Boker Tov! Good Morning!
As I begin this keynote, you'll notice I have a unique way of
speaking. Two reasons for it: First, I was born and raised in The
Bronx, New York. Second. I have a disability--Cerebral Palsy or
CP—which I've had since birth. CP mainly affects the part of the
brain that controls voluntary movement, as with Neil and myself. But
it can also affect area of the brain that are responsible for sight,
hearing, cognition, and speech, depending on how the brain was
impacted. There are several different types of CP, and no two people
will have it the same way.... But getting back to my speech, it may
take some of you a bit of time to get used to or comfortable with my
accent. And that's okay. In the end, I always get my point across...,
unless I'm arguing with Neil!
Today, I like to share with you my experience with Jewish Education
both as a child and as an adult. Growing up, I didn't get a formal
Jewish education. I never went to Hebrew or Religious School. My
family weren't Synagogue Jews. My father went to High Holiday
Services and, when a close relative died, he'd go say Kaddish during
the year of mourning... My mother only went to say Yizkor for her
mother. And to be honest I think my parents just had their hands too
full raising two little girls, one of which, me, had a disability.
Looking at the big picture, Religious School wasn't that important
anyway, since only boys in my family had B'nei Mitzvahs... I remember
my parents did send my sister one year, but she was never into it. I,
on the other hand would have loved to go—but in those days, it was
just an accepted norm that kids with disabilities weren't integrated
into activities with children who didn't have disabilities.
So, how did I learn to be Jewish? Where did I get my Jewish
identity? Well, from my family, of course! My father's parents
emigrated from Russia/Poland to escape the Pogroms in the late 1800s.
They were Orthodox Jews and remained so all their lives, so I knew
that they didn't do certain things, like use the phone or ride on
Saturday—on Shabbos. My father was less observant. I think because
he often had to work on Saturdays. As for my mother's side of the
family, both her parents were born in the United States. They prided
themselves on being Americanized, hardly even spoke Yiddish. Yet, the
maternal side of my mother's family kept their Jewish rituals. So, in
the home I grew up, in we kept kosher, we lit Shabbos candles; my
mother recited the prayer she had from her mother—with a few of the
words, as I later learned, mispronounced.
In my informal Jewish upbringing, I learned about observing
holidays—Rosh HaShonah, Yom Kippur, Chanukkah, Pesach. The stories.
The food. The culture. The dos and don'ts. I remember going the Bar
Mitzvah celebrations of all my male cousins on Saturday nights or
Sunday afternoons, not even knowing they had been called up to the
Torah on Shabbos morning. As a matter of fact, I don't remember even
hearing the word “Torah” ever referred to when I was young.
I was always curious about knowing more but whenever I asked
questions, I just received cursory answers. “Why don't Grandpa and
Grandma ride on Shabbos?” “It's a sin!” “Why can't they turn
on the lights?” “It's work!” The answers didn't make much sense
to me. Neither did why only boys got to have Bar Mitzvahs! So in my
mind, I grew to view Judaism as restrictive and very patriarchal.
When I moved to the West Coast in my twenties, I'd be invited to a
Seder for Passover or a friend would drag to a High Holiday service,
and although I would never admit, I longed to belong to a Jewish
community. But I never felt like I fit in. I always felt like a
stranger. No one was friendly. They were uncomfortable around me, so
I was uncomfortable around them. It seemed like the very people who
are inherently taught to remember their history of oppression and
prejudice, were all too ready to exclude me. It didn't seem very
Jewish to me!
So, nu, what happened? How did I get here—of all places?
Well, for one
thing, I became a parent, and since Neil and I lived 3,000 miles away
from our families, we wanted to make sure our son David got a sense
of being “Jewish.” We enrolled him in Religious School.
I was definitely
out of my comfort zone. David learned things that I had no clue
about: Tzedakah boxes. Parshat. Havdalah.
Luckily, in the
Reform Synagogue, Temple Sinai, where we ended up, there were enough
congregants, clergy, and staff—just a handful, at first—who made
us feel welcome. Rabbi Chester didn't bat an eye when we showed up
the day of registration. He introduced us to Brunetta, who worked in
the office; she nonchalantly asked if we wanted help filling out the
forms. Barbara from the membership committee came to our home to
welcome us as congregants. I met people who truly understood how to
role model Jewish values. I was fascinated by a Judaism that centered
around building community, a Judaism that requires us to show up and
learn.
I began to attend
services, take classes, become active and, speak up about
accessibility. And I found out I wasn't alone; there were others in
the congregation who spoke up, too. I began to get called on to join
committees. The more I got involved, the more I broke down physical
and attitudinal barriers toward disability along with other members
of the congregation. Not all. It might never be all. But eventually,
I felt a part of the Temple Sinai community.
Somewhere, along the line, Rabbi Chester put the bug in my
ear—actually from the bimah at David's Bar Mitzvah—that I should
have a Bat Mitvah of my very own. After thinking about it for a
couple of years, I started to study Hebrew, began taking voice
lessons, and set the date. I led the congregation in a Shabbat
service one July morning in 2005, with a few accommodations. If I had
it to do over, I'd give a shorter Drash!
But let's go back to Jewish Values. If you think about it, the
great thing about Jewish Values is that they don't discriminate!
That's why, as Jewish educators, you have a unique opportunity when
you have kids with disabilities in your classroom because you're in a
position to mold behaviors that foster confidence, community, and
Jewish Values for every student. You can teach them that everyone
has worth and ability, that everyone is made B'tzelem Elohim, in the
image of God. And it's not just your students who will benefit; it's
their families as well. Parents of children with disabilities often
feel isolated from other parents. They can experience being just as
left out because of assumptions made about their child because
he/she has a disability. They are used to having their child
perceived as different in the secular world. But you have chance as
teachers to educate, to be facilitators and role models of inclusion.
Isn't that the real beginning of Tikkun Olam, repairing the world?
Thank you.
