Modern Mishpocha: Inclusion – Make the day sparkle for exceptional parents and kids

Jen Perzow

By Jen Perzow

I have a confession to make. Parshiot (Torah portions) that reference technical details such as those related to the Mishkan (Tabernacle), priestly clothing, and korbanot (Biblical sacrifice) are not usually among my favourites. Never mind trying to draw parallels to parenting! And yet, it is so appropriate that Parsha Terumah concludes February’s Jewish Disability Awareness, Acceptance and Inclusion Month.

In Terumah, we receive detailed descriptions of how the Mishkan should be built. These are specific instructions intended to create a physical space for holiness. The purpose for which the Mishkan is built – to create a space in which God can dwell amidst us – is the essence of the building. The technical specifications are important but they are supporting characters to the true objective of giving something ethereal and holy a physical space and presence.

My observation is that we may sometimes take the opposite approach when it comes to inclusion. We focus on structures that may facilitate inclusion but not always with a mindset of truly wanting to do what it takes to be inclusive. Structures and actions can represent our faith, gratitude and spirituality. But like an accessible ramp that goes unplowed after a huge snowfall, it takes a legitimate desire to consider other people’s lived experiences to actually make that ramp a useable tool and an authentic metaphor for inclusion.

“I couldn’t do what you’re doing.” I’m quite sure that every parent who has had the privilege of parenting a child with exceptionalities has heard this at least once from a well-meaning friend or family member. The truth, though, is of course they would. Parents of kids with exceptionalities didn’t get to stay after school for advanced classes in parenting. Neither they nor their children were consulted first and asked whether or not they were up for the task. For the most part, they got thrown into situations without the knowledge or skills to be able to handle difficult situations. And then they adapted. Like so much in life, inclusion is fundamentally about attitude. As a friend so aptly said, it’s about adopting a problem-solving as opposed to a problem-finding mindset.

Exceptionalities bring with them their own adventures. Living with them and parenting kids who have them can be isolating and frustrating and we tend not to speak openly about our challenges and successes. How incredibly fortunate we are to have JOIN, the Jewish Ottawa Inclusion Network, as a resource for parents supporting kids with exceptionalities and to offer consultative coaching to institutions that are trying to do better.

You know what is really going to make the day sparkle for one of our fellow exceptional parents? When things go as they are supposed to. When they can park in the accessible spot at school because other people who don’t have accessibility needs have been mindful not to park there. When they can get in and out of buildings with ease. When their children can participate in class because thoughtful and appropriate accommodations have been made.

The millions of details that we mostly take for granted every day: I know these can seem like little things and sometimes we get tired of people pointing them out time and time again. But they are so much more than that. They are representations of authentic inclusivity.

When those things go right it’s like a ray of sunshine. It is building something holy into our everyday experiences.

Have questions about JOIN? Would you like to be included in their Parent Support Group? Please don’t be shy. Reach out via their Facebook page or send an email to maddy128@hotmail.com.

Modern Mishpocha: Talmud lessons on education, teaching, lifelong learning

Rabbi Dara Lithwick

By Rabbi Dara Lithwick

I have written before about how lifelong learning is a fundamental Jewish value. Indeed, we are obligated to study and to learn until we breathe our last breaths, says 12th century sage Maimonides in his code of Jewish law, Mishneh Torah. We are never too old to learn.

As I write, all four Ontario teachers’ unions are engaged in some form of job action, including rotating strikes. Sticking points exist between the unions and the province regarding support for students with special needs, wages for teachers, maintaining full-day kindergarten, class sizes, and hiring practices. Our children, who are both in public school and are impacted by what is going on, have asked what this all means. We have responded by reiterating how important and special and fundamental their teachers are (our kids know that!), and how they and the provincial government are trying to figure out important questions about work conditions and school, and how the current labour action is about trying to make sure that students are best able to succeed.

My kids got me thinking about what our tradition has to say about teachers and education.

The obligation to learn also incorporates the duty to teach, particularly our children. Not once, but twice in the Shema blessings we are commanded to teach Torah to our children (Deuteronomy 6:7 and 11:19). Proverbs 22:6 adds, “Train youth in the path s/he should follow. S/he will not swerve from it even in ripe age.” The Talmud obliges parents (I am interpreting it in a gender inclusive manner) to teach our children Torah, a craft, and how to swim (Kiddushin 29a).

The sages of the Talmud realized that not all parents were capable of providing their children with a formal education. So, the sages instituted a mandatory system of public education that looks quite similar to what we have today. The Talmud says this was based on the orders of first century Jewish high priest Joshua ben Gamla to institute public education for the masses, “that teachers of children should be established in each and every province and in each and every town, and they would bring the children in to learn at the age of six and at the age of seven.”

Class sizes and wages are also discussed in the Talmud. Classes are capped, and assistants are required if there are more students: “The maximum number of students for one teacher of children is 25 children. And if there are 50 children in a single place, one establishes two teachers, so that each one teaches 25 students. And if there are 40 children, one establishes an assistant, and the teacher receives help from the residents of the town to pay the salary of the assistant. (Bava Batra 21a).” We see here how local residents contribute to pay the relevant salaries.

Overall, the value and import of the teacher in the learning process is emphasized in the Mishnah, in Pirkei Avot, and throughout the Talmud. Further, as stated in the Jewish Virtual Library entry on “Education,” the Talmud repeatedly highlights “the significance of motivation in teaching and of vocational training principles, which are basic to effective instruction and a modern educational system.”

For example, in Pirkei Avot there is found the famous Jewish proverb, “Make for yourself a teacher, and acquire for yourself a friend (1:6).” Later, Rabbi Elazar ben Shammua says, “Let the honour of your student be as dear to you as your own, and the honour of your colleague as the reverence for your teacher, and the reverence for your teacher as the reverence of heaven (4:12).”

Rabbi Elazar ben Shammua’s statement speaks to the deep care and respect that my children’s teachers give to them and the other kids in their classes, in terms of how I see them teaching our children. It also speaks to the respect that we have, and that our children have, for our teachers. May the current labour action be resolved in a manner that expresses this fundamental respect for teachers, for children, and for public education.

Note: I wish to extend a special thank you to my teachers, past and present, and family, friends and community who have supported me through my lifelong learning and enabled me to obtain my rabbinic smicha on January 12, 2020. I promise to keep on learning and teaching through the rest of my days!

Modern Mishpocha: ‘Practice makes permanent’

Jenny T. Burns

By Jenny T. Burns

My dad is forever fond of the phrase, “practice makes permanent.” As a music teacher and b’nai mitzvah tutor, he would try to impress on his students that practicing something incorrectly will create an uphill battle. As a kid and student, I was scared this meant I would be stuck with false information or incorrect music scales forever, like eternal earworms.

As an adult, I’ve come to see this phrase as comforting.

Let’s put a pin in that thought.

In my less-than-tidy dining room, my three-year-old saw me clear a space on the table for a breadboard. On it, I placed a loaf of bread and the bread cover. He watched me hunt for my last IKEA candle, which I had to cut in half and put in two candleholders. He watched all of this and said, “Challah! Shabbat!”

My heart burst. My Shabbat was utterly imperfect. The table had notebooks, a bullet journal, my stack of ‘to-read’ books, some confiscated soothers and half-drunk mugs of coffee. I was 100 per cent going to be using my phone and television over the next 24 hours. We’re talking about a far-from-kosher Shabbat here. The Talmudic sages would probably have turned their noses at my Shabbat table, but whatever! My three-year-old was demonstrating that for him, a challah cover and candles means Shabbat! Shabbat means special bread with a special name. Hopefully, more deeply than this, he will come to feel excited and happy when those objects and traditions make their weekly appearance.

Practice makes permanent. This is how I’m going to raise a Jew. Repetition. Practice. The comforting concept of what is practiced becoming permanent.

It does not matter how haphazard our weekly Shabbat dinner is. Yes, we aim for our multigenerational affair with home-baked goodies and my parents’ stunning dining room table. Other times, though, our Shabbat is not-enough-chairs for everyone, guests leaving early and roast chicken from Costco. What is practiced and permanent, however, is that we do it. We do the thing. We light the candles and say the blessings. We bless the wine/juice. We say “L’Chaim.” We bless the challah after the flourish of uncovering it (even if that means we’re opening a box of pizza). The framework is permanent. It’s practiced and in place and thus flexible and adaptable to the chaos of the week.

I also know that this framework and permanence exists in my life because my parents fought for it. Fancy desserts, chocolate milk, and sometimes a Torah story after dinner. These were the Shabbat dinners I remember from my childhood, and as I grew older, those dinners and rituals did not disappear. Sometimes we were at the family dinner service at our synagogue. Sometimes we had guests. Sometimes, our Shabbat dinner started hours after sundown because my dad was working overtime. A few times, we did our Shabbat blessings in a restaurant because my dad was playing a jazz gig at said restaurant.

Sometimes I loved it. Sometimes I thought it was embarrassing and limiting! Now, I get it. My parents were giving me an ongoing gift of Jewish identity. They were helping me practice. They were making Shabbat permanent. They made Shabbat so much a part of my life that when I was living in England, I would call them on Friday nights to make sure I was included in the Shabbat blessings at home. What a gift? I want to give the same one to my children, too.

Now, I’ve been going on and on about Shabbat, but let’s clarify something – you do not have to practice a weekly Shabbat dinner. You are your own Jew doing your best in this crazy world. Shabbat is just my example of something concrete in my Jewish identity. What permanent Jewish traditions are you instilling in your life? What warm, safe memories are you cultivating in your family for comfort and even identity down the road? Is there room for more? Maybe the answer is ‘Not right now you nosy writer!’ but you know what, maybe the answer is yes. Maybe it’s about including a PJ Library book at bedtime every night. Maybe it’s inviting guests to a Shabbat dinner once a month. The choice is yours. It’s always yours. It’s a gift of practicing to permanence that we give ourselves and the next generation.