My son Ezra wasn’t yet three when his journey to a Jewish day-school education was detoured. Sitting in toddler-size chairs in a synagogue preschool, we listened as his teacher told us he wasn’t fitting in with the other children: While they sang, he flipped idly through picture books. Instead of joining classmates in play, he focused intently on animal toys, spacey and aloof.
Even before he was diagnosed months later with autism, it became clear to us that the school could not accommodate Ezra. Another temple’s early childhood program welcomed him, but when it was time for kindergarten, public schools were the only option.
My wife and I had envisioned Jewish day schools for our children. Indeed, Ezra’s two brothers have had positive and powerful experiences in their classrooms. But by the time Ezra was in fourth grade, he had tried three different public schools, a private secular school, and a year of homeschooling.
Why? Because for all of our community’s commitment to day schools, including children with special needs simply isn’t a priority.
It should be.
And it can be. Ezra attends Camp Ramah in Ojai, where he participates in the Tikvah program. The camp makes accommodations for his special needs, but for much of the day he’s integrated with the larger camp population. He has also forged friendships with typically developing peers who volunteer to be matched with Tikvah campers. In these relationships, both parties benefit, as does the larger community.
Not long ago, I visited Atlanta, where the Amit Program runs a day school and a religious school for children with special needs. Chicago’s Keshet has made similar strides. And in places like Toronto, New Jersey and Brooklyn, Jewish Montessori schools are finding creative ways to serve children with disabilities together with their typical peers.
Why not in L.A.? Of course it’s challenging. Of course there are other priorities. Of course resources are limited. But this is the second largest Jewish city on the continent. Why can’t a child like Ezra go to the same Jewish schools his brothers attend—schools where my sons learn the central teachings of our faith, such as the idea that we’re all created betzelem elokim, in the image of God?
When Ezra became bar mitzvah, instead of giving a talk about the Torah portion, he opted to discuss what it’s like to have autism. To him, that meant two things: he repeats himself a lot, and he has an excellent memory. Then Ezra offered a profound thought. “Sometimes,” he said, “I think all Jewish people have autism. We repeat things all the time.” (He mentioned Shabbat, for example, and songs like “Adon Olam” and “Shalom Aleichem.”) “And we have holidays when we remember things that happened thousands of years ago.”
We should all keep that in mind when we consider including kids like Ezra in our day schools. It’s not about solving somebody else’s problem. We’re talking about all of us. We all have autism. We all have special needs. And we should all learn from each other.
Tom Fields-Meyer, a Los Angeles writer, is the author of Following Ezra: What One Father Learned About Gumby, Otters, Autism, and Love from His Extraordinary Son, a finalist for the 2011 National Jewish Book Award. He blogs at www.followingezra.com. Photo by Gregg Segal.
