To experience the country’s sense of profound awe and loss over one of the nine highest legal jurists in the land through the very Jewish prism of Rosh Hashanah and of Judaism’s call to justice has been truly inspiring.
Of the many extraordinary legacies Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, of blessed memory, leaves behind, there is one particular legacy that touches me deeply. An all too rare legacy that I think is particularly relevant to all of us in this fraught moment of American history.
Each one of her legacies is a world unto itself; and each one alone probably exceeds the aggregate of legacies of most people.
Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s life story is legendary; a stunning testament to resilience, brilliance, sheer hard work, leadership and ultimately, love. She leaves a kaleidoscope of legacies.
There was her Jewish pride in stating “the demand for justice runs through the entirety of Jewish history and Jewish tradition,” as was evidenced by the Hebrew verse from Deuteronomy hanging in her chambers, “tzedek tzedek tirdof, justice justice shall you pursue.” There is her speech to the American Jewish Committee that contains her understanding of the intertwining of Judaism and the law.
Her insightful speech about work-related life balance is wisdom for the ages.
And her personal love story with her lifetime partner Marty is inspiring and timeless.
Fighting for women’s voices and protecting minorities are two more defining legacies of Justice Ginsburg.
Her long battle with cancer is profoundly humbling and awe inspiring — how she managed to continue to serve as Supreme Court Justice through it all.
There’s also this legacy we ought to self-reflect about: Justice Ginsburg’s opportunity as a pained teen wanting to recite Kaddish upon the death of her mother. A choice that turned her away from Jewish ritual observance.
But it’s Justice Ginsburg’s friendship with Justice Antonin Scalia that, out of so many breathtaking legacies, stands out to me.
Here were two brilliant minds who interpreted the law very differently.
Ego could have easily ruled the day. Yet these two chose to embody unity.
In these divisive times, we can see this pair as a paradigm of what ought to be, of what we ought to strive for in our human relationships with those with whom we disagree.
Here were two ideological opposites. Yet the closest of friends.
I am reminded of the Talmud’s two schools of legal thought, Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai.
These disciples of Hillel and Shammai, respectively, were legal and philosophical opponents.
Yet in Pirkei Avot their disagreements are deemed “disagreements for the sake of truth.”
For their disputes rose above the petty and the personal.
Their dissenting opinions are not what defined their personal approaches to each other. They were not a barrier to friendship.
The Talmud’s relates: “Beit Shammai did not refrain from marrying women from Beit Hillel nor did Beit Hillel refrain from marrying women from Beit Shammai. This serves to teach you that they practiced affection and camaraderie, to fulfill that which is stated: “love truth and peace.”
What a testament to these two great houses of opposing legal adjudication.
Justice Scalia once said: “If you can’t disagree ardently with your colleagues about some issues of law and yet personally still be friends, get another job.”
Justice Ginsburg and Justice Scalia spent every New Year’s Eve together. They shared a love of opera. When the passing of Justice Ginsburg’s beloved Marty was announced, Justice Scalia wept on the bench.
One time, Judge Scalia adjourned a meeting in his chambers by pointing to a bouquet of two dozen roses on his desk, indicating he had to deliver them promptly to Justice Ginsburg in honor of her birthday.
He was challenged with the retort: “And what good have all these roses done for you? Name one 5-4 case of any significance when you have got Justice Ginsburg’s vote.”
To which Justice Scalia replied: “Some things are more important than votes.”
This friendship is the joint legacy of these two shimmering Supreme Court giants.
In these divisive times, those words are meaningful more than ever.
In this auspicious 10-day unit of time, framed by the sanctity of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, when we strive to be our highest selves, it seems plain as day that, of course, “some things are more important than votes.” Every day of our lives, “some things are more important than votes.”
Copyright © 2020 by the Intermountain Jewish News
