What Does Inclusion Mean to You?

I frequently have opportunities to engage in a conversations about inclusion with my colleagues. Sometimes these conversations are Jewish, sometimes they aren't. Either way, the driving force behind such discussions is one of increasing the ways that individuals with disabilities are included in our schools and communities.

Often, inclusion can become controversial, and it typically stirs up a lot of emotion. It's not the existence or lack of inclusion that gets people fired up, per se. Rather, it's how inclusion itself is defined that causes debate and often, disagreement. That's good; where there is passion there can be change.

So, when asked how I define inclusion, I explain that to me, inclusion is opening the doors that would have otherwise remained closed. I realize that my practice of inclusion is not always about “Inclusion”, the noun with a capital “I”. Rather, my vision is one in which I consistently strive to create inclusive experiences, especially within the Jewish world. I am, quite frankly, less concerned about holding myself, my school or my community to a hard and fast definition of “Inclusion”. Rather, I work to stay true to the belief that everyone is entitled to a Jewish education and that each experience increases the potential of living a meaningful Jewish life.

In a Jewish supplemental school I believe that inclusion should mean offering a wide array of options to meet the needs of every student. Which is exactly what should exist for very student, disabilities or not. Rather than being exclusive, such options can open the doors that might have otherwise remained closed. Too many synagogue schools continue to try to find ways to "fit" students with disabilities into their "typical" school models, often frustrating teachers and alienating students, and in some cases pushing families away.  

“Every member of the people of Israel is obligated to study Torah – whether one is rich or poor, physically able or with physical disability.” (Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, chapter 10).    
Inclusion must offer every child the chance to learn and experience the rich beauty of their heritage in a way that ensures success.    

What does inclusion mean to you?

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A Different Look at Noah's Ark

The following is an excerpt from a stunning sermon written by my friend and colleague, Rabbi Rachel Ackerman, Associate Rabbi and Director of Education at Temple Shalom in Chevy Chase, Maryland. Although written for the Torah portion Noach, I am proud to share it here in honor of Jewish Disability Awareness Month, as its message of inclusion is timeless. Rachel is willing to share the full sermon with anyone interested.

I offer this sermon to you as a teaching – as a conversation – as an opportunity for us to reflect.

It’s a different look at the classic tale of Noah and the ark.

There are a lot of questions we can ask about the animals on Noah’s ark.

How many types of animals were there? How did they all fit? Did they come on by twosies-twosies or by sevens? What did they all eat? How did they all get along?

One question most of us have never asked is, “How did the animals physically get onto the ark?”

Perhaps we don’t ask this question because the answer is obvious. There must have been a ramp.

In nearly every picture of Noah’s ark, every Noah’s ark children’s toy and every image of the ark engrained in our minds, there is a ramp. But, the text never tells us there was a ramp, and the commentaries I’ve sifted through don’t mention anything about it. All we know is that the animals came through an opening and got onto the ark.

Yet, it’s obvious. Without a ramp, it would be challenging for the animals to get on the ark. For some, stairs would be quite difficult, and for those without opposable thumbs, the rope ladder I saw in one picture seemed like a fairly ridiculous option.

The animals needed a ramp to enter the ark.

And many people need ramps to enter our synagogues and other Jewish communal institutions. It’s obvious.

We’d like to imagine that all of our institutions are completely accessible, but we know this isn’t the case. As Rabbi Avi Weiss of the Hebrew Institute of Riverdale wrote, “A photograph in my office says it all. It is of a man sitting in his wheelchair at the bottom of a flight of steps, leading up to the entrance of the synagogue. Over its door, is emblazoned the sentence [from Psalms], “Open the gates of righteousness for me, I will enter through them.” The man sits with his back to the doors, unable to enter. As a Jewish community we have failed him…”

When we don’t have ramps, we fail members of our community. The ark needed a ramp. Every Jewish institution needs a ramp. People need ramps to get onto the bimah. They need lifts to get into a mikveh and elevators to access the floor where they have a meeting or class.

And, over the years, we have become better about installing physical ramps.

Stairs, however, are not the only stumbling blocks.

There are Jews with physical, developmental, and learning disabilities; Jews with hearing, speech, language, health, and visual impairments; there are Jews with traumatic brain injuries.

Thinking about the variety of opportunities that our synagogues and other institutions provide: worship, camping, religious school, how many people still sit with their backs to our doors, unable to enter?

As a Jewish community, how many Jews are we failing?

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As Jews, particularly Reform Jews, we sometimes look out the windows more often than we illuminate what’s going on inside our institutions.

We look out windows, see injustice, and we leave the walls of the synagogue to engage in tikkun olam.

We look out the windows to people we don’t know, people who will never walk through the walls of our institutions, and we are, rightfully, called to action…But, we also need to shine the light inward to see the people inside our institutions. We need to see the absence of those individuals too afraid to come inside and unable to access Jewish life.

If we shine the light inward we will see the man who stopped coming to services because he was shushed for his uncontrollable ticks.

If we shine the light inward we will see the camper with Asperger’s Syndrome who was spit on by the other kids in the cabin when her counselors left the room.

If we shine the light inward we will see a rabbinical student with a learning disability who, listening to the advice of rabbis on the field based on their personal experiences, did not document this disability on her rabbinical school application. And if we continue to shine the light inward we will see her advising other prospective rabbinical students to do the same.

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How long will it be before we build ramps, physical and metaphorical, that allow every person, regardless of ability, to access Judaism?

How long will it be before we shine the light inward so that 100% of our community can look out the window together and engage in tikkun olam?

It is our responsibility to teach everyone according to his or her needs.

It is our responsibility to remove stumbling blocks.

It is our responsibility to make sure that OUR houses of prayer ARE houses of prayer for ALL people.

We need to acknowledge our fear and discomfort, and then allow ourselves to become vulnerable to what we feel ill-equipped to handle; we need to be vulnerable and admit the failures of our community so that we can become more accessible. 

If we shine the light and face what we fear, we can begin to engage in the work of repair. Then, when we shine the light, we have the potential to see:

Camp counselors and teachers who are trained to work with children and adults with Asperger’s Syndrome.

Rabbis, cantors, and lay leaders who employ modalities of service leading and Torah study that are accessible to those with learning disabilities.

A teenager with Autism who leads his congregation in acts of social justice.

Children and adults who have learned that the values of compassion, relationship, and friendship far outweigh the initial discomfort experienced in getting accustomed to symptoms of disabilities.

We need to shine the light inward. 

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How Will You Move Inclusion Forward?

We have reached the end of another Jewish Disability Awareness and Inclusion Month. 

I always find myself thinking that true inclusion is the work of every day, not the work of one month. Opening the doors to ALL is not something we do once in a while. It must be the very fabric of who we are every day.

The Power of Yet to Advance Inclusion

If you have done any reading or learning in the area of mindset, you know that the word “yet” can be a powerful game changer. It can help move from a fixed mindset to a growth mindset. 

Here is the concept:

Help students change from saying and thinking “I can’t” to believing “I can’t yet.”

Shift them from “I don’t get it” to “I don’t get it yet.”

Push them from “I don’t know” to “I don’t know yet.”

And encourage them to abandon “This doesn’t work” for “This doesn’t work yet.”

Yes is Powerful

We love blog posts that boast how you can “Change Your Life in 5 Easy Steps” or ones that offer us “10 Steps for Finding Happiness”. And as a blogger, I have written a handful of articles offering concrete, practical advice such as Ten Inclusion Mistakes Even Good Educators Make.

Have We Come Far Enough?

In May of 2014, along with colleague Meredith Polsky, I offered the opening keynote at the Hebrew College GISHA Conference in Boston. I was so pleased to have the opportunity to teach among so many respected colleagues.

In finalizing my thoughts and remarks, I chose to reread the very first speech I gave in Jewish special education. (In 2007 Rabbi Lynne Landsberg, the Senior Adviser on Disabilities for the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism, invited me to speak with her at a session for clergy and educators in what was then the New Jersey West Hudson Valley Council.)

As I read, I was instantly and significantly struck by the way my own words still resonate. Quite honestly, with a few tweaks, I could give this same speech today. 

I’m not sure how I feel about that. 

I know that we have come a long way in advancing inclusion in the Jewish world, but have we come far enough? My words from more than seven years ago have left me wondering if I should feel proud that so much of my work has been well ahead of the curve, or disheartened that these are words that must still be said today. Maybe it’s a little of both…

Either way, I thought you might like to read some of the most salient parts of those remarks from 2007:

“The focus of my time with you will be to discuss providing a Jewish education for individuals with disabilities and how we can meet the needs of every student in our religious schools. There are many teachings that show us how Judaism values education and the inclusion of people with disabilities…However my favorite example is Moses, who says, “Please, Adonai…I am slow of speech and slow of tongue.” Here we see our people’s great prophet and teacher trying to convince God that he is not the right choice to lead the Jewish people to freedom because of his self-proclaimed disability. God disagrees with Moses and will not let him off the hook. Instead, he provides Moses with an assistant, an aide, in Aaron to help him through the mission. God’s decision reminds us that we all have challenges to overcome and that it’s ok to have help in reaching our goals.”

“The experience of receiving a Jewish education is not just about making it to bar or bat mitzvah as an end point. Just the opposite. We believe strongly in the vision of creating lifelong learners. We want our children to grow up to be productive members of society, committed Jews and strong assets in our Jewish communities. I can tell you, with the utmost certainty, that if our special needs programs at did not exist, these students and others each year would not have received a Jewish education, would not have become bar or bat mitzvah, and certainly would not have continued through to Confirmation.”

“This is a process. There is more to inclusion than just creating the right programs. Don’t get me wrong. Creating appropriate programs is valuable and necessary. But it is equally as important to change the climate of a congregation. Do not stop with the school. Once these families come through your doors, help them to feel welcome at services and at temple programs. Find meaningful ways to involve everyone in your community.”

“A child must not be penalized as a Jew simply because of a different pattern of learning and functioning. A child may have a learning disability, but we must not disable that student as a Jew as well.” ~ excerpt from A Question in Search of an Answer.

So, have we come far enough?

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Search: So I Went to Google...

The word search immediately makes me think Google. I am sure I am not the only one. I know that it’s Elul and this prompt is intended to inspire reflection and introspection, but I can’t quite seem to get my brain past the notion of an online search for ideas and images.

Maybe one reason for this is that I have finished reading the book “It’s Complicated: the social lives of networked teens” by Danah Boyd. To be honest, I have done little more than think about this book’s impact since setting it down. Yes, it really was that significant.

So I went to Google. I figured that if I was going to write a post about using Google to search, I should go ahead and do it myself.  I googled (yes, it is a verb) “inclusion” and the first hits were, as I expected, mostly education focused. And yet, I realized that from the moment I pressed “enter” I was thinking more critically about what I might encounter online. I recognized that this search was tailored to my own biases based on my own past search history. Boyd elaborates on this in chapter 7 where she explains that, “most parents, teachers, and teens express reverence toward Google” and “many of the people I met believed that Google was neutral.” She further explains that most of the people she encountered failed to recognize that Google, a for-profit company monetized through advertising, is far from neutral.

This isn’t a bad thing, and it doesn’t mean that we should stop using the search engine. Rather, it illustrates that we have an obligation to teach our students and our children how to view and think critically about the information they access online.

That message is one of this book’s most significant takeaways. As Boyd states in her closing chapter, “Networked publics are here to stay. Rather than resisting technology or fearing what might happen if youth embrace social media, adults should help youth develop the skills and perspective to productively navigate the complication brought about by living in networked publics. Collaboratively, adults and youth can help to create a networked world that we all want to live in.”

As a Jewish Educator this speaks to me of tikkun olam; working as partners to repair and perfect the world.

As a teacher this speaks to me of directly teaching the skills of critical thinking and digital awareness.

As an advocate for inclusion this speaks to me of opening new doors and embracing new possibilities.

It’s Elul, so I am still processing, still reflecting, still searching for the ways that this book can and will impact my work and my students. I believe that this book is an important read for anyone who works with, lives with or cares about teens.

And if anyone has read “It’s Complicated: the social lives of networked teens” and wants to discuss, please let me know! 

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This post is a part of the month-long series #BlogElul. The Jewish month of Elul, which precedes the High Holy Days, is traditionally a time of renewal and reflection. We look to begin the year with a clean slate, starting anew, refreshed. All month, along with others, I'll be blogging a thought or two for each day to help with the month of preparation... 

 

A Word of Caution Before Jewish Disability Awareness, Acceptance, and Inclusion Month

Here we are again. We are about to embark on the beginning of yet another Jewish Disability Awareness, Acceptance, and Inclusion Month; affectionately known by those who love acronyms as JDAIM. There’s a buzz in the Jewish Disability World. Can you feel it? 

JDAIM is an important opportunity to raise awareness while highlighting the many great resources and opportunities that already exist within our communities. I always hope that it will lead to the opening of new doors that were once closed.

A Word of Caution as Jewish Disability Awareness, Acceptance, and Inclusion Month Ends

Whew. We made it. Another Jewish Disability Awareness, Acceptance, and Inclusion Month in the books. Quite a few people have heard me refer to February as tax season for those of us in the Jewish disability inclusion world. I am not even a little bit sad to see the month come to an end.

It is certainly a wonderful opportunity to raise awareness while highlighting great resources and the opportunities that already exist within our communities. I hope it has and will lead to the opening of new doors that were once closed.

But I want to make a request:

In a world that still focuses so heavily on programs over relationships, I worry that JDAIM itself becomes the answer for some communities. I am begging you to remember that in and of itself, JDAIM is NOT inclusion. No one program is inclusion.