Redemption is still born in Israel

The schools here are pretty cool!

(Guest blog today by mommy ... I, Daniel, am on Christmas vacation!)

No room at the inn. Was it mere coincidence or sheer irony that we as a Christian family living in Israel were facing this very issue at this most wonderful time of the year?

No room. That was the response some 2000 years ago in Bethlehem, not far from where we live in Jerusalem, that Miriam and Yosef (better known as Mary and Joseph) encountered when they were looking for a place to sleep, plus give birth.

Fast forward to now. We live in Israel and our three children attend Israeli schools. We have no problem with our children learning the “Jewish” holidays. They are the Lord’s feasts, as He said, and they are very much a part of our Bible and our faith as Christians.

Realistically speaking though, we are somewhat limited when it comes to schools. Sure, our children can attend secular Israeli schools, but perhaps not religious ones. And so when one of our babes had to transfer to a new gan (preschool) we began to feel the squeeze.


With the help of a Ministry of Education counsellor, we have been looking for a new place for him for about a month. However, we have repeatedly heard these words: Ein makom. There is no room.

As wonderful as our neighborhood gan is, our son was struggling. He was the youngest by months of a mixed-age school with disproportionately more kindergarteners (17) vs. preschoolers (6).

Yet, despite having an advocate from the Ministry of Education, and despite being in the capital city of Israel, it took a month to find one suitable school in all of Jerusalem.

Being the holiday season, I thought of the holy family, sojourning across the rugged terrain of the Middle East and then, “in the fullness of time” (aka: 9 months pregnant and in labor), the only place they found as a delivery room was a stable.

I know, His ways are higher than ours (Isaiah 55:9), but…

A stable in which to give birth to the Messiah? Would God allow that?

I wondered what makes us any more worthy in our pursuits. If no acceptable space was offered to the Son of God, if he was not welcomed anywhere else but in a stable, who am I to expect more?

And yet, redemption was born nevertheless. Both to the world 2000 years ago and yet again now, to us. With open arms, one of the city’s exclusive schools offered us a meeting this week and then a spot for our child. For us, a Christmas miracle and a joyous end to an emotionally draining journey. It was worth the wait and we have much for which to be thankful.

Redemption is still born in Israel today. And it is worth every step on the arduous journey for its joyous arrival.

Merry Christmas!

For a child will be born to us, a son will be given to us;

And the government will rest on His shoulders;

And His name will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

Eternal Father, Prince of Peace.

There will be no end to the increase of His government or of peace,

On the throne of David and over his kingdom,

To establish it and to uphold it with justice and righteousness

From then on and forevermore.

The zeal of the Lord of hosts will accomplish this.

Isaiah 9:6-7

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Mommy Guest Blogs: Savoring Inclusion’s Rare Rewarding Moments

See?! I can do it too!

Every so often I allow mommy to guest blog here at my site. And this time I am happy to reprint a blog of here that appeared here in the Times of Israel initially because its all about me, which is the point of this blog.

This version is better because it contains photos and videos, unlike the other black and white (yawn) original post. So enjoy rereading her words, but even more so, seeing my photos and videos!

My class <3

*****

Savoring Inclusion’s Rare Rewarding Moments
By Nicole Jansezian

While I could spend some time castigating the Israeli education system for its failures regarding inclusion, I must linger for a while longer in the happy afterglow of success and let it be a reminder that inclusion is worth the grueling effort.

We encountered a mountain of challenges this past year after our decision to mainstream our son in a municipal preschool. The first month is still a fog in my mind. Daniel was not assigned a personal aide for two weeks and so the school’s manager, who himself is responsible for the three classrooms on the premises and several others around the city, took responsibility for my son until he received a shadow two weeks into the school year.


Daniel had at least one apocalyptic meltdown per day. Without fail, he passed out for hours in the corner while the other children carried on with their day and learned as they were supposed to. And he came down with a tricky form of pneumonia – in other words, none of the symptoms but all of the pain, so we had no idea at the outset. It was a nightmare.

This went on for about a month until slowly the issues started to peel away and he (and we) adjusted to this new routine. But the initial shock still feels like yesterday.

So you can imagine our elation when, at Daniel’s end-of-the-year party last week, we saw displayed before our astonished eyes, the long awaited rewards of inclusion: Daniel participated in all of the choreography in the hour-long show. He knew exactly when he should sit, stand or wave his prop. He was on rhythm with the music and mouthed the words to all the songs.

He did every single thing he was supposed to do, when he was supposed to do it. At 4 that’s not a small feat for any child.

And best of all, after every song, he turned to face the audience and cheered “Yea! Yea! Yea!” and gave an enormous fist pump to celebrate his exploits.

You see, the most important lesson Daniel learned this year was recognizing and relishing his accomplishments. He knew how far he had come. He knew he accomplished something colossal. He knew he nailed it – and that was more important than actually nailing it. And it meant more to him, because it had come harder to him. Thus his theatrical cheering after each song.

Time for the fist pump and victory dance!

Daniel has Down syndrome, meaning an extra chromosome presents more challenges to him in the physical and mental arenas of life. He was in a fantastic special education daycare and preschool before we moved him. Our goal in mainstreaming was to provide a normative environment that would challenge him socially and academically.

With a supportive approach from the school’s manager, who took Daniel’s case personally, Daniel’s teacher, his aide, the surrounding staff and his fellow students, this experiment succeeded. This team effort – and Daniel’s performance at the party – give us hope for next year and motivation for the inevitable fight that lies ahead. Every single year.

We were easily the proudest parents in the room if not in the country on that day. Daniel’s performance made every tear, every battle and every agonizing day along the journey of inclusion worth it.

The price of inclusion is high. But its rewards are priceless.

Warning: Video content is copious and repetitive and may only be acceptable viewing for immediate family members at risk of abject boredom to anyone else!

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Getting in to Medical School

Firefighter Academy? Or preschool? Who wants him?

Last month, mommy and abba found a preschool for Lucas. How nice, right? They did so with still four months to go. No big deal, right?

Wrong!

Registration for ivy league medical school opened and closed in February! Oh, I'm sorry, did I say "Ivy League Medical School"? I meant preschool!!!

In Jerusalem, it is quite easy to mistake the two: The process for preschool registration in Jerusalem is so wrought with stress that is is tantamount to something as major as medical school. Parents unravel from the anxiety as registration day approaches. They consult each other and others about the leading preschools in the city and then lobby their connections to make sure their child can get in. Then, on that fateful day when online registration opens in February, these parents flood the internet and bring the fragile municipal servers crashing down, sending the communal tension that already pervaded the city to a crescendo of angst.

Actual prospective medical school students in Israel won’t even know if they made it into medical school until September and then their lives will be turned upside down in a matter of weeks as they will have to move across the country for university or take an exam for medical school in another country!

But 3-year-old children will have been registered since February or March when they find out which school graciously accepted them (and about 34 others their age). Yes, accepted. And that not based on academic achievement. Or potty skills.

Me: an official preschooler. Joshie: A preschooler in training. 

Here I am, the teacher of my own preschool,
raising up other babies in baby ways

Actually, the process started in December of 2014 for preschool in September 2015. That’s nearly a year in advance for kids who are most likely still in diapers, napping and looking forward to nothing more than a Mickey Mouse birthday cake.

Mommy and abba joined the fray of parental tumult and raced to their preferred preschool for its Open House in December, the day before we were leaving the country for Zemmy’s wedding. They filled out the five-page application, supplied the necessary forms and talked up Lucas as a genius who gets along with all variety of children and exhibits stellar leadership qualities (all of which is true). They handed over the paperwork to the principal with a kiss and a prayer and twiddled their thumbs on the 12-hour flight - and for the next two months.

Registration officially opened two months later, in February. And then a full month after that our parents found out - to their shock and horror - that Lucas was a baby without a preschool! Despite all of their advance efforts, the numbers worked against them and, in May, mommy and abba trudged wearily to the municipality to repeat the process in person this time. And so, with none of the stress and with all of the grace and surprises that God (and the Jerusalem Municipality) had to offer, Lucas was placed into a sublime neighborhood preschool, a veritable hidden gem close by with a reputable teacher.

But wait! Parents must register their children for kindergarten as well and then first grade, so this plays out three years in a row for each child. And then again at high school. And where you go now for pre-K could determine which high school you end up attending.

But the moral of this six-month stress-laden saga is this: While the parents sweated blood, jockeyed for prestigious preschools and then begged for whatever was left over, we babies were oblivious to it all.

As well we should be.

I for one have my own daycare to run as you can see from the pictures. There is a lot of baby shenanigans wisdom to be passed on to the next generation. And adult-run preschools are the least of my worries.

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