By Ariel Weinstein
A few weeks ago, we visited Kishorit, a kibbutz in the North of Israel that still functions as a truly egalitarian, socialist communal village like the original kibbutzim in Israel. The individuals who live at Kishorit, all of whom are adults with special needs, work in various sectors of the kibbutz such as a dog breeding kennel, a winery, a cheese factory, and more. Staffed at a nearly 1:1 ratio of professional staff and volunteers to residents, Kishorit fosters independent living and working skills for its kibbutznikim, who take on jobs that benefit the kibbutz as a whole alongside setting (and, davka, achieving) personal goals. The kibbutz houses around 175 individuals at a time, who have the opportunity to live at Kishorit for the duration of their lives.
I thought a lot about the Jewish teaching “חנוך לנער על פי דרכו” (chanoch l’naar al pi darko, or “teach every young person according to their own path”) during and after our visit. Though the residents of Kishorit are not נערים (naarim, young people), the core philosophy of the teaching advocates for specialized and individualized educations for people with varying abilities and academic strengths. Up front, I had the impression that Kishorit’s methods contradicted such an educational outlook on specialized education in that it contrasted with methods of special education I’ve encountered before. Generally, I’ve seen at public school and at camp a situation in which people with disabilities receive educations and experiences tailored to them, at the cost of being conspicuously separated from their peers. In a sense, Kishorit operates under a premise of separatism as well, in that the integration of neurotypical and disabled individuals functions on the basis of staff-to-resident, not peer-to-peer, relationships. To this end, Kishorit functions as a special education system that finds an altogether separate דרך (derech, pathway) for its residents a bit away from Israeli society at large.
On the other hand, the educational דרך (pathway) that Kishorit implements for its residents assumes that adults with disabilities should have the opportunity to learn, work, and live on a “pathway” that is more or less the same as their neurotypical peers. The adults who live at Kishorit have important responsibilities integral to the day-to-day functioning of the kibbutz and its production of products for export. On top of that, they are encouraged to develop personal and interpersonal skills, such as cooking, self-care skills like laundry or cleaning, and exploring healthy romantic and sexual relationships. There is an extent to which the macro-level separation of the kibbutz enables micro-level education that is not so far from the expectations and goals that may be set by people without disabilities. Does this mean, then, that the דרך for people with disabilities should, effectively, be the same as for people without disabilities? Is there merit to segregated special education, or should a kibbutz like Kishorit simply integrate its populus so as to provide the same דרך for everyone?
This semester, I’ve working on embracing “on the other hand,” especially in the context of education. Some days I think, above all else, about Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof weighing two options before ultimately concluding that “on the other hand… there is no other hand!” Other days, I recognize that there are two hands, maybe even three or four or more, that are all correct. For me, Kishorit was a representation of two hands, two philosophies, both of which seek to do good. I have never seen anything quite like Kishorit, in which people with disabilities live in a space away from the rest of society, but are treated just as people without disabilities and are expected to work hard and contribute to their community.
