In my family of four kids, my dyslexia made me the odd one out. I believed it was uncommon, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

My Aunt Tiki inspires my disability rights activism; yet sometimes, I fail to speak up.

I have a learning disability. It feels like I’m entering the nonsensical world of Wonderland when I try to get my school to understand that.

When I was five years old, I was diagnosed with dyslexia. My parents were told that I’d need extensive therapy in order to read and write. At five, I never thought I would read. I threw books on the ground and refused to even try. I would yell, “I don’t need to read! I hate reading!” over and over again.

Over the years, I’ve been to countless bar and bat mitzvah ceremonies. While each one has been unique to the specific teen being honored, all of the services have been catered to the typical Jewish kid: one who can read English and some Hebrew, memorize prayers, and stand at the bimah and speak about about his or her Jewish education and life experiences. In February, I had the honor of being part of a bar mitzvah that was unlike any of the others I had previously attended. My family friend Max became a bar mitzvah without speaking a single word.