AWAY part.

It’s better to give when you’re maximizing the energy of appreciation. It’s a joy to give something to someone who is genuinely grateful to have that thing in his or her life. Whether a gift is simply money given without strings, or something picked out especially for a person based on their preferences and values, it feels great to be the GIVER.

Giving with the intention of bringing something to someone who naturally appreciates the gift is no small thing.