I have been blessed to work in many different environments. I have been a teacher and school leader in Jewish and non-Jewish schools, in different boroughs, cities and even countries.
However, I seem to get the same question wherever I go. People ask me: are the children different in the different places where you have worked? Are they different in different communities, cities or countries? And the big one I tend to get most: are children in Jewish schools different from those in non-Jewish schools?
For me, the answer is an easy one. I fundamentally believe that children are children, no matter their faith or background.
Sure, the age-old debate of nature versus nurture still dominates education discourse. Children living with disadvantage are likely to face additional challenges. Children who experience neglect, whatever their socio-economic background, may seek validation in different ways. Their experiences at home and elsewhere inevitably shape some of their behaviour.
But children with needs can be found in every environment. All schools seem to have troubled children. And, somehow, nearly every school seems to have a ‘naughty class’.
As a young(er) teacher, I even concocted a social experiment that I will never, ever be able to carry out because it would be totally immoral. My theory is that every school has ‘the naughty class’. They are talked about in the staffroom. No one wants to teach them. In the five schools I have had the pleasure of teaching in, I have seen and taught some of those classes. So, what would happen if all of those ‘naughty classes’ were put into one school?
My theory is that there would still be a naughty class. And teachers would suddenly love teaching some of the others.
Again, this is something I can never prove, but it poses even more questions. Are there really naughty classes? Or is something different going on?
Having been in education for more than 25 years, I find myself asking new questions. Why does it feel as though so many more children have special educational, social or emotional needs? Are there genuinely more children with more complex needs, or are we simply better at recognising and diagnosing them? Are we over-diagnosing?
Teachers and school leaders will be asking practical questions too. How do we manage increasing numbers of children with plans, retain staff and still meet ever-increasing expectations for outcomes? And are children really just being naughty, or do they have unmet needs? Is this neurodivergence? Might it even be trauma?
This past academic year has been a wild one for schools, teachers and school leaders. We have had another new Ofsted framework placing inclusion front and centre (which is right and proper, but not easy). We have also had the Government’s white paper, Every Child Achieving and Thriving, alongside significant proposals for SEND reform.
And there is now the Inclusive Mainstream Fund, providing additional funding to mainstream schools to strengthen inclusive practice and support children earlier, without the need for diagnosis or statutory process. By 31 December, schools will have to publish an inclusion strategy statement setting out how they will identify and meet the needs of their pupils and use their resources to become more inclusive.
Our current SEND system is unsustainable. Earlier this year, the local authority I work for was featured on BBC Radio 4’s File on 4, talking about the challenges facing schools and local authorities. Some schools in the borough where I work have more than 50 children on roll with Education, Health and Care Plans.
We do need to do things differently.
Meeting needs earlier, without requiring the bureaucracy and administration of an Education, Health and Care Plan in every case, should help schools. And I do wonder whether some of the high levels of identification are linked to a system in which the plan appears to unlock the support.
Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks’ approach to inclusion in education in Judaism was rooted in the belief that education is not simply about what we know, but who we are. He saw Jewish learning as a collective responsibility and emphasised the importance of education for every child, regardless of background or ability.
In The Dignity of Difference, he wrote: “The test of faith is whether I can make space for difference. Can I recognise God’s image in someone who is not in my image.”
For me, that speaks directly to inclusion. It requires our classrooms, as well as our synagogues and communities to make space for difference rather than simply expecting children to fit within what already exists.
So we know we have to be inclusive. But this is not just a test of faith; it is a test of our abilities.
I’ve been that parent who wants their child to do their best, despite whatever challenges they may face. I’ve been that teacher trying to find a way to meet the needs of every child in front of me. It’s not easy being either.
And, thinking particularly of the teacher, we have to acknowledge that teacher training cannot teach us everything. Neither can CPD. No teacher can be an expert in every need and, perhaps just as importantly, no school can do all of this on its own.
If we are serious about inclusion, we need to get better at sharing what works, asking each other for help and working across schools rather than trying to solve the same problems separately. There is a huge amount of expertise across our schools, but we do not always make enough use of it.
None of us has all the answers. But if schools work together more closely and take greater collective responsibility for children across our communities, I think we have a much better chance of becoming genuinely inclusive.
Perhaps that is the real test of inclusion: not whether one school can get it right, but whether we can build a system in which schools help one another to get it right. That is the challenge for all of us.
Jason Marantz is the Director of Education and Inclusion for the London Borough of Hackney, having previously served as Assistant Director for School Performance and Improvement and as a School Improvement Partner. His background in school leadership includes serving as headteacher of both Wolfson Hillel Primary School and a primary academy in West London, as well as co-founding Sacks Morasha Primary School, where he served as Chair of Governors. Between headships, Jason was Chief Executive of the London School of Jewish Studies (LSJS), leading the development of community BA and MA degree programmes in partnership with Middlesex University. He holds the National Professional Qualification for Headship (NPQH) and an MA in Literacy Learning and Literacy Difficulties from the UCL Institute of Education. Born in Canada, Jason now lives in London with his wife and four children.
