Rina grabs a yogurt, throws in a handful of chocolate chips, and eats in silence. Should I remind her she’s still in slippers? I glance at the clock. Rina’s got time, but I’d better run. I have to stop at the bakery on my way to school.

Before I assigned my last test, I promised my Chumash class a treat if everyone scored over 90. It worked. Now, I walk up to the counter in the bakery and try to catch the cashier’s attention. She doesn’t look up from her phone. All I see is a curtain of bleached blonde hair hanging down. If my life depended on telling you what color her eyes are, I’d be a dead woman.

I let my car keys clatter onto the counter. The cashier’s eyes flicker at me for just a moment before going back to her phone. Brown maybe? Hard to tell through the hair.

I clear my throat. “Good morning. Can I have thirty-six mini black-and-white cookies, please?”

Without standing, she flicks her left arm to the counter behind her to grab a box, then wheels her chair down the length of the display case. I’m surprised how quickly and neatly she lines them up in the box. With a kick of her foot, she’s back by the register, handing me the box.

“Twenty-one dollars,” she says, actually making eye contact.

I smile as I tap my card, but her eyes are already back on her phone. I earn another quick glance as she rips off the receipt and hands it to me, saying, “Have a nice day.”

“You, too.” I wave at the top of her head. As I leave, I’m struck again by the way people ignore me now that I look so nondescript. I was never ignored at the bakery before I lost weight. The cashier would have served me with thinly veiled contempt or saccharine courtesy. It hurts to know that behavior exists, even when it’s not directed at me.

I step into the hall after class is over and find Mrs. Weissfish, the principal of Bnos Basya, waiting for me.

“Mrs. Epstein, can you come with me to my office?”

Strange. But I follow her and take the seat across from her desk as she slides into her chair.

“Raizel, I know it’s a little early for next year, but now is when we start planning the schedule.”

I shift in my seat. I only have ten minutes until my next class, and I want a chance to look over the material. Do we really have to discuss if I’ll start teaching at nine or ten next year? But Mrs. Weissfish takes me by surprise.

“I’d like you to be the ninth-grade mechaneches for the coming school year.”

I’m so stunned that it takes a moment to even understand what I’m being offered. But as soon as I do, I feel myself burning from the inside out.

No, no, no! I want to shout. Not you, too! I have worked in this school for fifteen years! I have been passed up for mechaneches positions that were given to younger, less experienced teachers over and over again. Now that I’ve lost weight, now that I look more socially acceptable, now I’m worthy? Here in the halls of Bnos Basya, that’s the lesson we teach our girls?

Mrs. Weissfish is smiling broadly, as if she’s just informed me I’ve won the lottery, as if she expects me to fall at her feet and thank her.

“Um, I’m going to, have to, um, think about it and get back to you,” I finally choke out, kicking myself for not being brave enough to tell Mrs. Weissfish exactly what I think.

The principal looks shocked. Really? Does she think I have no self-respect? Is it so obvious to her that after passing me up for so many years, she doesn’t get that I’m offended?

She pulls herself together quickly. “I understand,” she says. “It’s a big change, demands a lot more hours, you need time to think about it.” But the look on her face is anything but understanding. “Do you think you can let me know within the next two weeks?”

I give a quick nod and dash into my classroom to grab the last few minutes before the bell to look over my notes. The words swim on the paper. For all the terrible experiences I had when I was overweight, I’ve always considered school a safe place, where it didn’t matter. To think I’ve been wrong all these years is crushing.

Those 15 years of teaching serve me well. I teach on autopilot the rest of the day, barely remembering to bid my students goodbye as I race out the door to escape to home.

Reuven looks utterly confused to find me sitting at the table when he comes home.

“What’s for supper?” he asks.

“Nothing. I don’t know. I’ve been sitting here since I walked in from school. The kids are having a party downstairs. They haven’t done homework and they all took extra snacks.”

“What’s wrong? You’re not feeling well? Should I make eggs? Order burgers?”

Reuven is sweet. He slides into the seat across from me, waiting patiently for my answer.

“Mrs. Weissfish offered me the ninth-grade mechaneches position for next year,” I say flatly.

“That’s amazing! You’ve been wanting that job forever. I’m so happy for you.”

Why are men so clueless? Or is it just Reuven?

Before we’d dated, the shadchan had assured me Reuven wouldn’t care about my weight. “Don’t worry, he won’t look up from his Gemara long enough to see what you look like,” she said. I was so happy someone had agreed to date me that I didn’t even register what a terribly demeaning thing that was for her to say. But boy was she wrong. Reuven made me feel seen in a way I had never been before.

I’ll never forget the date when I first saw it. I was telling about my teaching, and Reuven was just leaning in, listening, so genuinely interested, I totally forgot to feel self-conscious. I got all into it. Reuven later told me that was when he knew wanted to marry me, that I was more full of life than anyone he’d dated.

Reuven has been looked down on for being simple, and it’s true, he doesn’t always realize when other people are deceptive. He’s not stupid or even naive, but straightforward; he doesn’t play games. There’s something innocent about him, and — whether because of that or in spite of that, I’m not sure — he’s a gift of a husband. I’ve never doubted my decision to marry him.

I have no strength to explain myself, but that’s not fair to Reuven. It’s not his fault he’s clueless, any more than it was my fault I was overweight. He notices I’m not mirroring his enthusiasm and waits patiently for me to fill him in. Even after I explain, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t really get what the big deal is.

Reuven sends me to call Bluma as he starts making cheese toasts for supper. Bless him. I feel slightly guilty as I grab my phone and run to my bedroom.

Bluma Feld is my absolute best friend. She also happens to suffer from extreme obesity, so she gets me. Is that how our friendship began? We were the two biggest girls in our school, so we found each other, even though I was two grades above Bluma? It must be, even though we were both too young at the time to realize it. (She tried goat’s milk as soon as I realized what was happening to me, but it didn’t work for her. I feel guilty, like I’ve left Bluma behind. But she’s a loyal friend and if it bothers her, I can’t tell at all.)

“Nooo way!” Bluma says the moment I tell her of the new job offer. “What nerve! Did she really think you’d be fawning all over her, like, ‘Oh, thank you so much, Madam Principal for deciding I’m finally worthy of influencing the young minds of Bnos Basya?’ ”

I start taking everything off the top of my dresser and look for something to dust with. I clean compulsively when I’m upset.

“Right?” I say, immensely gratified by Bluma’s indignation. “I can’t imagine what she was thinking. She was glowing. As if I would agree with her, that I’ve finally lost enough weight to be a mechaneches.”

There’s a moment of silence on the line, as if we we’re both mourning the illusion we’d had. We’d thought some people were above society’s petty labels. We were wrong.

Finally, Bluma speaks. “So what are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure. Reuven thinks turning down the job is cutting off my nose to spite my face. I’d be sacrificing something I’ve been wanting for a long time, not to mention a not-insignificant pay raise we could really use, and for what? To teach someone a lesson they probably won’t even learn. It’s not like Mrs. Weissfish is going to be devastated if I turn down the job. She’ll offer it to another teacher.”

“True,” Bluma says.

“On the other hand, I just can’t bring myself to do it. I think of how Mrs. Weissfish was glowing, and I feel so betrayed. Fifteen years of showing up, doing my best, putting my heart and soul into my classes. And none of that mattered to her. Being skinny matters. Maybe they should hand out GLP-1 shots in the lunchroom.”

Bluma is quiet, but I can practically see the sympathy on her face. She knows exactly what it feels like to be judged by your size.

“That’s not even the worst of it.” I place the last knickknack back on my dresser and look around for something else to clean. I open my closet and dump all my sweaters on my bed to refold. “The worst is what you’re teaching the kids. You think they don’t see? You think they don’t notice? Of course they see. And they learn that it’s fine if subject teachers are overweight, but you can’t have a fat mechaneches. Oh no, fat people can’t go too far. What do they have to offer society other than a lesson in gluttony and sloth?”

Bluma sighs. A long, heavy sigh. I know this is upsetting her as much as it upsets me. “Maybe it’s just as well,” she says. “In just a few short years these girls will be in shidduchim. They’ll be judged by their size more than anything else. At least if high school has taught them that being the right size is what matters most, it won’t be such a shock.”

And I’d thought talking to Bluma would make me feel better.

“Now you’re making me think I should accept the job. Yes, I will be the mechaneches who was hired for losing weight, but I can influence. I won’t treat the heavy girls differently. Already I don’t keep my eyes on them while they fill their plate at a chagigah, or pause before giving them a cookie, hoping they’ll show the willpower to tell me no thank you, even though every other girl in the class is happily chewing away and asking for more. I won’t give her a look that says — See? You’re fat because you ate the cookie, even though every other girl — including the skinniest ones — is eating the exact same cookie and isn’t fat.

“But as a mechaneches, I can help them see their kochos, show them what they can accomplish. Open their eyes to a world that is so much bigger than what you think when you start ninth grade.”

“Hmmm,” is all Bluma says. And then, “Raizy, I don’t know what to tell you, but I’m sure you’ll make the right decision. Whatever you decide.”

I hang up, unsatisfied. Reuven pops his head in, takes one look at me, and I hear him ask Rina to get the kids in bed so he can go to Maariv. I plop on my bed, spread out a towel, and dump out my schoolbag. I decide to call my next-door neighbor, Suri. Since we moved in I’ve always found her a good person to talk to (even if she’s been naturally skinny her whole life).

“How can you be sure you’re being offered the job just because you lost weight? There could be a million other reasons,” Suri says, and I immediately regret calling her. Maybe it’s not only Reuven who’s clueless. That Suri can’t see the obvious makes me want to just hang up, but I’m frustrated enough to set her straight.

“Listen, I’ve been working there for fifteen years. I see how things go. When a mechaneches job opens up, it goes to the teacher who’s been there the longest. Except for me. Somehow every time we added a class or another teacher left, I was skipped over. Every time.”

“Raizy, I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I know you’re a fantastic teacher, but maybe they were just better teachers than you, and this time, you were the best teacher they had?”

“Just coincidentally, for fifteen years, when I was huge, every single teacher was better? And just coincidentally, when I lost enough weight to blend in with a crowd, suddenly I’m the best for the job?” I practically hiss.

“You talk as if all there is to know about you is your size. If someone had asked me to describe the new neighbor when you moved in, I would’ve said how smart you are, that I’ve never met a woman who knew so much of Tanach by heart. You know the whole Tanach by heart — don’t you?” she interrupts herself.

“Of course I don’t. I just know the parts I teach. But—”

“Maybe you’re too smart? Maybe that’s what took so long to get the job? Is it possible you had to learn not to teach above the girls’ heads?” she interrupts me.

“Of course I don’t teach above their heads!” I snap back, insulted. “You don’t teach, so I can forgive you for saying that, but anyone who teaches can tell you, you can see on the girls’ faces when you lose them. I’d know right away if I were teaching above their heads.

“There is nothing other than my size that could’ve inspired this job offer.”

“I don’t know,” Suri says. “I don’t think people are as aware of your weight as you think. You felt bad about yourself, so it made you self-conscious. Everyone you’re worried about looking down on you is too busy worrying what everyone is thinking about them to notice you. I hope you believe me when I tell you I never gave it any thought.”

I thank her and end the conversation. If only Suri was right. I wish I was just blowing this out of proportion.

“Heeey, was Nyla here today?” Rina says, looking around appreciatively when she comes home from school Tuesday afternoon.

“No. Nyla comes on Sunday and Thursday, you know that. Today’s Tuesday, I only teach in the morning. Why would I need a cleaning woman when I’m home all afternoon?”

Rina narrows her eyes at me before prancing off to the kitchen for a snack. She’s turning into a teenager before her time. But I can’t blame her for her skepticism. I never spend my Tuesdays cleaning. So I may have spent more time on that today than usual, but I’ve at least put on a show of functionality, unlike yesterday. The kids who have homework are sitting at the table, and there’s a pan of chicken and rice in the oven. I’m cutting a salad when Reuven gets home.

“Are you mad at me?” Reuven asks.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“You sure you’re not mad at me?”

When I nod emphatically, he says, “Okay. It’s just that usually when you clean the whole house like this, you’re mad at me.”

“Oh, it’s not you. It’s Mrs. Weissfish,” I’m quick to explain.

Reuven just nods. I hate conversations that go in circles. I don’t have any more clarity today than yesterday, so I ask Reuven about his day and resolve not to think about my decision until I have more insight. My resolve lasts one more day.

Bluma and I go to the Neshei shiur Wednesday nights. Maybe if I weren’t such good friends with her, I could forget what it was like to be so big. As Bluma makes herself a plate at the refreshments table, an immaculately dressed woman looks her up and down, then narrows her eyes. Bluma waves at her. I laugh out loud.

“Bluma! You’re the best. I never would’ve had the guts to do that.”

But then I remember how painful it was to be stared at and turn serious. “I’m sorry this happens to you. It’s not fair.”

But Bluma swats at the air. “Whatever. At least you’re thinner now. When it was the two of us, we were more of a spectacle. I’m happy for you.” Bluma shrugs. “The world judges you for being fat, that’s just reality.”

It doesn’t make me feel better. “I couldn’t step into a doctor’s office for so much as an ingrown toenail without being told what a health risk my weight was,” I recall. “Everyone ‘knows’ you only get to be that big because you keep stuffing your face, have no self-control, and your only exercise is lifting your hand to take another bite.”

Bluma nods. “But the joke’s on them. Because you weren’t stuffing your face then, and you’re not starving yourself now, yet you’ve been welcomed by humanity. You know — at least they developed nicer labels today. Class 4, Class 5. It doesn’t even sound like anything bad.”

Bluma seems so genuine, I find it hard to accept. If the situation were reversed, I can’t imagine being that generous with her. “Bluma, do you have a jealous bone in your body?”

She gestures toward herself. “Where do you see bones anywhere in this body?”

Bluma laughs, but I cringe. I can’t stop people from being nicer to me than they are to Bluma. But I can take note of it. I can take note of it and know it’s wrong. And I can hate it that people treat me nicer than they used to just because I’m not fat anymore.

My only question is if that’s something I can influence in the classroom or not.

I must be a glutton for punishment — glutton, hah, no pun intended — because I call Suri again after Shabbos. I can’t help it. I need to talk on the phone while I clean up the kitchen. I tell her about going to the shiur with Bluma and try to explain the way people look at her.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” she says. “I’m just wondering if maybe you felt more self-conscious so you assumed people were looking more often than they really were. When you’re with Bluma you expect it, so you see it. I also sometimes notice people staring at me.”

I roll my eyes. Suri is so perfect looking, she does tend to turn heads. Should I tell her that?

“Suri, it’s not just people staring. Sometimes they actually say something. Once I was buying slippers and I heard someone behind me say under their breath, ‘That lady needs to get herself some sneakers, instead of lounging in her slippers on the couch all day.’ ”

I hear the satisfying sound of Suri gasping. I’d called her to help me with this decision for a reason. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. But what can I expect from someone who’s never known what it is to be anything but skinny?

“Just step back and pay attention,” I continue. “Next time you see someone the size I once was, watch the way people treat them. Ever since I was a little girl, people have looked down on me for being fat. If I ran and danced and climbed, acted like a regular kid in any way, somehow I was so good. Even though no one even noticed other kids running around like kids. Or maybe even yelled at them for being wild. And if I ate vegetables and salads everyone was proud of me. But I couldn’t put a thing in my mouth that wasn’t a carrot stick without getting a look. When things happen often enough, you know it’s not just your own insecurity.”

She makes a noise that I recognize as skepticism — Does she really not see it? — and I move on to other topics.

But then she calls back on Tuesday evening as I am marking papers.

“Raizy,” she says, getting right into it. “Please listen to me. I went grocery shopping earlier today. I saw a woman who seemed to be doing her regular weekly shopping, very similar size to what you used to be, leaning pretty heavily on the cart. I really watched other people as she passed them. No one stared. No one turned their head. I’m telling you. No one cares.”

Part of me wants to believe Suri. But I find it hard to take her words at face value.

“Suri, of course I wasn’t stared at by every single person. It’s not like I walked down the street turning heads all the time. But there are people who stare. Who judge. Just based on appearance.”

“Of course. I just think you’re probably assuming it’s more common than it really is. Look, I didn’t tell you this — after our last conversation, I got curious and looked some stuff up online. You’re not crazy — there is a lot of discrimination of overweight people. But I don’t think your perception matches the facts on the ground. There could be a million reasons you were offered this job now. It’s really hard to believe it has anything to do with your weight. It would be a shame to pass up this job for something you’re imagining. If anyone can teach these girls that who they are as a person matters, it’s you.”

It’s nice that Suri thinks so. Is there any way she could be right?

Only one way to find out. Even if it ruins my chances for mechaneches, I need to talk to Mrs. Weissfish.

First thing Thursday morning I march into her office. I don’t mince words; after the usual niceties I jump right in.

“Mrs. Weissfish, I have taught Chumash in Bnos Basya for fifteen years.”

Mrs. Weissfish is giving me a big smile and nodding.

“And even though I have always invested all of myself to give over the best lessons I could and do the maximum for my students, only now am I being offered the mechaneches job.”

The smile is slipping off Mrs. Weissfish’s face. She’s stopped nodding.

“I was a star teacher for over a decade, when I was overweight. Suddenly, I lose weight and I’m offered a promotion? Ninth graders are very image conscious,” I continue. “It’s wrong to feed into society’s unhealthy messages by showing them you can only be a mechaneches if you’re skinny.”

A little crease has formed in Mrs. Weissfish’s forehead, as if I’m speaking a language she’s not totally fluent in.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Raizel. This has nothing to do with your weight. You’ve been a star teacher for so long, but recently we’ve felt that you’ve been even more exemplary. Maybe something else has changed about your teaching?”

She sounds so sincere, I’m caught off guard for just a moment. But the facts are too blatant to ignore, and I tamp down the returning anger to sound respectful.

“Something else has changed about my teaching? After years of being a great teacher I lose weight and coincidentally my teaching is so much better?”

Mrs. Weissfish’s face changes all at once, and I see that what I’m saying has clicked. She opens her mouth, just barely. But enough that I could tell she was about to say something and stopped herself. She gives me a gentle smile.

“Raizel, you’ve always been a wonderful teacher, an asset to this school. And of course I would never dream of promoting any teacher based on appearance. But is it possible that losing weight has given you more confidence or more energy?”

If Mrs. Weissfish was asking about going to the bakery, or shoe shopping, I could answer yes to all those things. But in the classroom? I’ve always put in every ounce of myself.

“No. I don’t think I’ve changed in the classroom. I have always, always delivered one thousand percent. The classroom is where I come alive. The material speaks to me, and that comes across in my lessons. And now, instead of Hashem’s Torah, you want to teach those girls that weight matters.”

Mrs. Weissfish looks down at her desk. Good. I’m glad my little speech has left her feeling contrite.

“It has nothing to do with your weight,” she says quietly. “Not for me. But I always stop students in the hallway or invite them to come into my office. I ask them about their classes, which teachers speak to them, who they’d be comfortable opening to. The girls have always said wonderful things about your classes, but in the past year, something changed. They view you as more of a personal role model. I’ve heard so many girls start raving about you, I assumed you’d changed something in the way you were teaching that contributed to your soaring popularity.”

My students started raving about me… my soaring popularity…. I shake my head.

“No, I haven’t changed anything in the way I teach.” I say, slipping out of Mrs. Weissfish’s office and walking to class.

I wait at the door until they’re all standing respectfully, the way I do before every class. Then I move to the front of the room and look at my students. I was worried Mrs. Weissfish was teaching them that weight matters. Turns out they’d already learned.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 984)