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 was young when I realized that I realized many things. Like way more than most people realized. I realized hunches and smiles and ways that people talked and ways that people didn’t talk.

And the shoes they wore, and how they wore them, and when they wore them.

I’d go to the shoe store with some friends and match up each shoe to someone we knew. You know the SAS toggle shoes? Those were my favorite. I would position my feet a bit inward and point to those shoes. It was fun, and most of the time I didn’t even realize what I was doing until it was done.

People like cynics, until they don’t. Teachers, for example. I knew exactly how to pick up on the flaws of every teacher, principal, administrator, and mechaneches. I wasn’t fooled by “fantastic” teachers. I could see their weaknesses as easily as I saw their sheitels, stiff with hairspray, and I could mimic them so well, the entire class was in stitches. I always behaved. I just knew how to get them squirming up there, and they usually didn’t even know why.

I was actually puzzled by the comments on my report cards. It usually included words “hachna’ah” (they wanted more) and “leitzanus” (they wanted less), but I honestly didn’t realize that it was my fault. It was my default setting. The teachers couldn’t explain it to me either. “Just a feeling,” they would say.

And truthfully, while I’m cynical, I’m not judgmental. I believe in tolerance and love all mankind, but I just notice. And from noticing to commenting is a very short ride that crosses the line from muttar — though not so nice — to assur.