This essay, written for my course on disability stigma and accessibility, describes my first encounter with disability when I volunteered with adults with physical and cognitive disabilities on my gap year in Israel. That experience, in addition to this course, was where I was able to find my passion for working with people of all abilities and experiences. I chose to include this essay, “Discovering Difference,” in my ePortfolio because it shares an experience that was very influential in my growth and contributes to my potential career path. This essay is very personal, but also very telling of my identity and passions.
Personal Essay: Discovering Difference
September 24, 2020
Growing up, I had little interaction with different abilities or disabilities in my school or family. I could often recognize a difference or disability in someone compared to me and my friends, but I never put much thought into the topic. While many of my friends worked with organizations like Friendship Circle or the similar, I was always hesitant to commit to something like that out of apprehension.
Last year I spent a gap year before college in Israel. For much of the time there we volunteered in various locations around the city of Tiberias. When we arrived in Israel, we were asked to rank the list of options of where we wanted to volunteer. Among the list were schools, community centers, hospitals, and a facility for people with special needs. Having not had any experience working with special needs, I ranked the final option as my last choice; not because I thought I would hate the work, but more so because I was scared. I felt I was not well equipped to handle the situations that could arise. However, I believe it was fate that placed me there as a volunteer despite my extreme hesitation to involve myself.
On my first day of volunteering, I was so nervous on the drive to the facility. The only information that anyone had told me was that it would be an “intense experience,” which only added to my angst. The facility was a gated living community that held 300 residents, all with varying degrees of special needs and disabilities. The grounds were perfectly kept, the housing was gorgeous, and it was clear that the staff put every ounce of their heart into their work.
The first few days of volunteering were exhausting both physically and emotionally. I came home each night and as my friends would ask how my day was or what it was like, I could never even put into words how I was feeling. I finally understood why it was always referred to as an “intense experience” by others.
During the tour of the facility I was holding back tears. The manager took us around the various areas where all the residents lived. They were divided up by disability, level of functioning, and age. The area that I remember most distinctly was the building that housed the members with severe cognitive impairment and physical disabilities. Most of the residents there could not speak and so loud screeches often echoed from the rooms. Many of them could not eat solid food and so they were either hand fed a mushy mixture by a staff member or were hooked up to a feeding tube three times a day. Being in wheelchairs, anytime they had to move to another location it felt like a mass exodus of staff wheeling the residents out the doors.
That first day, I came home with more questions than answers. How could people live like this? Is it really a life they are living? Did any of the residents have families that came to visit? How much could they understand or process what we were saying? I expressed these questions, specifically about communication, to the director of the facility named Boaz. Boaz looked me in the eyes and in Hebrew said, “Well, that’s what I find so special about these members. You have no idea what they’re thinking. They could be having the most brilliant thoughts in the world, but they are labeled in a certain category, so we might never know.” I was in shock. Boaz was completely right. I had spent the first few days upset, thinking about how much these peoples’ lives were lacking when in reality, maybe they are not lacking at all. Maybe it was I who was lacking the understanding.
In the days following this epiphany, my experience at the facility was completely transformed. I enthusiastically woke up every morning to get on the bus and go see this community, one much warmer than any other community I had ever been a part of. The higher-functioning members would greet me when I walked in, always with a hug and a huge smile. They would jump to show me the art project they had made that day or the food they had bought at the canteen for snack. I loved every single member who I came in contact with, but I built a particularly special bond with a man named Elisha.
Elisha was a resident of the community which I had seen that first day in the lower functioning room, but on that day I was too hesitant to interact. A week later one of the staff members introduced me to Elisha because he was Australian and spoke English while everyone else only knew Hebrew or Arabic. At that moment I could not understand what she meant, because Elisha lived in the section with residents who were non-verbal. She told me that Elisha was one of the smartest people she knew, and now months later, I think I agree with her. On his wheelchair was a plastic board with the letters of the English alphabet on one side and the Hebrew alphabet on the other. He slowly would point to the letters in order to spell out how he was feeling or what he wanted. At first it was difficult for me to understand and I think he would get frustrated when I could not comprehend, but after a few days I became what I called “Elisha literate.” Elisha and I formed a bond unlike I’ve ever experienced before. We would read books together, play games, watch videos, or even just sit and listen to his favorite song. I also learned to read his facial expressions, that when he meant “yes” he would smile on the right side of his mouth, and if he meant “no” then he would twitch his left eye. This mode of communication was different that that I typically have with my friends, and yet I felt as if I knew him on a different level.
Although I recognized difference from a young age, I did not come to appreciate it until later in my life. To truly understand difference and disability it requires time and dedication, but my life and society is only enhanced by its presence. I have now internalized that difference must not only be recognized, but embraced and celebrated.
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