What I Learned From Taking a Risk and Saying Yes

It is so easy to say “No.” But what happens when you say “Yes”?

When my dear friend and colleague, Howard Blas, invited me to staff a Birthright Israel Volunteer trip to Israel for adults with disabilities, I could have found a dozen reasons to say no. I did not hesitate for a moment.

I spent a few hours calling RAISE employees and alumni I knew were eligible, sharing my excitement about this opportunity. After a “meet and greet” of potential participants, three from RAISE joined thirteen other neurodiverse adults from the US and Canada for an unforgettable, life-changing trip to Israel.

I’ve spent my entire career working in inclusion, and combined with my love of Israel and the Jewish people, I knew this experience was for me and another way to better the lives of adults with disabilities.

Now that I’m home, I find myself reflecting on a journey that was as meaningful for the staff as it was for the participants.

From the outside, it may have looked like a typical Birthright Israel trip. In many ways, it was. But it was different, and that’s what made it so special.

Our group of sixteen travelers met at JFK as strangers and became a community within twenty-four hours. They looked out for each other, supported each other, and appreciated each other’s unique strengths. One participant used a wheelchair, and someone was always ready to help push it. Another walked with a cane, and someone always slowed their pace so he was never left behind. Others offered social coaching, quietly and as needed.

This wasn’t just a trip to Israel—it was a volunteer trip. We spent mornings volunteering and afternoons experiencing the country. We packed food for families in need, for Holocaust survivors, and for those still struggling after October 7. We planted trees for a moshav that was infiltrated by Hamas, played with shelter dogs, and harvested vegetables on a farm that helps soldiers with PTSD.

In the afternoons, we explored the shuks, swam in the Mediterranean, experienced what it’s like to be completely blind at the Holon Museum, and visited the Nova Music Festival site. We shared a musical Shabbat overlooking the Mediterranean, learned about the geopolitical history of Israel and the Jewish people, and spent countless meals, bus rides, and evenings out for ice cream—laughing and crying together.

What made it extraordinary were the participants. People who took a real risk: leaving the safety of home, traveling with strangers, living communally in a small hotel room, learning to navigate shekels, growing comfortable around armed soldiers in our hotel lobby, trusting staff they’d just met, and facing their fears of the unknown.

Every participant brought their own strengths, challenges, and life experience. I watched this group fall in love with Israel just like I did on my first trip, years ago. It isn’t their disabilities that define them, it’s their kindness, resilience, humor, and genuine care for one another. It’s their capacity to feel the weight of October 7 and ask thoughtful questions to understand it more fully. It’s their desire to laugh, to be accepted without judgment, and to be Jewish in whatever way feels right to them. Israel has a place for everyone, and this group proved it.

In just over a week, I watched people accomplish things they once thought impossible. One participant arrived with an extreme fear of dogs; by the end of the trip, he was petting several, cheered on by his new friends. I watched confidence grow and independence take root. I watched strangers become family.

The moment that resonated most with me was the Dialogue in the Dark experience at the Holon Children’s Museum. Our group split into teams of six, phones and watches locked away, and were led through seven pitch-black rooms for an hour, relying entirely on sound, touch, and each other. Our guide was a man who was born sighted and lost his vision almost overnight at fifty-five. He led us using sound and touch alone. We held hands, communicated carefully, and guided the person behind us by feel. Afterward, sitting in a completely dark café, we got to ask him anything. Hearing how he adapted and made peace with his life in total darkness was a reminder: we all face challenges, and those challenges don’t define us, they make us stronger. Having this experience on only our second day together helped cement the bond of our group for the rest of the trip.

The memories I’ll carry are endless: laughter on the bus, spontaneous dancing, heartfelt conversations, the same question asked five times and answered each time with a smile. And even though Israel is still healing from October 7, its spirit was impossible to miss. The beaches were full. The streets were alive. Communities are moving forward with strength, even while carrying grief.

I chose this field years ago because I wanted to make a difference in the lives of the people I work with. What I’ve learned, again and again, is that they make a difference in mine—and this trip was no exception. Growth happens when we step into the unfamiliar and take a risk. I’m in awe of the sixteen participants who took that risk and said yes. I’m honored that three RAISE families put their trust in me, and I’m grateful for the friendships this trip built that will last well beyond it.

By taking this risk and saying yes myself, I’m now looking forward to offering this experience to even more adults with disabilities in our Jewish community. I said yes for them—I didn’t expect it to change me too.

Am Yisrael Chai.

Rachel Slavkin is the RAISE Inclusion Director at Shalom Orlando, where she helps neurodiverse adults build the skills, confidence, and independence to thrive at work and in their community. With more than 30 years in special education and disability services — including two decades teaching at Seminole State College and 18 years as a social skills coach in Central Florida — Rachel has spent her career helping people recognize their strengths and reach their full potential.