A Question of Balance

In Jewish folklore, there are many stories about droughts, which makes sense, since the Jewish people originated in the Middle East, where the rainy season is fairly short, from October to March, followed by the rest of the year when it doesn’t usually rain at all, and the water that fell in the winter needs to be strictly conserved to last for the whole dry season.  If the rainy season is poor one year, that makes water conservation even more important, and drought something to be consistently concerned about.  Because of this, the last of the fall holidays, Sukkot, ends with a prayer for rain.

Now every story about a drought is actually a story about the person who managed to end the drought.  And what is unique about these stories that have been told for thousands of years, is that this individual who manages to end the drought and bring rain is never a person that the community would expect to be a successful rainmaker.  It is never the most learned in the town, never the most powerful in the city, never the wealthiest in the village.  It is always someone very surprising on one hand, and totally not surprising on the other hand.

These stories are usually told just before or during the High Holy Days, which are the fall holidays of Rosh HaShanah, the Jewish New Year, Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, and Sukkot, the festival of the booths.  Tonight is Erev Yom Kippur, when the 26 hour fast and day of repentance begins, so in honor of Yom Kippur, I tell you this story, which I have adapted to more modern times and put in a country not unlike our own.  The story is called The Question of Balance.

The country where the story takes place was going through a really tough time.  The gap between the wealthy and the poor was getting larger.  Discomfort between different racial groups, ethnic groups and religious groups, something that had supposedly faded away decades ago, was now actively bubbling to the surface, and angry mobs were demonstrating against each other, sometimes hurting each other.  The country was terribly divided politically, with the idea of compromise, of balance, all but out the window.  On top of that, a terrible plague had descended on the entire world, making human contact even more problematic, because the virus was airborne, so people were afraid of each other.  And, perhaps worst of all, though it is hard to know in this list which is the worst of all, people’s action had finally started influencing nature, rendering large parts of the country uninhabitable, parts of the country that had once been lush and green and perfect for growing the food needed to feed the citizens of the country were now either suffering from drought and forest fires, or covered in flooding and erratic hurricanes that brought terrible rain storms.  It simply felt like there was no balance left at all.

This country was divided geographically by a large mountain range, running north to south.  There were many small cities and towns up on this mountain range, and the people in these mountains were not suffering the same climate changes, though of course every other item in the list of current woes was very present in their daily lives.  From their mountain top perches, they could see the fires to the west and the rainstorms and flooding to the east.  People from the west and the east were making their way up into the mountains to get some respite, and the mountaineers were welcoming them.

Rabbi Tzadok was the rabbi of a small synagogue in one of the small mountain cities. It was three days before Yom Kippur, and he was sitting in his study, which had windows to both the east and the west.  He was preparing his sermon for the Erev Yom Kippur services.  As a Rabbi, he had heard all of the stories about the righteous ones of the past who had been able to bring rain in the time of drought.  He was a modern man, and didn’t believe in miracles or magic or folk tales.  And it wasn’t just rain that the country needed now, because the East had too much rain.  No, what was needed was some balance, to bring both the rain to the west and dryness to the east.  As he looked at the fires in the west and the flooding in the east, he thought to himself, “If only the rain from the east would swing over the mountains to put out the fires in the west, and if only the dryness of the west could dry out the flooding in the east.”    And wouldn’t that be something to bring that for Yom Kippur?  To give the country some respite on that evening of greatest holiness?

That night, Rabbi Tzadok had a dream, where a voice was telling him to call Hannah to come lead the prayers.  The voice kept saying that Hannah could bring balance.  When the Rabbi awoke in the morning, he was confused.  It took him a while to remember who Hannah was.  He slowly realized that she was the petite Muslim woman who ran a small grocery store in the south side of the city.  Rabbi Tzadok often shopped in her store as she had the freshest vegetables and fruit in the entire city, and very reasonable prices.  Besides that, it was just a pleasant store to shop in because Hannah always had a warm, welcoming smile, but Rabbi Tzadok realized that he had never actually heard her speak.  He had also heard rumors that she had some kind of disability, and maybe that explained why she rarely spoke.  As the Rabbi thought more about Hannah, he shook his head at the craziness of the dream.  How could Hannah lead the prayers?  She wasn’t Jewish, she certainly didn’t know Hebrew, and she most likely had never even heard a Jewish prayer.  The dream didn’t make any sense.  But maybe, the dream was telling him to pray in a special way, so if he and a minyan of the most learned members of the community prayed fervently, maybe rain would come to the west and sun would come to the east.  So, he sent out a message asking these ten men to come and join him for evening prayers, and that evening they did just that.  But nothing changed.

That night, Rabbi Tzadok had a second dream, with the same voice telling him to call Hannah to come lead the prayers.  The voice reminded him that Hannah could bring balance.

Well Rabbi Tzadok woke up in the morning, amused that he had had the same silly dream.  He respected Hannah for sure as a merchant who ran an honest business, but really, the thought of her leading prayers for balance in the synagogue was absurd.  No, the Rabbi thought, what he needed to do was convene the whole community, to try and pray for balance together.  That might do the trick.

He got busy calling his congregation, asking them to come join him for a special prayer service in the evening.  To his surprise, everyone came.  Somehow, the small sanctuary was big enough for everyone to sit with enough space between them to keep themselves safe.  As he explained his vision, they all were rejoiced to be asked to help, and it was an especially beautiful evening of community prayer.  But nothing changed.  Out the windows of the synagogue, one could still see the fires to the west and the floods to the east.

That night, Rabbi Tzadok had the same dream as before, for a third time.  But this time the voice was more insistent, saying, “The only way you are going to bring your prayer to fruition is to call on Hannah.”

Well, they say three times a charm.  When Rabbi Tzadok woke that morning, he realized that he just had to go and speak to Hannah.  He got dressed, grabbed his mask, got on his bicycle, and rode over to Hannah’s store in the southern part of the city.

When he entered the store, there were very few customers, which the Rabbi was happy for, since he was a little embarrassed about what he was going to ask Hannah.  He saw that she was in her usual perch, over at the counter behind the cash register.  She had on a transparent face shield, and Rabbi Tzadok could see her ever present beaming smile clear across the store as he walked towards her.

“Good morning Hannah, I don’t know if you remember me, but I am Rabbi Tzadok from Sha’arei Shamayim Synagogue a bit north of here.”  Hannah smiled bigger and nodded, indicating that of course she remembered him.  The Rabbi took a deep breath and continued to speak.  He explained to her about his vision to bring balance to the climate issues ravaging the country.  She smiled more sadly, acknowledging that she recognized the same needs.  He explained about the Jewish prayers for rain, and how he had altered the prayers to bring both rain and dryness, to bring balance to each part of the country according to it’s need.  She nodded and showed her interest.  And then he told her about his dreams.  Hannah looked at him with large eyes, slightly worried.  She shook her head and put her hands over her heart, indicating that she was sorry, but she just couldn’t do that.  The Rabbi said to her, “I know this request seems really unusual, and it is unusual to me too, which is why it took me three nights of the same insistent dream to even come and visit you.”

Hannah answered in the smallest, the most halting, of voices, “Dear Rabbi, I really can’t do this.  I am not good at speaking in front of crowds.  And I am a Muslim, I don’t know anything about Jewish prayers.  I don’t even know what you call God.”

Rabbi Tzadok nodded, and said, “We call God Adonai, and I know that this seems odd.  But I have a feeling that whatever voice is telling me to speak to you also knows all of that.  I think you just need to pray from your heart, with no concern about language or specific words.  My whole community will welcome you, and you could bring your community and whoever else of your friends and customers you feel would be the right people to help in this prayer.”

Hannah sighed, closed her eyes briefly, took a deep breath, and said, in that same small, halting voice, “I do not know why I should lead this prayer, but I agree with you that it is very important, and I will come this evening.  I don’t know what I will say, but I will come.”

Rabbi Tzadok thanked her effusively, feeling in his heart that this was totally the right thing to do!  He hurried back to the synagogue, contacted all of his community again, and invited them yet again to come that evening for one more very special prayer session before Yom Kippur.

And to his surprise once more, the entire community came.  They all entered the sanctuary somberly and looked at the Rabbi standing at the front, waiting for him to speak.  He quietly said, “We are waiting for some guests.”  Within a few minutes, there was a small, very timid knock on the door of the sanctuary.  One of the members jumped up, opened the door, and was taken aback to see Hannah, carrying a large box, followed by her community from her mosque and close friends and customers of her store of every faith and background.  They all nodded quiet hellos to the Jewish community members sitting inside as they filed inside and found seats.  Somehow the small sanctuary seemed to expand its walls and there was room for everyone.  The Jewish members quickly got over their surprise and welcomed the guests.  Hannah took a seat in the back with her large box.

Everyone turned expectantly back to the front of the sanctuary and looked at Rabbi Tzadok.  The Rabbi in turn looked expectantly at Hannah.  Hannah silently shook her head and sank deeper into her seat, trying to hide.  The Rabbi stepped off the dais and walked to the back to speak with her quietly.  The entire room stared, and watched as Hannah took a deep breath, and gave a small nod.  The Rabbi offered to take the big box, and she agreed.  They walked back to the front together and turned around to face the congregation.  Rabbi Tzadok put the box down on the table and left the dais and sat down in the front row.  Hannah was visibly shaking, but she took a breath, reached into the box, and pulled out the scales from her store, the scales that she used to weigh her customers purchases, the scales that were considered “old-fashioned” but that resembled the traditional scales of justice.

Everyone in the congregation looked slightly amused, wondering what on earth Hannah could possibly be doing with her store’s scales at the front of the synagogue.  But they all wanted to be polite to their guest in this place of worship, so they quickly adjusted their faces to erase the amusement and instead show respect.

Hannah took another deep breath and turned her small face to the ceiling.  Though her voice was quiet, somehow it could be heard easily throughout the sanctuary.  “Allah, or Adonai as my hosts call you, God, you know I am a simple woman.  I do not usually lead prayers or speak in front of congregations.  I run my store and live a modest life.  The only reason that I can think of that you wanted me to lead this prayer is that you know that I am an honest woman.  I have never lied in my life.  And I maintain my scales totally honestly, never tipping the balance one way or the other, always charging only for what the item weighs.  In the same way that I maintain honest balance in my store and in my life, I beg of you to bring balance to what is happening in our country now.  Please bring rain to quench the fires in the west, and please bring dry days to roll back the flooding of the east.  Perhaps this will also bring balance to the anger and division rolling throughout our land.”

Everyone bowed their heads in prayer, and suddenly, a huge wind blew over the skylight of the synagogue.  As everyone looked up, they could see the rain clouds from the east blowing over the mountaintop to the west, and as they looked out, they saw the fires starting to go out.  Then a second sudden wind blew over from the west, and everyone inside could feel the heat and dryness that it carried, and as they looked to the east, they could see the wind blow the flood waters back towards the river banks and ocean beds.

Hannah was as astonished as anyone, and they all looked at each other in wonder.  But then another look of understanding started to spread through the congregation.  Everyone in the audience, this audience of every different possible religious and ethnic background, used scales of some kind in their everyday life, in their work, in their relationships…that evening, after everyone had made their way home in the changed air, every scale in the city went through small, often imperceptible corrections.  Because it was a question of balance.

 

A person’s right to fully participate in all aspects of society….

Shepherding children to adulthood is a bit of a whirlwind. The school years are often one long race from morning ‘til night. But as any parent of both a neurotypical child and a child with autism can testify, there is great variance in the nature of whirlwinds… both my husband and I realized early on that our parenting style changes dramatically depending on which offspring we are with at any given moment.
Just a mundane example: Looking back at the 13 years that our neurotypical daughter, who is now 26, was in school, we dutifully appeared for the standard parent-teacher conferences and events where her teachers heaped praise on her. In contrast, during the 16 years that our son, who has autism and is now 24, was in school, we were there for IEP meetings multiple times per year for ongoing consultations with teachers and administrators multiple times per year, disciplinary meetings, emergency meetings, negotiations about behavior plans, and then of course those same parent-teacher meetings and events. Vive la différence! I was a virtual stranger to my daughter’s educators; I was a regular installation for my son’s.
I began my teaching career before I had children. I loved learning about the theory of multiple intelligences and different learning styles and used this information regularly as a music teacher. This background in education and child development certainly helped in parenting as well. As a disability advocate now, I often run into parents who honestly don’t know that their children’s development is different than what it should b, because they are not in a field that requires that knowledge. Having a background in education helped me identify early on that our son was wired differently, and that all those big books about the stages of child development did not actually apply. I knew we were in foreign territory, and I knew that I didn’t know what to do.
Our son is a poster child for multiple intelligences and different learning styles. I am eternally grateful for all the educators who have worked hard over the years to figure out how to reach him, encourage him and recognize his strengths. As a parent and educator in the world of special needs, I know both how difficult this can be and how essential it is. Along with these wonderful teachers though, there is sadly also an equally long list of educators who did or still do not seem to have any patience or desire to work with someone who’s learning style was or is outside of their comfort zone. Some were downright abusive, some just impatient, most (of this list) just could not figure out what his story was.
Fast forward: Our son is working very hard to finish art school, where he is studying hand-drawn animation. Art school has been an amazing blessing for our son. He has learned so much, and the school has mostly put up with his very unique learning curve. No complaints. Well…. maybe just one.
Not a complaint actually, just a plaintive wish. I so wish that anyone interfacing with students, of any age, would have some understanding of invisible disabilities like Sensory Processing Disorder and autism. Though there are certainly many people with autism older than my son, he is of the “tsunami” generation, when the numbers of kids diagnosed with autism exploded from 1 in 10,000 in 1970 to 1 in 1,000 in 1995…and of course the explosion has continued, because now, (depending on which office of the CDC you listen to), the numbers are either 1 in 39 or 1 in 58. The statistics for Sensory Processing Disorder are even higher, 1 in 6. Autism is no longer rare. Sensory Processing Disorder is everywhere. Mental Health departments on college campuses are expanding beyond any recognition of the mostly unused offices that they were in my time.
So, educators of any age need to know what autism looks like, beyond the dry words of description in the book. When my son verbally expressed his excitement on the first day of the semester’s drawing class, he did so in a way that seemed odd and not age-appropriate to the neurotypical professor. He then leaned over to compliment another student’s work, and the professor saw someone who didn’t seem to understand personal space. And then he dropped his metal water bottle a few times. Apparently, he also didn’t understand that the class was supposed to stand in two lines to show their work at the end of the day, and he was pacing back and forth waiting. In short, he was exhibiting signs of autism, and using strategies to help him process the sensory overload at the end of the day. And at the end of this class, as instructed by the Learning Support Office, he handed the professor his letter of accommodation explaining about his disabilities.
I only know all of this because, despite the letter, the professor reported to the department chair that he didn’t know what to do with my son because he was disruptive, and I was called in to hear that my son was being put on probation for the entire semester. What is the nature of the probation? That he is not allowed to make any noise on campus.
I am definitely convinced that the professor is doing the best he can with what he knows. I do not think bad of him. A classroom is a public space and growing up we all figure out how to conform our personal expressions in public so as to be culturally appropriate. My son needs to learn what works around neurotypical people and what doesn’t. Ableism is still around big-time. So, I’m not complaining, I’m just repeating my plaintive wish: I so wish that anyone interfacing with students, of any age, would have some understanding of invisible disabilities like Sensory Processing Disorder and autism. And of course, why confine this wish to educators interfacing with students? I so wish that people everywhere would have some understanding of invisible disabilities like Sensory Processing Disorder and autism.
In Item 2 of Sec. 12101 of the ADA Amendments Act of 2008, it says:
(2) in enacting the ADA, Congress recognized that physical and mental disabilities in no way diminish a person’s right to fully participate in all aspects of society, but that people with physical or mental disabilities are frequently precluded from doing so because of prejudice, antiquated attitudes, or the failure to remove societal and institutional barriers;

 


Sigh.

https://tacanow.org/autism-statistics/
https://www.ucsf.edu/news/2013/07/107316/breakthrough-study-reveals-biological-basis-sensory-processing-disorders-kids

Standing At Sinai with Everyone…

I love spring. I love the warmth, the sense of new life, the sense of rebirth after the winter. But for families with kids with special needs, like mine, spring is also a time of unique challenges: lots of holidays full of potential for sensory overload; lots of end-of-the-school-year events; the school year routine changes, and summer, though optimally a time for relaxing, is often harder to negotiate even than the school year, simply because the day-to-day schedule is so different.

Spring is also a time of graduations, and new chapters for many young people. So for those of us who have children walking a different path, children who are not necessarily able to graduate and move on into new and “exciting” life chapters, it is also a bit of a mine-field socially: you are excited and happy for your friends’ kids, and you have to be adept at side-stepping the small talk at graduation parties when well-meaning acquaintances ask the regular questions: “So what are your kids up to? Where is s/he going to college? What did s/he graduate in? Does s/he have a job yet? Where is s/he going to be living after moving out?” Etc etc….

Some of you know me personally, so you know that I am a musician that wears many hats, and with one of my hats I use music to present about disability awareness and inclusion. Over the years that I have been presenting workshops and concerts, I have found myself curious about how different religious texts speak about inclusion, and I have sometimes reflected these teachings in songs. Most religious and cultural frameworks teach some form of the “golden rule”- to treat others the way one would like to be treated by others. Simple right?

As legend tells it, Rabbi Hillel, who is believed to have lived around 110 BCE – 10 CE, was asked to describe Judaism while standing on one leg, and he is purported to have said, “What is hateful to thee, do not unto thy fellow man: this is the whole Law; the rest is mere commentary, go and study.”

So, not only is it a simple rule, it’s also the most important one…but it doesn’t take much to recognize that our world is not currently functioning according to this teaching, (and maybe never did?) Certainly the judgement, disrespect and manipulative abuse of people with disabilities and special needs is only a small part of this issue.

I ask myself regularly, why can’t we just treat others the way we want to be treated? I think, quite frankly, that we all have contradictory messages in our heads. On one hand, we know that we should be tolerant and compassionate, and on the other hand, we often have subconscious fears of people who are deemed “different” than us in some ways. And when someone has a “disability” as that difference, there is a pushing away that accompanies the fear.

But where does this fear come from? Well, along with the ancient texts teaching compassion, there are also multiple texts that imply that to be different is bad.

The Jewish holiday of Shavu’ot is coming up. Shavu’ot takes place 50 days after Passover, and originally celebrated the first harvest of barley. Over the generations it has also come to be a celebration of the Jewish people receiving the Torah at Mt. Sinai. A saying in Jewish teaching is that we should always behave as though we ourselves were standing at Mt. Sinai on that day long ago, part of the crowd that was present and happily accepting the Torah as a guide for how to live.

But there is a legend, a Midrash, called, “The Miracle that Happened to the Israelites with Disabilities When the Torah Was Given.”

(Hebrew below.) The Midrash tells the following story:

Many of the Israelites present that day had disabilities, possibly as a result of the hard labor that they had been forced to do as slaves under Pharaoh in Egypt. Some of them had been hit by falling rocks that broke their hands and cut off their legs. Some of them had been blinded by being hit with something sharp while building the pyramids. Some of them had lost their hearing by….?

God saw this and said “It isn’t fitting that I will give my Torah to people with disabilities.” So, what did God do? God called to the angels to come and heal the people with disabilities.

And how do we know that they were healed? How do we know that there was no one there who was visually impaired? Because the Torah says that everyone could see the voices.
And how do we know that there was no one there who was deaf? Because the Torah says they heard God speaking.
And how do we know that there was no one there who was missing arms? Because the Torah says, “We shall do.”
And how do we know that there was no one there who was missing legs? Because the Torah says, “They stood at the foot of the mountain.”

Oh my. Perhaps whoever wrote this Midrash was someone who thought that it was a gift that the Israelites with disabilities had been healed, because they assumed that of course no one would want to have a disability. Today of course there would be a scathing argument about whether or not a disability should be healed. Let’s put that aside, because likely the intentions there were well-meaning.

But to say that God did not think it was fitting to give the Torah to those with disabilities? I don’t think so. I do think though that this attitude has made its way into our thinking, way down in the shadows, where we cannot see clearly. By reading these kinds of ancient texts we have a wonderful opportunity to bring these thoughts out of the shadows and examine them in the light of modern day thinking.

So here is my Midrash for those with disabilities who were standing at Mt. Sinai with the rest of the Jewish people, waiting to receive the Torah:

Many of the Israelites present that day had disabilities, possibly as a result of the hard labor that they had been forced to do as slaves under Pharaoh in Egypt. Some of them had been hit by falling rocks that broke their hands and cut off their legs. God saw this and said “How wonderful that my Torah will be given to all of my people. Regardless of one’s cognitive ability or physical state, the Torah shall be for everyone.”

And how do we know that even those who were visually impaired were present? Because the Torah says that everyone could see the voices.

And how do we know that even those who were deaf were there? Because the Torah says that the noise was so loud that everyone could hear.

And how do we know that even those missing arms were there? Because the Torah says that everyone will do what is needed.

And how do we know that even those missing legs were there? Because the Torah says that everyone stood at the foot of the mountain.

For this Shavu’ot, as we remember standing at Mt. Sinai, let us remember that we were all there, able bodied and not, ADD and not, Autism and not, with mental health challenges and not, etc…, and we received the Torah all together.
For this very reason, I wrote this song, Beyond The Golden Rule…the first Hebrew chorus reflects the original Torah “golden rule”, to “Love your neighbor as yourself,” but I do think we need to expand who it is we are willing to be compassionate towards, so the second Hebrew chorus says, “Love the one who is different as yourself.” And the third? “Love the stranger as yourself.”

 

 

הנס שנעשה לבעלי המום בעת מתן תורה

בשעת מתן תורה כשיצאו ישראל ממצרים היו בהן בעלי מומים מעבודת הפרך,
שהיו האבנים נופלות עליהם ושוברות את ידיהם וקוטעות את רגליהם. אמר הקב”ה,
אין זה מתאים שאתן את תורתי לבעלי מום. מה עשה? קרא למלאכי השרת,
שירדו ורפאו אותם.
ומנין שלא היו בהם עיוורים? שנאמר: וכל העם רואים את הקולות”.
ומנין שלא היו בהם חרשים? שאמרו: “נשמע”.
ומנין שלא היו בהם קטועי ידיים, גדמים? שאמרו: “נעשה”.
ומניין שלא היו בהם פסחים, נטולי רגלים מפני שנאמר: “ויתייצבו בתחתית ההר.”

Thanks-giving and Compassion-giving

Though our world and Western society are forever changing, and many people bemoan the loss of “the good old days,” the annual American tradition of Thanksgiving is coming, as it does every November in the United States. The name of the holiday serves its purpose well: to remind us to give thanks for our blessings. And in Judaism we have a wonderful “first thing in the morning” blessing of giving thanks every day… giving thanks that we woke up and can still breathe! It’s not something to be taken for granted at all … and it is easy for me to be thankful for the simple things in my life, the things that I might not pay attention to because they have always been here, such as air to breathe, water to drink, enough food to eat, clothes to wear, a roof over my head, warm clothes and a heated home in the cold season, a loving family…really I don’t actually need anything more than that, and I have so much more.

As a parent, I spent lots of years trying to teach my now young-adult children to have the perspective to be able to recognize the blessings in their own lives, to recognize that “there but for fortune” (to coin an old Phil Ochs song) their lives could be far less comfortable, and though perhaps their circumstances are less than Hollywood fantasy movie-ish, they have so much to be thankful for. Both have definitely grown to understand that, but…my youngest struggles on a daily basis to maneuver the world with autism, Sensory Processing Disorder, anxiety and severe learning challenges.

While he definitely has much to be thankful for, and certainly “there but for fortune” he would not be where he is today, it is also very true that the world he walks through is not at all the same world that I walk through. He often says to me, “You have no idea what it is like to be me.” This sentence became the title of a song that I wrote in an attempt to explain Sensory Processing Disorder to teachers and community members who do not understand the seemingly pointless melt-downs that happen in public for so many children and young adults these days.

Having a son with autism has taught me compassion on a very deep level. I do think that as a young adult I suffered from “ableist” arrogance: I was very capable academically, I could play music and sing, I could run and do athletics, I could speak and hold my own in intellectual small talk and crowd banter, I could walk through the streets of Jerusalem (my home in my twenties) and pay attention to everything that was happening, but then turn all of that stimulation off and relax at home once I got there. None of these daily activities ever crossed my mind as something that everyone couldn’t do, as something to be thankful for. In retrospect I realize how very naïve I was of course.

My son is a kinesthetic learner, and excels at his passion, drawing and animation. He is also a talented singer. But that is where the overlap between his skills and the skills I had at his age end. He struggles to retain facts taught in academic classes. He says his brain literally hurts when he is trying to memorize details. He cannot run or coordinate his body well. He cannot follow small talk on any level; growing up in an intellectual Jewish home has made him far more insecure in this area than had he grown up in a home with people who were less talkative. But more than anything, walking through the streets of Columbus, Ohio, where we live now, is one long string of stressors and fears.

Ableism and othering go hand in hand. Having been thrust into the world of special needs by virtue of my son, I have been given the gift of needing to understand the world through eyes that do not see what I see. Ableism is a word that has been coined to refer to how much of western society is structured, under the assumption that everyone has the same physical abilities, and that if you have a “disability” you are inferior. Othering is when you choose to differentiate between those you think are similar to you, in whatever way you are choosing to define yourself, and others who are different and therefore not part of your “group.” We live in a time where othering is rampant and dangerous and very much in the spotlight. Ableism is much more subtle, especially in the case of autism and Sensory Processing Disorder, which are conditions that are often invisible to the external eye.

I know that my son suffers from Sensory Processing Disorder and I can often help him through overload. But what about the person on the street who is clearly having a hard time, perhaps a person on the street who does not like my bumper stickers or my political pins? I don’t know that person, but I think it is fair to say, just as my son says to me, that I have no idea what it is like to be them.

So, at this time of Thanksgiving, I am consciously saying thanks for the many blessings in my life, from the mundane to the more complex. I am also reminding myself never to assume what someone else should be thankful for, never to assume that I have any clue what someone else’s life challenges are. I am asking all of us, whoever we are, to practice a little understanding and perspective and tolerance as we enter the darkest time (season?)of the year…to bring the light of compassion and stop the practice of othering. Because, I/you have no idea what it is like to be them…