If you've read this blog for any length of time, you know that one of my biggest frustrations is how often people make assumptions about disability.

I spend a considerable amount of time talking about the challenges blind people face in social settings, programs, and events. But I realized that if I want to see change, I should probably help people understand how to create that change in the first place.

There’s a particular kind of moment I’ve learned to recognize. It’s when a space, an event, program, or a company wants credit for being inclusive. You can feel it before you can prove it. The language is there. The branding is there. Sometimes even the signage is there. Accessibility has been acknowledged, technically.

As I’ve been thinking about what I want to write this week, one truth keeps hitting me: people usually mean well. They really do. But meaning well isn’t the same as getting it right. And in the world of disability, that gap between intention and understanding? That’s exactly where cultural competency lives-or doesn’t.

I named this blog Blind People Don’t Mingle after noticing a pattern in my own life and naming it honestly in my first post, you can read it here: First Blog Post. It wasn’t meant to be literal-it was meant to capture a disconnect.

I went to vote this week. That sentence should feel simple, ordinary, almost boring. It should not come with a story. But here we are.

Every February for the last few years I’ve said I’m done writing about JDAIM but I can’t seem to not address it.

Cruises are marketed as easy. Everything is contained, everything is planned, everything is designed for comfort and leisure. And yet one of the most basic human needs - using the bathroom - has once again become an exercise in strategy, guesswork, and unnecessary stress.

It is my hope that in the coming year, disability will be recognized as a natural part of the human condition.

On Thursday, November 27, 2025, the President of the United States used a word in a social media post that many people believed had finally been pushed out of public discourse.

As we celebrated the International Day of Persons with Disabilities last week—on December 3rd—I’ve been thinking a lot about what this day represents, and about the awareness we still need to cultivate.

a ger toshav was someone who lived among the Jewish people, followed their moral laws, and was protected and respected, but was not fully part of the covenantal community. They lived with the people, but not entirely of them—inside and outside at the same time, present and accepted but still set apart.

I often feel that when I am using my cane, people see the cane first and make assumptions about me before they see me—the person.

In a world that is increasingly digital, technology has promised connection, independence, and equal access to opportunities.

When people find out I’m blind, the first thing many of them want to do is help. That instinct usually comes from kindness, and I don’t take that for granted. But being an ally to people with disabilities

As Disability Pride Month comes to a close, I’ve find myself deep in reflection. This time of year always stirs up memories—some difficult, some empowering—but all part of the journey that led me to who I am today. This year, one thought keeps coming back to me: What would I tell my younger self? When I was a child, teen, and even a young adult living with a visual impairment, I went to great lengths to hide my disability. I did everything I could to not appear different. I b

As we approach Jewish Disability Awareness and Inclusion Month this February, I want to address the stigma surrounding disability.

I want to contribute to a world that prioritizes inclusion, equity, and accessibility-a world where everyone, regardless of ability.....