Places of worship for kids with special needs: And then, a mini miracle

Finding places of worship that include kids with special needs isn't easy, at least in our area. Some of you might recall my rant on the topic a year ago. After that, I got a bunch of amazing emails from people around the country—rabbis, priests and people who run organizations and programs specializing in religious inclusion such as Matan and Gateways (in Boston) for Jewish programs and Interfaith Initiative of the American Association of People with Disabilities (AAPD) and Congregational Accessibility Network for all faiths.

One particularly encouraging message came from the Reverend Bill Gaventa, director of Community and Congregational Supports at the Elizabeth M. Boggs Center on Developmental Disabilities at UMDNG/Robert Wood Johnson Medical School in New Jersey. He said, "There are still far too many conregations unsure of what to do or not willing but also, gratefully, a growing explosion of places and resources who are getting really serious about inclusive ministries and faith supports."

Half of our battle isn't just finding a congregation that has programs for kids with special needs—it's getting Max comfortable there. I needed divine intervention but I got the next best thing: a conversation with Ginny Thornburgh, Director of the AAPD's Interfaith Initiative. She's mom to a young man with disability, and all sorts of inspiring.

Ginny had a bunch of good suggestions when we spoke on the phone: Visit the temple when it's empty so Max can experience it on his terms. Take photographs and compile them into a book, both so we could discuss it with Max at home and bring it to the temple to help calm him. See if we could get a buddy assigned to him. She also pointed out, "All kids are antsy at services, whether there's a disability or not."

I thought of her words this weekend, as I watched Sabrina and her friends trotting around the synagogue we were in for Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. They'd bailed on the children's service, and didn't seem particularly flooded with piety. Max, meanwhile, had fled the premises; he took a couple of steps in the door, then dashed out with Dave close behind him. I hadn't seen them for an hour. I was bummed. 

This was a new temple we found at the end of last fall. It's more religious than the usual conservative ones we've attended, but Dave and I were game to try it for Max. Sabrina had friends who belonged there, so she was content. I had high hopes: It's in an actual house the congregation bought, part of which is a dedicated center for services, celebrations and activities. The rabbi and his wife could not have been more friendly and welcoming. I hoped Max would feel more at ease in this literal house of worship then in the sprawling buildings we'd tried before. 

Not so much. On our first visit, Max wailed. We got him down to the basement playroom for a bit, but then he wanted to leave. Throughout the year, we couldn't convince him to go for services or events. I took some photos of rooms there. We'd talk about it. He kept telling me "Nooooo." I figured I'd leave the subject alone for a few months, then try again. I never was able to come up with a buddy for him. I had this ongoing fantasy about getting the rabbi to do a Cars 2 themed service.

I heard a door open, and looked up from the prayer book. It was Dave and Max, who had this huge grin on his face. He walked into the sanctuary (i.e., someone's former living room) wearing his Cars 2 backpack. Then he wanted to go to check out the kitchen.

This is when I discovered that a way to a kid's (spiritual) heart is through his stomach. Max made himself at home at the counter. He asked for a piece of honey cake, and the attendant gave it to him. He downed some orange juice. He ate another piece of honey cake as we sat and talked about how you eat honey on the holiday so you can have a sweet New Year.

We wandered around the rooms for a while. Next, we headed to the basement playroom, where Max prepared some lunch for me and Dave at the play sink/stove (a head of purple lettuce). He and another boy played with some trains on the tracks. We went back up and walked around some more.

For once, Max left a temple content. For once, I didn't walk out thinking it was an end—it felt like a start.