Bridging the Gap

Introduction

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. (1) 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.

 1. This can vary by disability community, and I am just speaking on this through my capacity as an Autistic advocate. I know that there is a greater diversity of opinion for the physically disabled community.