A Whole New World

Before I began writing this blog, I asked Asaf for his permission to share his words and feelings. It’s something I now realize is essential, something I never thought to consider before. For 24 years, I shared parts of his life without his consent but no longer can I continue this way. Back then I also had no possible way of getting an answer, which only highlights how much has changed. His blessing was a gift that filled me with joy and a renewed sense of purpose.

Last Friday, after Asaf returned home from his hostel, we went for a walk together in Nachal Hakibutzim. For those unfamiliar with where I live, I consider myself incredibly fortunate to live in one of the most beautiful places in the country — at least for nine months of the year. The other three months? Well, they are a different story entirely.

Nestled in the heart of northern Israel, the Valley of the Springs (Emek HaMayanot) is a place of unparalleled beauty. The lush greenery, rolling hills, and more than twenty natural springs provide a sense of calm and connection to the earth. The natural water remains warm (around 28 degrees) all year round. This region, sitting between the Gilboa and Gilad mountains, is not just a geographical location but a sanctuary, full of natural beauty, historical sites and an unparalleled tranquility that makes it a photographer’s dream.

Park Hamayanot is my haven, where I can walk, swim, and capture the essence of this stunning landscape through my photography. In winter, the steam from the warm waters rises to meet the cool air, creating a magical sight I’m always eager to photograph.

During our walk last Friday, I shared with Asaf the blog I had written, along with the beautiful comments that followed. In all honesty, there’s a part of this experience I still find challenging.Conversations with Asaf can sometimes feel more like a one-way exchange. It often feels like I’m speaking into the void, pouring out everything on my mind, telling him about my day, my thoughts, my reflections, while there’s little or no response from him. I speak, hoping my words reach him, but I wonder if they do and even when I know they do, I question my conviction. Why do I doubt him? Why do I still find myself unsure? It’s a habit formed over 24 years, one I can’t seem to shake.

Before discovering that his cognitive functioning is fine, I would speak to him in short simple sentences thinking that’s all he could process. I thought it was for his benefit, doing my best to accommodate what I believed were his limitations but now, as I reflect on that time, the realization stings. How must he have felt? How frustrating it must have been for him, being spoken to like a two-year-old when I now know he was processing everything, understanding it all.

I feel a deep sense of frustration, not just with myself, but with the system that led me to misunderstand him so profoundly. I can’t beat myself up about it, I did the best I could with the tools I had at the time. Today I have new tools, a new understanding and a different outlook. I need to accept that but it’s hard.

I spent so much time thinking about how he must have resisted, how much he must have wanted to share his thoughts, his feelings and his intelligence, yet he had no way to express that. Worse still, he was treated as if he couldn’t understand, as if he were less than what he truly was. Can you imagine how suffocating that must have been for him?

When I read him the entire blog, I could see the impact it had on him. He was visibly moved. I told him how we’re going to change the world together, how we will shift people’s perceptions of non-verbal individuals, and how we will make the phrase “presume competence” part of everyday conversation. As we listened to “You and I Will Change the World” by Arik Einstein and “A Whole New World” from Aladdin, I could see how my excitement was beginning to catch on with him.

And then, on Monday, during his typing session, he wrote, “I want to talk to mummy, I want to strengthen mum for writing about me…”

Once again, I was left in awe. Not only does he see me, he truly sees me, but he also understands the importance of what we’re doing. He’s supporting me, in his own way and that’s something I’ve come to deeply appreciate. The impact of that moment was more than just the words on the screen. It was a recognition that he sees the emotional depth of this journey we’re on. It’s not just about communication it’s about recognition, connection and understanding. In his silence there’s a powerful presence and in that presence there’s understanding.

His next sentence reduced me to tears:“I want to type with mum.”

Five simple words, each carrying the weight of our journey. They could mean so many things: “I’m with you, Mum,” “I want to share my story,” or even “I’d like to write my own blog” or “I want you to be my typing facilitator”. Perhaps they mean something else entirely, but for me, they signify the growing bond between us, the deepening of our connection as we continue to navigate this path together.

And so, I dream big because I no longer limit my imagination for Asaf or myself. I dream of building a blog with Asaf, one that captures both our voices. I dream of performing my lecture around the world, with and without him, to inspire audiences and spread the importance of presuming competence. I dream of establishing a daycare center near our home where non-verbal individuals can communicate through typing every day. And my biggest dream of all? To build a village, a place with housing and a unique day center where everything revolves around communication through typing. A place where non-verbal individuals can connect with friends daily and lead the most independent lives possible.

As I reflect on this journey — on the unexpected breakthroughs, the shifts in understanding, and the deepening of our connection , I realize just how far we’ve come together. What started as a mother’s struggle to understand her son has evolved into something far more powerful than I ever imagined. With every moment of clarity, with every word he types, Asaf and I are reshaping the narrative around what it means to be non-verbal.

Our journey isn’t just about proving a point, it’s about understanding, growth, and breaking down barriers, both for him and for others like him. There’s so much more to come and I don’t know exactly where this path will lead, but what I do know is this: our bond is unbreakable, and together, we are changing the world starting with one word, one moment at a time.