We each have our own private quests, those goals we tried — or keep trying — to achieve. As we struggle and strive, the process becomes its own destination

Project Coordinator: Rachel Bachrach | Digital Artwork: Meital Ashkenazi

I’ve been involved in shidduchim since the summer I was 12.

I was in Camp Agudah, and I had an older single cousin whom my Zeidy Katz was determined to marry off. From my perch on a top bunk in Bunk Lamed, I hatched a plan: I’d make a shidduch book and write a bio for each eligible counselor in camp. Like a paparazzi photographer, I tried to sneak pictures of my counselor, Aryeh Gelbard, and the other counselors from the older bunks. They soon caught on and were happy to pose for their shidduch picture. I estimated their heights and sleuthed around to find out where they learned, and I wrote down all the information on the stationery my mother made me pack in the hope that I would write her letters.

Once camp was over, I printed the pictures, carefully selected each eligible bachelor’s best pose, bound the pages into a tightly stapled book, and proudly presented it to Zeidy Katz. He was so impressed, he gave me a crisp $100 bill.

Though none of those counselors married my cousin, I didn’t stop trying. When I was 19, I started my first shidduch list. It had five neatly handwritten columns: Boys Over 30, Boys Under 30 and Learning, Boys Under 30 and in College/Working, Girls Looking for Learning Boys, and Girls Looking for Boys with a Plan. There were 40 names in total, and whenever someone became engaged, it felt great to cross off the name. I myself thought of a bunch of ideas, and I asked my mother or others to redt them, but none ever made it to a first date.