Parenting a child who needs special education is never easy. I remember the shock and heartbreak when a teacher gently suggested that my brilliant preschool son be evaluated. How dare she suggest something was “wrong” with my precious child?
He did ultimately qualify for services, and the support he received became a lifeline as he grew. We lived in New York at the time, where he could access services in his regular Jewish day school setting.
When we moved to Massachusetts 11 years ago, we faced the same challenge with one of our younger children. This time, I was less shocked and more open to help. However, the help came with a painful condition: He could receive services only if he left his school midday and went to the public school. As two working parents, we realized this was not logistically possible. We made the difficult decision to pull him out of the Jewish day school his siblings attended and enrolled him in the public school.
Even as a 4-year-old, he asked questions that were hard to answer. Why couldn’t he be with his friends? Why wasn’t he joining the Shabbat parties or participating in the holiday celebrations at school? We reassured him as best we could, but eventually his questions turned inward. He lost confidence. He started to feel like he didn’t belong anywhere. Eventually, we moved him back to his Jewish day school, but only by giving up most of the services he needed.
The most frustrating part of this journey was learning that Massachusetts law entitles all children with disabilities to special education, whether they attend public or private schools. The problem is that the Massachusetts Department of Elementary and Secondary Education regulations provide that services can be delivered practically anywhere in Massachusetts, except the schools our private school children attend. They cite the state’s anti-aid amendment, a provision rooted in 19th-century anti-Catholic bigotry, and claim it prevents districts from delivering services inside private schools.
Yet, they freely allow onsite services when the district decides a child belongs in a private school placement. Somehow, the private school setting triggers the anti-aid prohibition only when the parent chooses it. Perversely, the state appears to believe that it can decide what is better for a child with a disability than the child’s parents.
For the overwhelming majority of private school families, accessing public school services while remaining enrolled in their private school is not tenable. Many have left the Jewish, Catholic or other private schools entirely, feeling that they had no other choice if they wanted their child to be able to learn. Others have moved out of state to access services. Still others made the move to public school, only to be bullied for their religious observances and dress.
These parents question whether the tradeoff is worth it, wondering if it is safer to keep their already vulnerable child in the community where they feel protected and understood.
We rarely talk about what it means for a child with disabilities to lose access to their faith community. Their day schools are not just educational settings; they are anchors, especially in this moment when antisemitism is a “pervasive and growing issue” in Massachusetts public schools.
There is a path forward. The pending litigation before the 1st U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals is not about one child or one school. It is about whether families of children with disabilities still have the right to make choices for their children and to choose the school setting that best meets their needs. It is about seeing a whole child, in all their many dimensions, and not allowing them to be defined by their disability.
Massachusetts must live up to its commitment, not on paper but in real life, so that every student can thrive. Every child deserves both the services they need and the community where they belong, and Massachusetts can finally make that possible.