As I have written previously, I worked in two different “homes” for disabled individuals while employed at the Devereux Foundation; there was one for women, one for men. I was the only Jewish person on the staff and I considered it a mitzvah to take shifts on Palm and Easter Sundays. I keep in mind that the word mitzvah not only means “good deed” but “commandment.” I considered doing this a mitzvah because I came to care deeply for the individuals I worked with and my co-workers.

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I signed up to work the day shift on Easter Sunday of 1999. I had two co-workers there along with me; Bear, an African-American man with an impressive “Afro” and Jamie, a wiry man who had come here from one of the island groups.

I do not want to “go negative” but I must be honest. Mostly, the families that lived nearby brought the women home for holidays; the men were left behind, not able to celebrate holidays with their families. It appeared to me that families of disabled individuals were less able to tolerate the “different” men than the women. Also, when signing up for holiday shifts, certain of my co-workers considered these days a holiday for themselves also. They didn’t take the people out anywhere; some actually didn’t bother to help these left-behind individuals get dressed. So the residents sat in the house for eight hours in their pajamas, the television blaring all day.

I know I sound judgmental but these two factors affected me deeply. It bothered me, but I tried not to think in a pompous manner. Some of my co-workers had three jobs, kids, ex-husbands, and eight hours of sitting still, watching the television was a break from that. I was blessed in that I didn’t have those problems.

I arrived at Spruce House at 8 AM along with Bear and Jamie. There were eight individuals there, two women and six men. We got them dressed, gave them their breakfast and medications. Then everybody sat down in front of the television. Suddenly Bear said that he didn’t want to sit around for a whole day, just staring at the television.

“I know! Let’s just get in the car and GO. And I know where! Let’s drive to Camden and visit the Aquarium!”

Bear was referring to Camden, New Jersey, where a famed aquarium was located. It wasn’t very far away but Jamie and I looked at each other, mystified. Neither one of us had the slightest idea how to get from our location to Camden.

“Aw, c’mon, you guys. I know the way. I can’t stand sitting around like this. Let’s just get in the van and GO. I love to drive, I could drive all day.”

The weather was perfect for a long drive. Our “people” eagerly got into the van and everybody got a window seat. I will never forget the sight of our individuals sitting in bliss, the sun shining on their faces as Bear navigated the journey from Philadelphia’s Main Line to the Benjamin Franklin Bridge, which led us to Camden. I was privately worried that because it was Easter Sunday, the Aquarium would be closed. But I didn’t want to say anything and spoil the mood. If it was closed, we would think of something else to do. Just getting out of the house and taking a long ride was a joy for all of us.

As it happened, the Aquarium was open and crowded with families. This was a worrisome point. There were a lot of unruly children running around; could the individuals have to endure stares and negative comments? What if the crowds overwhelmed them? But it was one of those perfect days when nothing went wrong. We gazed in wonder at all the different fish and sea-life; all eight of our individuals were thoroughly enjoying this change in their routine.

However, their attention span was short and Bear, Jamie, and I were aware of this. We knew exactly when it was time to leave. With no protest from anybody we left the building, only to be met with a particularly delicious scent; it was a pretzel man, selling original Philadelphia soft pretzels from a small cart. Without looking at us, all eight people ran to the pretzel man and then looked back hopefully at us. (My mouth is watering, just remembering how a real Philadelphia soft pretzel tastes!)

We pooled the money we had and bought two of these delicacies for each of us. We practically cleaned out the pretzel man’s supply. But he had no objection. Then we asked him for a receipt. We knew that our supervisor would gladly pay us back for thinking up something nice to do on Easter Sunday.

“Hey,” said the pretzel man sarcastically. “Do I look like a guy who gives receipts?”

The ride home was quiet, everyone munching pretzels, enjoying the sunshine. Bear kept saying funny things and Jamie and I laughed. Bear never said anything derogatory about the individuals.

It occurred to me that this day was the conclusion of the Christian world’s “Days of Awe” called Holy Week. Are we all that different?

When we got back to Spruce House we got a sheet of paper, wrote a note to our supervisor explaining what we had done that day, and wrote down the amount we spent on pretzels, then all three of us signed it. A glorious day. Who would believe I was actually getting paid money to have a day like this?

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Leslie Golding Mastroianni had a Bachelor of Arts degree in English Literature and Master of Education in Counseling. As a counselor, she worked at the Devereux Foundation in suburban Philadelphia and several other community and family-based mental health facilities. She has been writing since the year 2000. Her novel, Buying A Year, was published in 2004. She is a teacher and shares informal talks and lectures on writing to children’s groups, adolescents, and retired people living in various homes and facilities.

As we gather for the High Holidays this year, an act as simple as putting on a mask can embody some of the deepest values of our tradition: welcoming others and saving lives.

Luckily, we have a powerful tool for protecting our community: wearing a high-quality mask. N95s are the best masks for preventing airborne illnesses (COVID is primarily airborne, but colds, flu and other illnesses can also be spread through the air). There are quality N95 masks that can be purchased for under $1 each, and it is not too late to talk to your synagogue about purchasing masks in bulk to offer attendees. You can also get masks for free through Boston COVID Action. They distribute tests as well, and they accept your donations to continue their good work.

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Studies show that the more people who wear masks, the greater the collective protection. Masks offer two-way protection: they help prevent the spread of the virus and they shield you from getting infected (more details).

COVID remains more deadly than a cold or flu, and COVID can lead to serious and lasting effects, such as dementia, cognitive losses, stroke, heart problems, irritable bowel syndrome, and long COVID, which can cause temporary or permanent disability.

Masking is not just about personal safety; it’s a collective act of solidarity that upholds our values of care, protection, and justice for all. For many in the disability community, the ongoing pandemic has meant isolation and fear. People with chronic illnesses face a greater risk of severe illness and death. If most of us wear masks, then more members of our community will be able to engage fully in worship and gatherings, ensuring that no one has to choose between their health and their spirituality.

Some may argue that masking has become less relevant now that we have a vaccine. While it’s true that the new vaccine helps reduce the severity of COVID-19, it doesn’t entirely prevent infection or transmission. Masking remains an essential tool, especially for the immune compromised and the elderly, for whom vaccines are less effective.

Shanah tovah u’metukah, may you have a truly good and sweet new year. Let’s start this year together with hachnassat orechim, welcoming and caring for others, and with shmirat hanefesh, taking care of our own bodies and souls. We can do both through masking. While you’re at it, consider using a rapid COVID test before services and gatherings, ensuring you are not infectious (sometimes COVID is asymptomatic). Together, we can make this a season of safety, inclusion, and true communal care.

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Angela Vierling-Claassen is an advocate for disability justice and community support. She is a disabled Jew-by-choice with multiple sclerosis, and runs a disability justice group at her synagogue. Based in Cambridge, she is committed to fostering empowerment and connection for marginalized peoples.

The holiday Rosh Hashanah has many themes – the themes of the holiday Torah portions, renewal, judgment, memory, God’s sovereignty, the cry of the shofar, and of course, sweetness. I haven’t hit them all, but this is a rumination on what these themes mean to one person who lives with a hidden disability, in no specific order.

Seeing and not seeing (The First Torah Portion)

In the Torah portion for the first day of Rosh Hashanah, we read that Hagar, exiled to the desert with her son Yishmael and having run out of water, sits in despair thinking her son will surely die. Not so, though, because God sends a messenger to tell her everything will be okay and then:

God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water and she went and filled the skin with water and fed it to the boy.

This short piece has always felt powerful to me. First, it affirms the limits of a single sense. When Hagar, an ostensibly sighted person, loses hope, she does not recognize the well that has been there all along. Her eyes are not sufficient. God must endow them with superpowers for her to perceive what is before her.

The word פקח, (used to say that God opens Hagar’s eyes) is not the word that is used to open a window, or a bag (פתח); it is unique to the senses. It is a way of saying, “to remove a barrier from a sense,” usually eyes, but also ears (Isaiah 42:20). But how? How do I remove the barrier to recognize the hidden disabilities of others? And how will I be known? What there is to be known of me is not accessible to the eyes. How do we recognize the well? How do we avoid mistaking that well for barren ground?

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Renewal

I am not generally out about my disability. If I am, it will sometimes raise awkwardness. People find it very personal. I find it very personal. I don’t want to talk about it. I want to be seen in my wholeness. Mat (the editor of The Disability Torah Project) invited me to contribute a piece on Rosh Hashanah through the lens of my disability, and I am. Rosh Hashanah is the holiday of renewal.

Judgment

Rosh Hashanah is the day of judgment — yom hadin. I don’t need God’s judgment. I have enough from elsewhere to last a lifetime.

On the faces of people on a bus when I don’t offer up my seat to someone older. At the front desk of a museum, when I ask for a wheelchair, on the faces of people parking at the supermarket, when I use a disability parking spot even though it is clear I can walk just fine.

Or reviewing in my mind conversations with what I think others are thinking: “Well, just take a cart.” “Yes, but sometimes I can’t, because the supermarket puts up dividers to prevent patrons from removing the carts.” “So ask someone to help you!” “I have a hard time asking for help.”

Or, my very own judgement, quite aside from what I imagine others are thinking. Why can’t I do this faster, better, at all? Why is this so hard for me? Why can’t I teach three classes a day?

God’s judgment doesn’t hold a candle to any of this.

Memory & God’s Sovereignty

A whole section of the Rosh Hashanah service is dedicated to the celebration of memory. In it, we recite 10 verses about memory:

And God remembered Noah, and every wild animal, and every domesticated beast who was in God’s arc…

And God heard their moaning, and remembered their covenant…

God established a memory of God’s wonders, God is gracious and compassionate.

Often, I can’t remember—can’t remember the events of a story that someone is recalling with me about something that we did together; can’t remember the right word for this sentence; can’t remember the name of a friend; can’t remember the right pronouns. The doctors have said that problems with memory are all a part of my condition. So what does it mean to celebrate something I don’t have?

Is there a sovereign God who hears moaning and remembers a covenant? Is there a God who is gracious and compassionate? That is not the God I have ever believed in—the God who sits on high and looks down at us. But sometimes, I want that God. I want there to be a compassionate God who remembers every wild animal, and every domesticated beast, and me.

Sometimes, Rosh Hashanah is my day to imagine. Sometimes, that is too difficult.

The Cry of the Shofar & Renewal

There are three calls of the shofar, T’kiah (a single blast), Sh’varim (three shorter blasts), and T’ruah (9 quick blasts, one after another), and all must be present in their specific place and order in the service.

T’kiah, Sh’varim, T’kiah, the same sequence, three times

T’kiah, T’ruah, T’kiah, the same sequence, three times

T’kiah, Sh’varim T’ruah, T’kiah, the same sequence, three times

When I used to lead services in Toronto, I would tell folks to listen carefully to the different calls. First, the T’kiah – a single whole blast, which represents those times that we feel whole with ourselves. But sometimes we feel a bit more broken, and this is the call of sh'varim (sh’varim means fragments, or fractures) – three blasts that have breaks between them. And then there are the times that we feel utterly shattered. Splintered. That is the last call - 9 rapid blasts in succession - t'ruah. “But you will notice,” I would continue, “that in each case, the Sh’varim and the T’ruah are surrounded by the wholeness of the T’kiah. This comes to remind us that when we feel broken, or even shattered in pieces, we are surrounded by wholeness.” I try to believe that, but sometimes, the renewal that Rosh Hashannah brings is just “more of the same”; more of the same struggles to feel whole, to look whole, to function as whole in a world that expects wholeness. “How ya doin’?” “Fine, thanks! How are you?”

No matter my state of mind, the shofar breaks my heart. I think of the animal whose horn we have hollowed out. I think of the breaks and the shattering.

It champions my brokenness.

It declares my wholeness.

Sweetness

I love the symbols of sweetness that we celebrate with each year. I love the promise, and I love the fact that it is sweetness that we bless each other with. Not a healthy new year, not a year of wholeness, or success. A year of sweetness. That is something that I can get behind. It doesn’t require me to feel ok. It doesn’t require me to be ok. It just requires me to recognize the sweet moments in a day. My partner bringing me a cup of tea in the morning. The voice, through my window, of my four year old next door neighbour talking to the person delivering the post. A hug. A visit with a friend on my porch. It’s a blessing I can get behind.

Shannah Tovah U’metukah!

Sarra Lev spends their time teaching talmud and trying to learn to play the banjo.

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Every Friday evening, after Shabbat Dinner, I think in my dark, quiet room. Sometimes I overanalyze my academic performance from the week; other times, I reflect on upcoming life choices. But on one Shabbat, I was thinking about a recent presentation in which I discussed how our society should focus on “bridging the gap”.

So, what is the gap? It’s the visible and invisible divide between disabled and non-disabled people in society. It comes in many forms: the social gap that Autistics navigate in a conversation, a physical gap, where spaces are inaccessible to those with physical disabilities, and a communication gap when events lack sign language interpretation.

The question then comes - how do we bridge this gap?

It requires four actions: two from disabled individuals and two from the broader community. Each one is critical.

Individual Task One: Self-Improvement

Self-improvement doesn’t mean reading a self-help book; it means seeking out meaningful support. For example, when I was younger, I attended a weekly social skills group where we worked on conversational skills, reading social cues, and managing relationships. At the time, I viewed it as a chore. Today, I recognize this class has helped me succeed socially.

This social self-improvement still occurs, albeit more informally. I rely on my friends to help me understand social norms. I think especially of my friend Zach, who throughout high school guided me in everything from navigating a grade group chat to managing group projects.

It’s important to distinguish self-improvement from “cure-ism.” Disability is a fundamental part of an individual. Trying to “cure” it is unethical. I think of when I was a baby with speech delays. Our pediatrician (at the time) suggested that my mother torture me into speaking. He suggested that she hold a cookie to my face, say the word “cookie,” and eat it in front of me if I didn’t respond. Not only would this have failed, but it would have left me with psychological damage.

Instead, my parents took me to speech therapy, where a therapist worked with me slowly and at my pace. Because of that, I use my speech to help others through public speaking, and I am not ashamed of my speech disability. It’s just who I am. Cure-ism also doesn’t work. Autism is just how my brain works. Using surgery to try to change how my brain works would fail, just ask lobotomy patients. Instead of miracle cures, let’s look at what works: treating disabled people with dignity and working with them to develop skills.

Individual Task Two: Self-Advocacy

Advocacy is critical for all ages and abilities. Developing self-advocacy benefits both disabled and non-disabled people. Still, self-advocacy is one of the greatest powers available to disabled people. Just as therapy varies between individuals, so does self-advocacy. And, self-advocacy constantly takes work. And, applying the same standard to every disabled individual defeats the point. It would be foolish if I thought that every disabled person should or will have the same advocacy journey as I have. Rather, my work is about encouraging others to start conversations about what advocacy means for each individual. Looking back, I’ve always been an advocate for myself; it’s just looked different as I have grown up.

Self-advocacy is diverse. At camp, for example, it meant developing a support network. I can’t talk with every single one of my coworkers ahead of time; rather, I focus on finding senior staff that I can turn to in emergencies, and I focus on developing understanding and communication between me and my coworkers. Cortney, who runs the staff inclusion program, is a great asset in this. Not only do I turn to her to self-advocate, but she pushes me on self-improvement: “Can I try a few more minutes in the Chadar Ochel?” “Can I take a few minutes of my break focusing on filling up my water?” “Can I take my co-counselors out to dinner after the camp day?” Self-advocacy isn’t done alone. It’s done together.

Self-advocacy is also about looking ahead. Before each year of High School, I emailed my teachers about myself and my needs. I introduced myself as a full person, not just an “attention note”. Being on the other side of this, as a counselor, having a note saying, “this camper has ADHD” or “this camper is Autistic” was not helpful. Every person, disabled or not, has their own individual needs and experience. My emails explained not only my needs but also past challenges and what has helped me. Self-advocacy is so much deeper than asking for something. It empowers individuals to see themselves as an integral part of the community, whether that is in the bunk or the classroom.

Community Task One: Accommodations

Accommodations are how institutions make spaces accessible for disabled people. They take many forms: curb cuts, extended time testing, sign-language interpreters. Accommodations are concrete policies designed to help a specific individual navigate a space. However, it involves bureaucracy.

Social Security and Medicaid are notoriously difficult to navigate. Getting an IEP requires documentation that can be difficult to obtain and time that parents might not have. Appeals are often difficult or impossible. I faced this myself. My public school bus took a long route that picked me up first and dropped me off last. We appealed, arguing that such a long commute added significant academic and sensory anxiety. We asked for a simple solution: don’t drop me off last. They refused. We appealed again. Denied. Eventually, in my Senior year, they added more stops, which meant I might be on the bus from 6:30 AM to 6:00 PM. My mom decided to have me drive myself . We spent hundreds of dollars on tolls because the system failed me.

That doesn’t have to be. There are some places that do accommodations well. Binghamton University, where I currently attend, had a smooth process. Their required documentation wasn’t burdensome: it was just a disclosure form and a form from my therapist. Then the beauty happened. My accommodation was a joint process, the disability department allowed me to advocate for what I could find helpful. They asked me to provide examples and to show why the accommodations would enhance my experience.

Accommodations also matter in the workplace. Unfortunately, there is no nationwide standard for employment accommodations. For example, Camps aren’t required to provide them. Thankfully, the Jewish Camping Movement, and my camp, Ramah Nyack emphasizes providing accommodations to staff. I work closely with Cortney Kuperman, a member of the senior team, who guides me throughout the summer. I am able to minimize my weaknesses. While most CITs serve food, the noise of the Chadar Ochel would make that impossible for me. Instead, I was excused and was given a break inside with AC. In return, I utilize my strengths. I lead tefillot and work as a Gabbai. I joined the swims staff, and assisted them with social-emotional challenges. And, I give advice on inclusion strategies to any staff who asks.

This type of accommodation is called customised employment, recognizing that a one size fits all approach doesn’t work. Employees come with different skills, strengths, weaknesses and areas for improvement. Employers with customised employment find motivated, hard-working employees. Just look at me. Without that lunch break, I’d burn out. With it, I had a chance to reset and refresh, and I finished each day strong.

Community Task Two: Inclusion

Inclusion is hard to define. People throw the term around a lot. For me, Inclusion is all of the tasks I described before, and so much more. At its core, inclusion is recognizing that people come from different backgrounds and have different needs. Inclusivity isn’t just about neurodiversity, it’s about everybody.

It starts with education and buy-in from everyone. That’s why I don’t just talk to administrators; I talk with fourth graders, lay leaders and camp counselors. Inclusion isn’t a single effort, it is a massive undertaking, developing a culture where everyone belongs and feels heard.

At Beit Rabban, Purim is a big deal. At Schechter Bergen, Lag B’Omer is a large celebration. In both schools, staff hold activities involving music, physical activity and whole-school assemblies. A problem arises. For some students, these loud, exciting activities engage them with the holiday. But, for those with sensory needs, these events are overwhelming. But then they worked with me (and MATAN) on making their schools more inclusive. They developed alternative spaces for students to go to during these events. At Beit Rabban, they called this Esther’s siesta. At Schechter Bergen, school leadership offered sensory-friendly alternatives to certain activities. At both, students were able to enjoy a calmer experience, with games, puzzles and fidgets. That’s inclusion.

At Camp Ramah in the Poconos, my aunt Orlee Krass runs Yedidim, a program for campers with special needs. On the surface, it’s an accommodation program: modified schedules, different bunks, specially trained counselors. But, it’s also an inclusion program. Camp Ramah integrates Yedidim into the mainstream program. One example is the Bogrim Buddies program. Bogrim, the mainstream program for rising 8th graders, partners with Yedidim for activities, shabbat and even the Bogrim play! The program challenges Yedidim campers to engage with the mainstream model, and also challenges Bogrim campers on how to engage with their neurodivergent peers.

These examples only scratch the surface. Both engage with the core truth of inclusion: neurotypical and neurodivergent should be able engage with one another in a simultaneously challenging and comfortable way. Inclusion is about creativity, teamwork and a lot of trial and effort.

Conclusion

The task ahead isn’t easy. Entering Binghamton University, I already see broken systems. I know I’ll have to push myself socially, sensory-wise and academically. I am embracing self-advocacy more than ever. If I have trouble with the class I go to the professor. An issue with a student, I talk with them or an adult. My family remains my cheerleaders, but I am the quarterback.

But, that doesn’t relieve the university or the Jewish organizations on campus of responsibility. As I mentioned earlier, Binghamton has a wonderful disability services office. But Jewish spaces still need work. I’ve already started conversations with Hillel, JLIC and Chabad about how to make their events more accessible for neurodivergent individuals. It’s still early on, but based on their responses, I’m excited to work with them on making events more inclusive for others.

Meeting in the middle is what it takes. Chabad isn’t going to recognize the issue on their own, individuals, such as myself, have to come forward and self-advocate. I have to offer ideas, time and help in building an inclusive space, and they in turn, have to take it under consideration. From my experiences at Ramah, Leffell and others, this isn’t easy, but it is possible, and it makes a world of difference.

True inclusion requires meeting in the middle. Students like me must self-advocate, offering ideas and effort. Institutions must listen and act. It isn’t easy, but it’s possible, and it makes all the difference.

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Rafi Josselson is an autistic freshman at Binghamton University. Rafi is a sought-after speaker on disability inclusion, especially within the Jewish community. He has spoken with groups from various denominations, ages and geography - from snowbirds in Florida to elementary school students in Maryland. He also has written blogs for MATAN, for his website, and for Jewish Disability Inclusion News. For the past year, he has been hosting the only podcast focusing on Disability with the Jewish Community: B'tzelem Elohim. Rafi hopes to spread a message of Empathy, Inclusion, Awareness, and, Acceptance through his work. For the past three summers Rafi has worked at Ramah Day Camp in Nyack as a camp counselor, and he is looking forward finding other ways to be involved with the Jewish community on campus.

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Sensory needs are a universal part of being human—everyone regulates in different ways, at different times, for different reasons. To truly support all participants during the High Holidays, educators, parents, and community leaders need a broad toolkit that includes mindful teaching strategies, movement breaks, sensory-friendly environments, and opportunities for self-advocacy. By understanding individual needs and providing options, we can create classrooms and communities where all individuals feel regulated, focused, and supported.

Sensory support goes beyond fidgets and flexible seating. Here are just a few strategies (and links for more resources) to support all individuals in the new year:

1. Predictability - Utilize visual schedules, sensory check lists and social stories to manage sensory overload. https://jkidaccess.org/category/high-holidays/

2. Play - Sensory-regulating play encourages choice and creativity while building critical thinking and collaboration skills. Adoughma offers a year of sensory play invitations through the lens of the Jewish holidays.

Professional Learning and Community of Practice - The more we learn, the better we can broaden our tool box to create rich, inclusive, neurodiverse affirming experiences for the High Holiday season and beyond. Join us for a free webinar to uncover science-backed strategies for teachers + High Holiday leaders to feel empowered to design inclusive experiences that help all learners succeed.

Date and Time: Wednesday, September 10, 2025, 1:00 PM to 2:00 PM.

Location: Zoom Cost: Free.

Click here to register and to receive the link (https://secure.jewishlearningventure.org/np/clients/jewishlearningventure/eventRegistration.jsp?forwardedFromSecureDomain=1&event=4371)

For phone support, contact Erin at 215.320.0391.

Erin Beser is the Director of Jewish Learning Venture’s ‘Whole Community Inclusion’ initiative. a passionate Jewish educator who has worked in a variety of Jewish educational spaces from synagogues and summer camps to Jewish day schools and currently teaches 6th grade Jewish studies at the Jack M. Barrack Hebrew Academy in Bryn Mawr. Erin is also the founder and CEO of Adoughma Dough Play Events, a sensory education initiative working to bring dough and sensory play into Jewish educational and communal spaces. In her free time, she enjoys running, playing the ukulele, and eating Indian and Ethiopian food.

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Enjoy free access to Matan’s Fall Jewish Holiday lesson plans! These differentiated lessons provide opportunities for meaningful exploration for kindergarteners through high school students as they learn about Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot and Simchat Torah. Each one includes suggested accommodations as well as opportunities for extension. Incorporate these resources into your classroom instruction or use the discussion guides to enhance your holiday youth services!

New users will need to sign up on our website (https://mataninc.org/) and create a login to access the materials, while returning users can simply log in with their existing username and password (use the “Forgot Password” option if needed). Either way, you will have FREE access to all of these lessons!

Access Matan’s Lesson Plans Here: https://mataninc.org/resources-new/

If you need any help with this process, contact Talia Horan-Block at thoranblock@mataninc.org.

Editor’s Note: Looking for more resources for the High Holidays? Check out our archive! Below are just a few articles that you will find here: https://jewishdisabilityinclusionnews.substack.com/archive

• JBI Library Announces High Holiday Offerings

• The Disability Community Must Begin Preparing for the High Holidays Now

• Teshuva: Returning to the Roots of One's Soul

• Helping Children Prepare for Yom Kippur

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Rabbi Cohn with her guide dog Josie on the bimah with Provost Rabbi Andrea L. Weiss, ’93, Ph.D. at ordination in 2024.

What inspired you to pursue the rabbinate, and how has your journey been shaped by your experience as a legally blind individual?

I have known I wanted to be a Jewish professional since I was 12. The process of preparing for and becoming a bat mitzvah showed me how much I loved wrestling with Judaism and leading services. When I was 16, I went to Kutz Camp, and that’s where I solidified my love for intensive Jewish study and spaces. HUC came and did a presentation at camp, and I was hooked. I went home, and months later, when someone asked what I wanted to do in life at a family bar mitzvah celebration, I blurted out that I wanted to be a rabbi. I had so many great mentors along the way who showed me what it could look like.

One of the biggest ways being legally blind has shaped my rabbinate and my journey is that I don’t know if I’ll be able to be a pulpit rabbi forever, even though it’s what I love. I know there are workarounds and things I can do, but I also know it’s becoming increasingly difficult every year as I lose more vision.

Rabbi Cohn and Josie celebrating Sukkot together, Josie sniffs the etrog.

Your thesis focused on the inclusion of guide dogs in synagogues. What led you to choose this particular topic, and what are some of the key arguments you present in your responsum?

I honestly don’t remember how I came across the responsum that currently exists from the 1960s. I think I was just browsing, looking for responsa connected to blindness, and found the one on guide dogs. I was livid with the responsum and the lack of awareness present in it.

My dad got his first guide dog when I was in eighth grade, so going to services with a guide dog was a big part of my formative years. Additionally, as someone who, at the time, was waiting to be matched with a guide dog, I wanted to better understand what Judaism says about blindness in general and the use of guide dogs in a sanctuary.

The current responsum essentially states the arguments from an Orthodox rabbi about why it should be okay to have a guide dog in the sanctuary, but then focuses on one key element. The Orthodox rabbi says the handler should sit near the exit to disturb as little as possible. The author of the Reform responsum took it further, arguing that, to avoid distraction, the dog should not be allowed in at all, and that a congregant should instead serve as the guide for the blind person.

My key argument in my responsum is that this is absolutely not true and is based in prejudice, taking away the independence of the person who is blind or has low vision. I explained that if Orthodox rabbis can find reason to allow the dog in, there is no reason why we, as Reform Jews, should not as well.

Rabbi Cohn sits with her guide dog Josie at ordination in 2024.

You’ve mentioned that even if a synagogue doesn’t actively turn people away for having a guide dog, the fact that halacha could be interpreted that way is still a problem. Why do you think it’s important to address these theoretical barriers, even if they aren’t always enforced?

When language like the current responsum exists, it creates an attitude and a precedent that it’s acceptable to “other” people with disabilities. It essentially encourages taking away a blind person’s mobility aid, justifying it by saying, “Someone will help them.”

Never would we see a responsum saying a wheelchair, crutches, or any other mobility aid shouldn’t be allowed at services—the same should be true for people who are blind. These theoretical barriers place a burden on the person with a disability, making them feel like they are in the wrong.

Additionally, this kind of language gives communities the opportunity to say no and base their discrimination in Jewish law. In my opinion, it can lead to using halacha to push out those who are different from our community. In today’s world, where people with disabilities are losing the systems meant to support them, that is even more dangerous.

In your experience, what are some of the biggest misconceptions about disability and inclusion in Jewish spaces? How can Jewish communities work to dismantle them?

One of the biggest misconceptions in Jewish spaces around disability and inclusion is that Jewish communities often pat themselves on the back for being inclusive of one type of disability and then claim they are fully inclusive. Unfortunately, true inclusivity means recognizing and addressing the wide range of disabilities people face—many of which aren’t even considered.

Things have definitely become more accessible for some people in the past five years, but there’s still significant room for growth. One major issue I see is the failure to consult people with disabilities when trying to serve them.

“To truly achieve inclusion and accessibility, we need to talk to people with a wide array of disabilities to understand what will best help them feel welcome and included.”

We also need to avoid marginalizing or reducing people to their disabilities. People are more than how they complete a certain task.

Rabbi Cohn at Hanukkah services at Congregation Beth Israel in Corpus Christi, TX

Editor’s Note: This article originally appeared on the Hebrew Union College website. Currently, Rabbi Cohn serves Congregation Temple Beth Israel in Corpus Christi, TX: https://www.bethisraelcc.com/. She can be reached at rabbigabriellecohn@bethisraelcc.com

Join Rabbi Cohn on September 2nd at the upcoming Making Jewish Life Accessible Panel. Register here: https://us02web.zoom.us/meeting/register/Rhzn8qjzR8ahcXBPslekkg#/registration

For questions, email Shelly Christensen at shellyc@disabilitybelongs.org.

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Editor’s Note: We know how vital it is for clergy to find support around disability inclusion and encourage you to share this upcoming opportunity with the wonderful clergy in your life!

Webinar Date:

Wednesday, Sept. 3, 2025 12:00 pm CST

Registration: https://us06web.zoom.us/webinar/register/WN_SiGOUxk6TjyhoBcm_E3 foA

For help with registration, contact Tom Jones tjones@faithinclsuionnetwork.org

The success of disability inclusion in faith communities largely depend on the faith leader. How can we equip clergy to successfully lead disability inclusion efforts in faith communities?

Join us for a roundtable discussion with Rev. Dr. Topher Endress and Shaykh Hassan Natour about how we can support faith leaders and their disability inclusion efforts.

Blessings,

Tom Jones

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I thought this summer would be similar to previous summers: I’d be a Nitzanim (entering 2nd grade) counselor, I’d live at camp, I’d work hard on my social skills and I’d build friendships. But things didn’t go according to plan. Change came. It was hard. But, help was available.

Let’s start with how the summer started. What was going well? What wasn’t?

The one change I anticipated, becoming a Gabbai (prayer coordinator) went quite well. While it took some adjusting, I enjoyed helping organize the camp services. I was used to doing this from my position as my grade’s tefillah (prayer) coordinator at school. Now, I got to do this with a team of four others, which meant less pressure on me.

The camp environment was also quite comfortable. I felt like I knew everyone. I had an established support system and was knowledgeable about my job and the camp dynamics. When I needed to take a day off of staff week for my father’s yahrzeit, I knew who to ask, and I knew what I’d miss.

But, in the background some challenges began to emerge. First, it was the looming stress of my upcoming transition to college. Between orientation, course selection, and general preparations for the move, this transition hung heavy in my mind. And it was stressing me out. This stress took away my attention, made me more on edge, and zapped the little energy I had in the already energy-intense camp environment.

At the same time, the social dynamics were difficult. In retrospect, there was no easy fix to the dilemma I was in. Boys my age (those just graduating high school) live in Tzion, a dorm where around 20 boys sleep in a large room with low-quality bathrooms and no central AC. Cortney (my camp point person) and I were clear with the camp administration: this would not be a suitable place for me to live. So, we looked for alternatives, but there weren’t many. We ended up settling on Gould, the dorm I had stayed in the previous summer, which had just been renovated with new bathrooms. From a sensory and facilities standpoint, this was the perfect environment for me. I felt comfortable showering and using the bathroom, something I hadn’t the previous summer. And, the boys living in Gould were quieter, meaning my sleep quality was much better.

But a challenge emerged: Who do I hang out with? Tzion quickly developed their own culture that was hard to break into, and the boys in Gould were a year younger than me, which made it awkward to socialize with them. No one excluded me, but due to my difficult positioning, I didn’t really have a place to belong.

Then came the heat. Summer heat has always been one of my toughest sensory challenges for me, but this summer felt worse than previous ones. I consistently couldn’t make it through the day with my campers. I felt dehydrated. Tired. Sick. It didn’t help that I was juggling my college orientation, meetings with my academic advisor, and preparations with my mom for college move-in. The stress and the heat overwhelmed me and further made it even harder to socialize. I started having regular sensory overloads, being overwhelmed by a basketball dribbling in the hallway, kids whispering in the room next to me, even a bag of chips rustling in the wind. Something needed to change.

At this point, I was far more independent than in previous summers. Cortney and the camp administration entrusted me with incredible latitude in making my own decisions. In conjunction with Cortney, I made my first decision: to switch jobs in camp. I began working at the pool. I developed my own position, that of “Senior Swim Support Specialist.” I assisted various swim classes by providing campers with one-on-one support. I also supplemented lane line positions, giving certain edot (age groups) a little less work to do. But this wasn’t just helpful to the swim staff, it was helpful for me. The swim staff had more opportunities to socialize and collaborate than other staff, and most notably for me: I could cool off in the pool. Soon, one of my primary sensory issues was pretty much solved.

Still, I found it difficult to engage in the post-camp activities. The stress of college still loomed large, and I continued to face significant social barriers. Eventually, I decided to start commuting. This gave me the space to manage my college stress much more effectively. However, I didn’t fully give up on the post-camp environment. Notably, I decided to continue working my Gabbai role, which remained fulfilling, including by staying back in my old room for Shabbat.

I got to finish my summer doing what I loved most, engaging with campers in the pool and with staff in tefillah. My last day working was Maccabiah (color war). I worked alongside the rest of the swim staff on relay races. Unfortunately, I made camp history by being hit on the head with a canoe, so I had to take the next day (which was actually supposed to be my last) off. Then, after resting up, I came back to camp for my final Shabbat, and notably, Tisha B’Av, a fast day which is commemorated beautifully at camp. I read Megillat Eicha (the Book of Lamentations), participated in meaningful learning, and finished my summer with a somber morning service.

This summer was an important learning opportunity as I head into college. I entered a new stage in my partnership with the camp administration. I was entrusted to make my own decisions, and in return, I thought carefully about how those decisions would benefit me and the camp. As I considered my options, I leaned upon a concept that I talked at length with one of my recent podcast guests, Sarah Parkes: Customized Employment. Disabled or not, everyone has strengths and weaknesses, so why not customize employment around that? I’m good at organizing services and engaging campers in the pool, so I built my jobs around those strengths. In the process, I removed one of my greater challenges, the heat, from the equation. Looking for those small, but necessary tweaks, saved my summer, and I so grateful that not only the camp administration, but also the swim leadership, Jodi, Debbie and Shosh welcomed my idea with open arms.

So, my takeaway from the summer? Even if something has worked before, it might not work again. Trying something new, a different idea or position, might work. Change is hard. But if you push yourself and surround yourself with the right support, it might not be as hard as you might think.

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Rafi Josselson is an autistic freshman at Binghamton University. Rafi is a sought-after speaker on disability inclusion, especially within the Jewish community. He has spoken with groups from various denominations, ages and geography - from snowbirds in Florida to elementary school students in Maryland. He also has written blogs for MATAN, for his website, and for Jewish Disability Inclusion News. For the past year, he has been hosting the only podcast focusing on Disability with the Jewish Community: B'tzelem Elohim. Rafi hopes to spread a message of Empathy, Inclusion, Awareness, and, Acceptance through his work. For the past three summers Rafi has worked at Ramah Day Camp in Nyack as a camp counselor, and he is looking forward finding other ways to be involved with the Jewish community on campus.

IJS invites people living with disabilities and/or chronic illness and pain to join us for Shalem (“Whole”), an inclusive new affinity space for mindful Jewish practice related to the challenges and opportunities of living a spiritual life with a disability. As we engage in contemplative practice in the context of a caring and supportive community, we explore new ways to affirm our fundamental humanity and wholeness, nurture our personal and collective healing, and grow inner skills to promote our resilience and well-being.

Wednesdays, 1:30 – 2:00 PM ET
Optional 15 minutes of Q&A to follow

2025: August 20, September 17, October 22, November 19, December 17
2026: January 21, February 18, March 25, April 15, May 20, June 17, July 22

Sign up, for free, here: https://www.jewishspirituality.org/get-started/free-resources-from-ijs/shalem-a-monthly-mindfulness-affinity-space-for-people-with-disabilities/

IJS staff can be reached by phone at 646.461.6499. There is a contact page to reach staff here: https://www.jewishspirituality.org/contact/

As a part of creating Safer Spaces, this community of practice is intended only for those living with disabilities and/or chronic illness and pain.

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Broca’s area – a region in the frontal lobe, typically in the left hemisphere, crucial for speech production and language processing. It supports grammatical structure, verbal fluency, and the coordination of speech muscles, and is also involved in aspects of working memory and syntax comprehension.

I have a confession to make. Even though I’m a writer, I once hated reading more than anything. As a child diagnosed with dyslexia, it was my true nemesis. I couldn’t get through a single page, and I didn’t want to. Every book I tried felt like a grueling exam. I remember the teacher asking the class whether we understood the meaning of the sentences we were reading, while I was still stuck just trying to sound out the words. So around the age of eight, when all the kids in my class could already read and I still couldn’t, I made a vow: I would never read a book in my life.
Luckily, my older sister Michal had other plans.

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Unlike me, Michal was a serious bookworm. One night, after I’d gone to bed, she came into my room, sat down beside me, and announced in a theatrical voice: “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we’ll be reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Please settle into your beds and enjoy the show.” I was, of course, the only one in the audience and the combination of books and an annoying older sister sounded like the worst thing in the world. But as the little brother, I didn’t really have a say. So Michal began reading the book aloud, night after night, to her captive audience.

At first, I thought she was unbearable. But before long, I found myself curious about the plot, drawn into Harry Potter’s world. I fell in love with the story, and when my sister finished the book, I turned to her and said, “Okay, I think tomorrow we should start the second one.” But Michal turned out to be a shrewd negotiator. She agreed on one condition: that I read a few pages from each chapter myself. Reading was the last thing I wanted to do, but unfortunately, it was the only way to find out what happened to Harry in his second year at Hogwarts. And that’s how I started reading and I haven’t been able to stop since.

(Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little. When I was binge-watching Succession on HBO, I didn’t exactly have time for books.)

The Hebrew version of Harry Potter

One of the brain regions often involved in dyslexia is Broca’s area, the region responsible for language production, grammar, and parts of verbal working memory. It’s likely that my own struggles with reading had something to do with how this region was functioning. One of the most important things I’ve learned through studying cognitive neuroscience is that dyslexia isn’t one-size-fits-all. I had an incredible neuroscience professor, Naama Friedmann, who was intrigued by the idea of a writer with dyslexia and offered to run a deeper assessment. That’s when I discovered that my specific challenge was with something called the phonological output buffer, a part of working memory that temporarily holds the sounds of words as we prepare to say them out loud. There are different types of dyslexia, some tied more to visual processing, others to how the brain hears and breaks down the sounds in words, and each one involves different brain regions. In my case, the letters and sounds simply wouldn’t line up in my mind the way they were supposed to.

It’s not something I can control or change, but I think the most important lesson my sister taught me is that if the story is interesting enough, I’ll find a way to work through the difficulty. Over the years, I’ve learned all kinds of strategies to improve my reading: breaking words into smaller parts, linking new words to things I already know so they’re easier to remember and recognize the next time I see them. Honestly, I never thought I could be a writer because of my dyslexia—and if it weren’t for Word’s spellcheck, that might have been true. But writing and reading felt like the only ways I could truly understand and express myself in the world. So with the help of a supportive family and a deep love for stories, I found a way.

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Around sixth grade, my parents took me to a psychologist, who wrote in her report that I would likely always struggle to read and write in a second language. The post you're reading right now was written in my second language, English. My first language is Hebrew. If I have one message for parents or teachers of kids with dyslexia, it’s this: don’t decide for them what their ceiling is going to be. It’s so important to be honest about the challenges and not pretend they don’t exist, but just because a child reads differently doesn’t mean they won’t eventually arrive at the same destination as everyone else.

I still deal with my dyslexia on a daily basis. Sometimes it means spending an hour on a short email just to make sure there are no spelling mistakes (and sometimes there still are). Other times, it means using text-to-speech software to make sure I haven’t missed a word in a scientific article I’m reading. When I published my first short story collection, Jerusalem Beach, someone asked me why the first story, just 60 pages long, had around 30 chapters, a chapter every two pages on average! Looking back, I realized that as a kid, the hardest thing for me to read was a long block of text with nowhere to pause. So, almost automatically, I overcompensated, breaking the story into small, breathable segments, so the reader wouldn’t feel that same difficulty I once did.

For better and for worse, my struggle with language and reading has made me deeply aware of how language works, and especially how it’s perceived by other people. So, paradoxically, it might be that despite all the difficulty, my dyslexia made me more of a writer.

And hey, if you ever got a book from me with a dedication that spelled your name wrong, now you know why.

Iddo Gefen is an author and a Ph.D. student in cognitive neuroscience. He can be reached at iddogefen@substack.com. This post originally appeared on his Substack, Neuron Stories:

Neuron Stories - Iddo Gefen

How My Dyslexic Brain Turned Me Into a Writer

Broca’s area – a region in the frontal lobe, typically in the left hemisphere, crucial for speech production and language processing. It supports grammatical structure, verbal fluency, and the coordination of speech muscles, and is also involved in aspects of working memory and syntax comprehension…

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a year ago · 17 likes · Iddo Gefen

This High Holy Day season, JBI Library is deepening its commitment to accessibility and connection with an expanded mix of inclusive programming and free materials for people who are blind, have low vision, or have a physical disability or reading disability that makes reading a standard book difficult. In addition to providing free large print, braille, and audio prayer books, calendars, and adult and children’s reads, JBI is hosting virtual workshops, accessible book clubs, and other interactive programs—including a new three-part series exploring the High Holy Days through sound, taste, and touch.

Orders for free High Holy Day prayerbooks and materials must be placed by August 25 for organizations and September 8 for individuals.

“Our goal is simple,” said JBI Executive Director Michelle Shapiro Abraham, who took the helm earlier this year. “No one should ever feel like Jewish life is out of reach because of a vision or print disability. Whether it’s reading from a large print or braille prayer book, listening to an inspiring audio book, or joining a thought-provoking discussion from home, we’re making it possible for everyone to take part in Jewish life in a way that is personally meaningful.”

One of the highlights of this year’s offerings is a new program called “Sensing the High Holy Days,” a virtual series led by Professor Eve Keller that invites participants to connect to the season through memory, sensory experience, and shared ritual. The series joins JBI’s other High Holy Day and ongoing programs, including accessible book clubs in English and Russian.

2025 High Holy Day Program Highlights

New! Sensing the High Holy Days

Led by Professor Eve Keller | Virtual (Zoom) | 5:30 PM EDT on Sept. 2, 16, and 30

Session 1 – Elul: Sound: Shofar – Awakening
Session 2 – Rosh Hashanah: Taste: Apples, Honey, New Fruit – Gratitude
Session 3 – Sukkot: Touch: Sukkah, Lulav, Etrog – Precarity & Responsibility

Professor Eve Keller of Fordham University will lead in exploring how we connect with the Jewish holidays through our senses. In each session, we'll delve into rich themes, progressing from renewal and forgiveness to freedom and, finally, joy. We will focus on objects central to our celebration, and how our senses enrich our experience. Participants will be invited to bring a treasured object, memory, or melody to enhance our discussions and to help us create shared meaning and connection to the High Holy Days.

To register or learn more about JBI Library’s programming for the High Holy Days and beyond, contact https://jbilibrary.org/programs-events or at our direct library line, 212-545-8025.

Free Accessible High Holy Day Materials in Braille, Large Print, and Audio (Deadline August 25 for Organizations, and September 8 for Individuals)

For patrons who are blind, have low vision, or are print-disabled, JBI continues to offer High Holy Day audio, large print, and braille materials at no cost, including children's and adult holiday-themed Books, Machzorim (prayerbooks), as well as Selichot and Yahrzeit prayers and JBI’s Jewish reference calendars. To ensure arrival by Rosh Hashanah, materials should be ordered by August 25 for organizations, and by September 8 for individuals.

Browse more at https://jbilibrary.org/our-library/high-holy-day-materials or request by emailing library@jbilibrary.org.

About JBI

Founded in 1931, JBI Library is a nonprofit organization that supports people of all ages who are blind, have low vision, or have a print disability so that they may fully participate in Jewish life—from education and community to prayer and celebration. Through our vast circulating library, liturgical texts, customized materials, and educational and cultural offerings, we are the heart of a community where our patrons can come for accessible resources, programs, learning and all things that connect us to Jewish life. JBI is committed to making Jewish life open to all, removing barriers so everyone can read, learn, and engage—independently and with dignity.

Learn more or support JBI’s mission at www.jbilibrary.org.

Share Jewish Disability Inclusion News

Disability Belongs™ is excited to host Making Jewish Life Accessible, a virtual convening taking place on September 2 at 1:00 p.m. ET. This 90-minute event will bring together community leaders, advocates, and accessibility professionals to explore what it means to create inclusive, welcoming Jewish spaces for people with disabilities. The program will feature short presentations and opportunities for shared learning and dialogue. ASL interpretation and CART will be provided.

Register here:

https://us02web.zoom.us/meeting/register/Rhzn8qjzR8ahcXBPslekkg#/registration

For questions, email Shelly Christensen at shellyc@disabilitybelongs.org.

https://us02web.zoom.us/meeting/register/Rhzn8qjzR8ahcXBPslekkg#/registration

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For two years, the Jewish Disability Inclusion News has published first-person stories, reported articles, and reflections that shine a light on the lived experiences of disabled Jews, challenge stigma, and inspire action. If our work has informed you, moved you, or inspired you, now is the time to upgrade your subscription to become a paid subscriber.
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One in four people live with a disability—yet full inclusion in Jewish life is still far from reality. That’s why we created Jewish Disability Inclusion News, a growing platform amplifying disabled voices, celebrating their stories, and working toward a truly inclusive Jewish community.

This July marked Disability Awareness Month—and it’s also our two-year anniversary. It’s the perfect moment to celebrate what we’ve built together and invite you to help us keep going and growing.

Why We’re Fundraising Now

If our work has informed you, moved you, or inspired you, now is the time to upgrade your subscription to become a paid subscriber. Together, we can create a Jewish community where every person belongs and every voice is heard.

Your paid subscription will:

• Sustain our part-time editor who keeps the publication vibrant and meaningful

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For two years, we’ve been publishing first-person stories, reported articles, and reflections that shine a light on the lived experiences of disabled Jews, challenge stigma, and inspire action.

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And Howard and Ilana realized they shared a passion for disabilities and B’nai mitzvah. That day served as the starting point for “A Different Spirit: The Essential Guide to Creating Meaningful B'nai Mitzvah for Children With Disabilities,” due for publication with Behrman House in February, 2026. Blas and Trachtman as well as content area experts, clergy, parents and people with disabilities (many of them are JDIN writers!) have contributed chapters which will help envision the multitude of options for preparing for and marking bnai mitzvah regardless of disability.

Stay tuned for more details. Pre orders are now available. Contact Howard Blas at howardblas@hotmail.com for more information.

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GKM: SJ, how did you get started as a writer? Did you write when you were a child?

SJB: You could say I've never not been a writer. The first time I thought of myself as a writer, I was 6. I was trying, you know, as most children do, trying to figure out what I was going to do when I grew up. My best friend at the time, who's still my best friend, actually, funnily enough, said you could be an author! When she said that, it wasn't even a realization moment, it just was like something I'd always known. Stories have always been at the center of my world. As a child, I was always creating and telling stories, though I wasn't actually writing. I could barely read

GKM: Can you tell me about your disability?

SJB: I was not particularly literate as child. I am severely dyslexic. I couldn't really read well until I was in the sixth grade. It’s something I've struggled with my whole life. For writing, actually, I even now primarily use speech-to-text software.

GKM: Isn't it incredible that technology is available?

SJB: Yeah, absolutely. I listen to audiobooks for reading and online articles of any length. I use text-to-speech software when I'm writing. I've gotten to the point where I can and sometimes do hand type, especially when the software's getting on my nerves, but most of what I write is text-to-speech.

GKM: It sounds like you always had a great imagination–your ability to create stories wasn’t impacted in any way by your dyslexia.

SJB: I feel like I just always had access to my imagination, and had to come to the realization that other people don't have that experience as much, or don't spend time in their imagination. It's really funny, my mother reads all my drafts, and when she looks at it, says, “I don't know how you do it…” I shrug it… it's just there.

When I was a kid, I spent hours just sitting in the backyard, or pacing the backyard, lost in my own imagination, my own stories. When I was first trying to write down my stories, before I had software available, I got myself a tape recorder, and I tape recorded speaking chapters, and then I'd give it to my mother, and she would transcribe them for me. Or I dictate for her.

GKM: Did your imagination and storytelling abilities help you get through school?

SJB: As much as dyslexia was a huge struggle for me in school, it was actually the least of my worries.I have a lot of chronic illnesses, most notably severe chronic migraines and POTS or Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, both are quite debilitating. They started presenting when I was 6 years old.

At first, it was short episodes, but they got longer and longer as I got older. By the time I was in middle school, I was missing one and two weeks of school at a time.

I failed ninth grade because I was too sick to attend most of ninth grade. I spent a week at the Mayo Clinic doing more medical testing at the beginning of my sophomore year of high school, or what would have been my sophomore year. I ended up doing all of high school in 3 years, because I had failed my first year, and there was no way I was staying behind. Dyslexia, as much of a struggle as it's been, has been as much of a footnote as anything.

GKM: That’s so hard about ninth grade. It sounds like teachers and school didn't necessarily help you or provide accommodations.

SJB: The school did not want to accommodate me on anything. We had to fight and fight. I actually did a lot of that myself the last few years of school, attending meetings with the school, trying to fight for my needs. It was a constant struggle and a constant battle.

When it was time for college, I had specifically looked for a school that had a good disability services office. I was lucky enough to go to a school that really prioritized those things,Mount Holyoke.

They didn’t just look at my grades, but at my whole story. They have many resources into their disability department, or accessibility, as we called it. And they had a mentorship program where older students mentored the new disabled students coming in and taught them how to navigate college as a disabled student.

That was huge for me, absolutely life-changing, and then after participating in that my first year of college, I worked for the Accessibility Office for 3 years, mentoring and supporting other students.

GKM: It sounds like the ideal college setting.

SJB: My first week during disability orientation, I met the friends who I then lived with for the rest of college. They're both disabled and one of them even shares many of my disabilities. We got through college by helping and supporting each other. Now, 6 years post graduation, I still live with one of them and the other lives nearby and we all still continue to support each other. Support networks are just so incredibly important to me and so incredibly important to life as a disabled person.

GKM: How does your chronic illness impact your writing?

SJB: For multiple reasons, I'm a self-published author, which means my deadlines are more flexible. I am working on my own timeline. So, if I need to push a release back, I push a release back. That's just…. It's annoying, but it's not a big deal. And that's the thing, I cannot….it became clear to me that with my chronic illnesses, I can't work a regular job, I can't work anything that's not on my own hours. The upside is that with writing, I can at least do it when I can. A lot of my chronic illnesses are positional, so being vertical is worse than being horizontal. Standing is worse than sitting, which is… which is worse than lying down. So I can write in bed. Sometimes I can't really get out of bed, I can't get my own food or whatever, but I can still write, on my computer in my bed, if my head is clear enough.

Also, the protagonists of both of the books I've released thus far are chronically ill. it's very important to me to bring disability representation into my writing. Disability rep is still pretty rare among fantasy protagonists and I want to change that.

GKM: In terms of your Jewish background, does that come into your writing?

SJB: Yes. Oh, absolutely. I went to Hebrew school growing up and we did Shabbat on Friday nights and said shema before going to bed. When I went to college, I joined the Jewish Student Union, I was on the board, then became president of the Jewish Student Union for two years. I led Shabbat services every Friday night. It was kind of playing the role of the rabbi, essentially. I also minored in religion in college and took a lot of Jewish studies classes.

Being Jewish is very deeply, deeply at the core of who I am, and so that’s going to come through in my writing in terms of my values and the way I look through the world. Most of my stories are set in alternate fantasy worlds, so there is no Judaism, because the religions that exist in our world do not exist in those worlds. But I think it still comes through my values and my voice.

My first novel, Shattered Dreams, partially takes place in our world, in New York. I'm able to mention that the protagonist is Jewish. It’s not a major part of the plot, but it is simply just a thing… being Jewish is part of her story.

Check out SJ’s work here.

Some of the resources have volume, speed of the telephone voice, rewind and fast forward options, and a pause button.

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Chabad

718-735-7333

This service is relatively easy to use. I recommend practicing so that you’ll more quickly find the topic or speaker that you are seeking.

Lincoln Square Synagogue

212-874-6100

This Manhattan synagogue sometimes has phone-in lectures. Tell the person who answers the phone that you want to use a “non-smart” land line phone or cell phone to call directly into any lectures that are being offered. You may want to mention that you have a disability that prevents you from attending the synagogue.

As a courtesy, ask whether a phone-in service would be available for a person, say, outside of the New York Metropolitan area.

National Jewish Outreach Program

646-871-4444

This organization is disability-friendly. Be specific. Ask if Tisha B’Av lectures are available via phone.

TorahAnytime “is a non-profit organization that is dedicated to spreading more Torah to as many Jews as possible, free of charge.”

Phone (917) 662-4957

This site has a multitude of speakers. I found it very difficult to access.

Qol Haloshon

718-906-6400

This service has many phone menus leading to different audio lectures.

I suggest that you practice using it before Tisha B’Av.

Chazak—the Chofetz Chayim Heritage Foundation

718-258-2008

This free service has a phone menu leading to a multitude of lectures and classes. If you practice using it, you will find what you are seeking more quickly.

Torah Communications Network

718-436-3846

This network is a subscription service. Check during the week before Tisha B’Av and on Tisha B’Av itself for free telephone lectures.

Are there more telephone resources out there?

You can help to answer this question.

Sometimes rabbis and other educators in your community are aware of call-in numbers that feature live classes or recorded lectures.

If you discover more phone-in treasures, please share them with me by phone at 516-295-8999.

Let’s “Dream Big.”

I hope to continue compiling available Jewish lectures available via telephone. God willing, I will update the above list. The updated list will also include anything you discover.

Rabbi Michael Levy

Yad Hachazakah

The Jewish Disability Empowermen Center, 516-295-8999

Sharon Shapiro Lacks, Board Chairman

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A native of Bradley Beach, New Jersey, Rabbi Michael Levy attributes his achievements to G-d's beneficence and to his courageous parents. They supported him as he learned to travel independently, visited Israel, and became more Jewishly observant. For 65 years, JBI International supported him with braille and recorded Judaica material.

He received rabbinic ordination from the Jewish Theological Seminary in 1981 and an MSW from Columbia University in 1982.

As a board member and now President of Yad Hachazakah, Rabbi Levy strives to make the Jewish experience and Jewish texts accessible to Jews with disabilities. In lectures at synagogues, camps, and educational institutions, he cites Nachshon, who according to tradition boldly took the plunge into the Red Sea even before it miraculously parted. Rabbi Levy elaborates, "We who have disabilities should be Nachshons--boldly taking the plunge into the Jewish experience, supported by laws and lore that mandate our integration.”

He applauds Jewish Disability Inclusion News’s ambition to give voice not just to those who work with the disabled, but also to people with disabilities themselves. “About us? Not without us” he is fond of reminding those eager to listen, and the media to whom the maxim may be out of their comfort zone.

For over 20 years, Rabbi Levy served as director of Travel Training at MTA New York CityTransit. Now retired, he is an active participant in Congregations Aish Kodesh and Young Israel in Woodmere, New York. Most of all, he relishes the company of his children, grandchildren, and large extended family.

You can reach Rabbi Michael Levy at mlevy@verse-onality.com.

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I had seen some messy, outright ghastly situations and I learned to keep a placid way about myself. This included visiting a family who lived on a mountain in a shack with a dirt floor. So when I was assigned to work with the M family and made my first visit to their home I was surprised and relieved as I approached their small, neat brick home. Maybe there would be a relatively clean place for me to sit down…

A tiny, elderly lady answered the door when I knocked. She smiled at me, introduced herself, and asked me to come in. The house was decorated with various small china figures; the living room was carpeted in beige, very clean; and there was a television in the room, but it wasn’t turned on at full volume. It was a quiet, orderly home.

Mrs. M asked me how much I knew about Dakota, who would be my client. I confessed that I had been given no case file to read about him, no diagnosis.

“Then I will tell you our story,” she said smilingly.

She was an old lady and that was obvious, she said. She knew she appeared too old to have a seven-year-old son.

“I am Dakota’s great-grandmother. His parents have abandoned him, nobody knows where they are, and his grandparents wanted nothing to do with him. So, there were two choices; put him into foster care or take him into our home and raise him the best we can. My husband and I are in reasonably good health and we took him in.”

I sat quietly, taking in these facts. Again, as I have written previously, I felt my heart expand with love for this brave, loving woman. I was clinging to the fact that I wasn’t a family friend but a therapist, trained to be a clinician in graduate school.

It was early in the afternoon, so Dakota was still at school. I was introduced to Mr. M, Dakota’s great-grandfather. I have to point out that in so many of the homes I’d visited, nobody introduced anybody to anybody else. People sort of walked around me. Mr. M was very much like his wife; cheerful, polite. I clung onto my professionalism before I fell totally in love with these two…

I began asking questions about Dakota. What did he like to do? What were his days like?

“Well,” said Mrs. M, “Dakota likes to be read to, especially before bed. He loves sitting in the bathtub and playing with all these plastic toys. He also has a beloved collection of miniature model cars and would like to line them up on the living room floor and amuse himself that way, but…”

I sat quietly so she could finish her thoughts.

“The problem is that he can’t sit still long enough to thoroughly enjoy these things. He tries, but he jumps up, squirms around, can’t allow himself to be absorbed for any length of time.”

I felt a light begin to dawn within myself, a faint feeling of excitement, but I forced myself to stay calm.

“What is he like in school?” I asked.

“His teacher is wonderful with him. Firm, but kind. She placed him in the first row of the classroom so she is always aware of what he’s doing and he manages to concentrate and behave himself. It’s a struggle. He’s not a bad child! But the teacher feels that as Dakota grows up, he’ll be harder to manage.”

The light within myself grew stronger and I knew what I was hearing. Dakota showed classic signs of ADHD, so far going untreated. It took all my self-restraint to not blurt this out. I knew my limits; I was not a psychiatrist or a doctor.

When the hour ended I said what I thought was proper. I asked Mrs. M if they had a trusted family doctor. She answered affirmatively.

“Then, for your peace of mind, I would like to make a suggestion. Make an appointment and have Dakota checked out. Tell your doctor what you just told me about him and see what your doctor thinks.”

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I prayed that the M would follow up on this; I felt pretty sure that any up-to-date medical professional would spot the definite signs of untreated ADHD and prescribe Ritalin. (That was the drug of choice at the time. Now there are alternatives.)

Then something miraculous happened. It felt as if Yad Elohim—the hand of God—reached out to guide me.

During the week that led up to my next appointment with the M family, I was doing some straightening up in my bedroom. I have a storage unit that slides under the bed and I pulled it out, looking for something, I can’t remember what and there it was—the perfect guidebook for caretakers of ADHD children. It was written clearly, plainly, with no medical jargon. I couldn’t remember when I’d bought it or why, but who cared? There it was, explaining that although Ritalin is a stimulant—and this confounded fearful parents when they first heard this classification—it doesn’t make the child more “stimulated.” The book said that this medication “wakes up” the part of the brain that controls focus and concentration. There were also lists and ideas of changes to make in the child’s life to assist this process, such as limiting sugar and caffeine.

The day of my next appointment with the M family arrived. Although I was elated at my finding this book, I was careful to leave it in my car before I entered the home. Something could go wrong if the family doctor didn’t come to the conclusion I had on my own.

I met Dakota for the first time. He reflected in every way the love and care that had been bestowed on him by his great-grandparents. Mrs. M asked to speak to me alone.

“The doctor said Dakota has a diagnosis of ADHD. She explained the whole thing to us and gave us a prescription for this drug called Ritalin.” She looked worried.

“I don’t want him to be all doped up on drugs. And our doctor says this Ritalin is a stimulant? Dakota doesn’t need to be made even more jumpy and disorganized!”

“It just so happens that I have something for you and your husband to read. I found this book, not even remembering having bought it, but it was written for people just like you.”

I gave her the book, rejecting her offer to return it to me at a later time. I said no, she was doing me a good deed (a mitzvah!) by accepting it as a gift.

The prescription filled, Dakota taking the Ritalin every day—this was a bit of a struggle at first but Mrs. M put the pill into a spoonful of applesauce which helped—he gradually began to show signs of improvement. One of the family’s great joys was reading to Dakota, not only at night, but anytime. He loved it.

The agency closed the case and I had to say goodbye to this valiant little group. Mrs. M put her arms around me and said “Leslie, I love you. Please come back to visit.”

I told her that there was a rule: one year had to pass before I could visit again as a friend. I told her I’d be back.

But I never did go back to the neat little brick house; I have to confess that I was unable to do so. I still am not sure why, except that I knew the way my heart worked and thought it was best to say my goodbyes at that point.

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Leslie Golding Mastroianni had a Bachelor of Arts degree in English Literature and Master of Education in Counseling. As a counselor, she worked at the Devereux Foundation in suburban Philadelphia and several other community and family-based mental health facilities. She has been writing since the year 2000. Her novel, Buying A Year, was published in 2004. She is a teacher and shares informal talks and lectures on writing to children’s groups, adolescents, and retired people living in various homes and facilities.

Arianna was 15 years old. Her background was blurry and confused—a series of bad marriages, Arianna being pushed and shoved from her mother to her grandmother and back; then basically everybody giving up on her. Her diagnosis was mild, some sort of negative behavior disorder. She had no history of violence or severe anti-social behavior.

If I sound angry while I reflect on this lost girl, it’s because I am.

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The first time I met her was at her high school, which was odd. It is usually the home I went to first. Obscurely, this bothered me. I definitely wanted to meet the foster mother. Instead, I went to the principal’s office at the appointed time and asked for Arianna. I was almost shoved into a small room, the door closed firmly behind me. Arianna was sitting at a table, her face turned as far away as possible from me. This was not a good start and my heart sank, to use a cliché, but I was there to work. I sat down across from her and introduced myself. There was silence; not a good start.

Arianna was a handsome girl, large-bodied, with lustrous black hair. I studied her and there was a quality about her that made me think she was intelligent. How could I know this? Angry, yes, definitely that was true.

“It must be hard to be so angry and intelligent at the same time.”

Her head swung around and she gazed at me in shock. Without knowing it, I’d said the right thing. I do not remember what was said during that first session except that I knew something. Arianna needed a good friend. That was not my role, I was aware of that. But how do you make up a behavior plan for somebody like her? How do you help a lost soul find its way?

I decided to put aside a lot of the rules and concepts I’d been trained to follow. I had done that in previous cases in a minor way. But obviously nobody cared about this girl. My supervisor knew nothing about her; she had a pile of case files regarding children in much, much worse states on her desk to give her headaches. She had no time to follow up on what was going on with Arianna. Obviously the foster mother was in no hurry to meet me. So Arianna and I became chaverim-friends.

I did find out that the foster mother was an Evangelical Christian with strict beliefs. This was the focus of Arianna’s frustration, and it involved something so simple.

In the various malls of the surrounding area there existed a series of chain stores that sold “goth” items. I vaguely knew what this actually meant; I guessed this chain of stores sold black T shirts with skulls printed on them and bats as well: fake chains and black nail polish. All of the kids at Arianna’s school loved these places and wore items bought from these stores. It was just a style, but Arianna’s foster mother refused to allow her into one of them. She told me quite calmly that those places sold instruments of the Devil and Arianna would become contaminated if she went in.

Since Arianna had no money, there was no question of her buying anything. All she wanted to do was look.

I went by myself to a “goth” store to investigate. It was as I thought. Cheap junk, made to look scary and to shock adults. The only offensive object I could see was a cross hanging upside down, one of the signs of the Devil. I went back to Arianna’s foster home; I was never invited in, I always spoke to the foster mother at the door.

“I went to a goth store and looked around for myself,” I told her as respectfully as possible. “If Arianna wanted to go in and look around I would go with her. Nothing bad will happen, I promise. All she wants to do is look.”

To my surprise, the foster mother agreed and Arianna and I had our day out. We always had fun together and found lots to say. When she finally got her chance to see one of these places, she was unimpressed. She didn’t say anything about wanting to buy something. I knew she was intelligent.

Finally, I learned that my client was a budding artist and had no money to buy art materials. She loved to draw. In confidence, I told a friend about Arianna, not using her name, just relating that I was dealing with a lost soul who had no money to buy anything she wanted. This friend sent me a check for $50 to give to Arianna in order to buy art supplies. A real mitzvah.

So Arianna and I hung out together, she stopped focusing on the goth materials, and bought herself a drawing pad along with a huge collection of pens and colored pencils.

This case was closed out and Arianna went to live with her aunt in a far-reaching area where my agency didn’t operate. I often think about her and how things turned out. Let us hope that her soul found a home.

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Leslie Golding Mastroianni had a Bachelor of Arts degree in English Literature and Master of Education in Counseling. As a counselor, she worked at the Devereux Foundation in suburban Philadelphia and several other community and family-based mental health facilities. She has been writing since the year 2000. Her novel, Buying A Year, was published in 2004. She is a teacher and shares informal talks and lectures on writing to children’s groups, adolescents, and retired people living in various homes and facilities.

For twenty years my husband and I have parented our way through anxiety and depression; eating disorders and learning disorders; panic attacks and meltdowns; and more IEP meetings than we care to remember.

There has also been much joy and plenty to celebrate and I am grateful every day for my family. I am also grateful for the wisdom I have acquired over the years, which I am sharing in the hope that it may help other parents as they navigate their own parenting challenges.

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The 8 most important things I’ve learned on my parenting journey

1. Parenting is sacred work

I have done my fair share of crying, I have yelled, and I have prayed. I have apologized and asked forgiveness from my children for not handling situations as well as I could have. There have been days when I have wondered what it would be like to have “normal” children.

But here’s where I have landed–I have been granted temporary custody of two amazing and special souls, to care for, advocate for and guide, until they are able to care for themselves. That is a tremendous privilege and blessing and I take it very seriously. When I think of my children in this way it changes how I speak and listen to them, and parenting feels like sacred work.

2. People will judge

For a long time I was hesitant to share my family’s experience out of a fear of being negatively judged. I would love to say that that fear was unfounded. But when I did start sharing, there was definitely judgment. People were critical of my parenting both behind my back and to my face.

At first, this judgment felt like daggers and it has left some emotional scars that have been slow to heal. But as I educated myself about what my children were dealing with and after spending some time with my own therapist so that I could start working through my internalized ableism (those feelings of disappointment, denial, anger, shame, or embarrassment that my kids are “different”) things began to change.

I learned to stand in the truth of my family, and feel confident that I was making good parenting choices. And over time, the judgment has felt less like daggers, and more like an annoying gnat buzzing around my face. I can’t control what other people say, but I can choose to ignore it.

3. Dig deep and find your courage

It takes courage to admit that we are hurting; to ask for help; to loosen our grasp on how much we care about what other people think; to tell our stories. Finding my courage was the first step to getting connected with the resources that my family needed to start making things better and to get my kids the help that they need – not to “fix” them, they don’t need fixing- but to learn how to develop strategies and tools so they can more easily navigate a world that was not designed for them.

4. There is power in vulnerability

The more we are brave enough to talk about neurodiversity, mental health issues, or learning disabilities and the challenges that come with them the more we reduce the stigma that is attached to those topics. Less stigma means less judgment and less internalized ableism. Just by telling our own stories, we can help to be the change we want to see in the world.

5. Get your own therapist

If your kid has a therapist, that’s great! But your kid’s therapist is there to focus on your kid. Having my own therapist gave me someone to vent to; help me figure out what questions I should ask my kid’s therapist; advise me how to approach certain conversations with my spouse and my children; help me separate my own anxiety from my child’s anxiety, and to encourage me to be taking care of myself. This resource was one of the most important reasons I have held onto my sanity.

6. Different does not equate to less than

It can be hard to watch other parents celebrate huge victories like, “our kid just won a national science competition,” while your own kid is struggling to just pass chemistry. Our victories might look different but they are worthy of celebrating just the same.

Whether it’s “my kid with a learning disability passed algebra on the second try with help from a tutor,” or “my teenager with social anxiety was scared to make a phone call but they made the phone call anyway,” it has been great to see my kids feel pride in a hard earned “C,” or give themselves a pat on the back when they use learned strategies to manage a stressful or anxiety inducing situation. Victories come in all shapes and sizes and they all deserve to be acknowledged and celebrated.

7. It’s okay to “fail” and it’s definitely okay to ask for help

We also celebrate when anyone in our house realizes they have reached their limits and asks for help. It took me a long time to feel comfortable asking for help or admitting that I could not handle something by myself. Part of the reason I am now so open about my own experiences and the resources I have sought out is because I want other parents to see that they don’t have to do this by themselves.

It’s also okay (even if disappointing) when things don’t work out. When things go awry it’s an opportunity to retreat, restrategize, and make the necessary adjustments before moving forward again either on the same path with a new strategy or on a different path altogether. We don’t have to get everything right the first time.

8. There will be backslides

I have learned the hard way that progress is not always linear. We might be cruising along okay for a few weeks and then all of a sudden my kiddo completely falls apart. Maybe something changed, maybe she just feels overwhelmed. With support, she has always found her way back.

Backslides are normal. Bad days/weeks are normal. Listen; support; allow space and time; cry if you need to. It’s okay to feel frustrated. None of this is easy. I can’t emphasize enough how much it helps to have people to call on, especially during backslides.

Despite having learned all of this, I still screw up. There are no perfect kids; there are no perfect parents. Sometimes I lose my patience or make things worse by projecting my own anxiety onto my kids. I’ve had to learn to give myself the same grace that I give to those around me and accept that I am human in all of this; always learning, always growing, and doing my best to care for, advocate on behalf of, and guide two amazing, special souls.

Meryl Paskow lives with her husband, kids, and two cats in Northern Virginia. When she is not trying to make sense of the world through writing for her blog, theorangeinkblot (https://theorangeinkblot.wordpress.com), Meryl enjoys spending time with family and friends, watching movies, and playing board games. This blog post originally appeared on Grown and Flown, at https://grownandflown.com/parenting-neurodivergent-kids-with-mental-health-disorders/.