She Gave Me a Ball of Dough
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What do you give a woman who has everything?
Perhaps, a ball of dough?
I grudgingly admit that I am a terrible gift receiver! I worked in the “material” world for so long that more “things” just make me anxious, not happy.
Like so many of you in my community, I have never wanted for anything material. This is a blessing that I’m ever grateful for and do not take for granted. I take care of my things and follow Marie Kondo’s practice of appreciating our material belongings, including parting with them with a practice of blessing and gratitude.
Looking at material things with appreciation makes me want less because they don’t lose their value to me as rapidly as outside forces (ie, fashion houses and car manufacturers) would like them to. After all, entire businesses are built on our tendency to appreciate only the newest and the latest.
Well, three decades of breathing that air professionally will cure you of that disease. Or not.
In my case, it’s turned me into an impossible person to gift. The danger of being this way is that, over time, people who know you will stop giving you gifts. But here's where they're wrong.
The truth is, I love gifts as much as anyone else, but I just want them to say something. I want a gift that says you know something about me. A gift that says, you’re willing to take a chance and give me something personal instead of something expensive and branded. It means no scented candles, ever. It means no regifting.
I want gifts that touch my soul and tell me something about how you see me. The best gifts say as much about the giver as about the receiver.
Last week, I had coffee with a friend who was seeking my advice on a deeply personal matter.
The first gift she gave me—one that, by itself, would have been sufficient—was her trust. To trust another person is the rarest and most profound gift we can give. If you are the receiver of such a gift, know that there is very little else that matters as much.
The second gift she gave me was a ball of dough.
But this wasn’t any ball of dough.
Since we were meeting on a Friday, she was sharing the Challah dough she had made by hand that very day. As is the custom for many who take the time to practice this beautiful tradition, she infused the work of her hands with love and blessings from her heart.
Now, it was my turn to take the gift home, let it rise, braid it, add my own blessings, and bake it.
I was oddly intimidated and insecure about doing what seemed like something I should be an expert at by this age. But the truth is, I’ve never baked Challah.
I've never braided anything—not hair, not dough—and I felt the weight of finishing this mission in a way that would honor my friend's exquisite and thoughtful effort.
Well, I figured it out, although I didn’t send her a picture of my finished work because, when I was done “braiding” it, it looked like a roll of sourdough—nothing like the Pinterest-worthy challahs that amazing women around me seem to create effortlessly.
But oh my, the taste of it!
I rarely eat bread, but this Shabbat I ate this precious, delicious challah for dinner and then again for breakfast and lunch the next day. Say what you will, but I’ve never tasted challah so delicious.
Was it her thoughtfulness and care?
Was it that she included me as a partner in forming this gift to its eventual fullness?
Was it that I’d just forgotten how delicious bread tastes?
My friend didn’t give me a ball of dough. She gave me love, blessings, and inspiration to continue the virtuous cycle of meaningful giving that she has opened my mind and heart to.
Who are you giving to, and how are you making it matter?
