A Letter to My Daughter
By: Rabbi Sara Mason-Barkin
Tags: Shabbat, Daughters, Torah, Jewish, Ruth Bader Ginsburg

In recognition of Shabbat Shuvah, and in memory of Ruth Bader Ginsburg

Rabbi Sara Mason-Barkin, 9.25.2020

Shabbat Shuvah

Congregation Beth Israel, Scottsdale, Arizona

My daughter, my girl, on her fourth birthday.

Dear Sela Penina, my daughter, my girl:

Tonight is Shabbat Shuva, a Shabbat of turning — a time for turning inwards, for reflection on who and how we’d like to be in the year ahead. I write you this letter tonight, because there is so much turning still that needs to happen here on earth — and one week ago a very important person who has helped to keep us moving towards a fairer and more balanced world has now left us to do the work on our own.

It was just as the New Year settled upon us that we first heard the news that Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg had died. And it has been, now, one week of listening and reading and watching the many eulogies and memorials and tributes.

You, my daughter, my girl, will probably not remember receiving this news. Being only five years old, you probably will not understand much of what I’m telling you tonight, only that an important woman with some great accessories and big ideas has died.

But I hope that what you will remember, what I hope you will carry in your heart are the lessons that Justice Ginsburg taught to us all.

Even in death, she remains not only a role model for you, but she was also an important figure for me, for your grandmothers, and even for my grandmothers — the women for whom you are named.

Justice Ginsburg, known in the last few years as ‘the notorious RBG,’ showed us all how to move through the world as pursuers of tzedek, of Justice. She taught us how to be heard even when we are small of stature and surrounded by people who all seem to take up more space than we do. She showed us how to be a strong but respectful voice of dissent, and how to balance a big job with big family, and big love.

Lesson for you, my daughter, number one:

Ruth Bader Ginsberg was a judge in the highest office in the land. Descended from immigrants, educated in New York City public schools, and a graduate of universities in New York and Boston, Ginsburg was American through and through. But her Jewish identity was always there, too, at the forefront of her being. This sometimes made things more difficult for her. You might not know, my little one, that things have not always been easy for us Jewish people.

Sometimes we need to hold our heads up high when people throw insults. Sometimes we need to work harder to stay grounded in our values. Sometimes we need to awkwardly explain that we celebrate differently or eat differently, or that we need a day off for a holiday that it seems no one has ever heard of.

Image: Michigan Jewish Democrats

But instead of being casually Jewish, or downplaying her heritage, Ruth Bader Ginsberg showed us the synergy between our Jewish and American selves. And the first even informed the second. This is part of what makes her such an important role model for us.

The words tzedek tzedek tirdof, Justice, Justice, You Shall Pursue (Deut. 16:20) — hung on the wall of her office, and guided her as she sought consensus to give all American people rights that were fair, equal, and just.

May you know this, my girl: that you are both a Jew and an American.

Both identities live in you, and will guide you, too.

Lesson for you, my daughter, number two:

It will be hard sometimes, to do what you know is right. It will be hard sometimes, to stay true to yourself when so many around you do otherwise. We can look to Ruth Bader Ginsburg as our teacher. From her, we learn that dissent takes courage.

Justice Ginsburg had to be courageous when she spoke up for gender equality and women’s rights and voters’ rights. Every single time she donned her famous dissent collar, it took courage to speak out, choosing to read her dissents from the bench rather than simply publishing them silently. From Ruth Bader Ginsburg we learn to dissent with a strong will and tender heart.

She taught the Torah she learned from those who came before: like Deborah the Prophetess and Judge who spoke up for her people, and the Daughters of Zelophechad, who came to Moses respectfully seeking a new ruling. In her words, Justice Ginsburg taught us to, “Fight for the things you care about, but do it in a way that will lead others to join you.”

My daughter: It won’t always be comfortable to say out loud important things that make others uncomfortable. And, just because you’ve said it, does not mean that it will always go your way. But sometimes, it will. And when it does, you give others the courage to dissent, too.

So wear that collar proudly, my girl.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg enamel pin set, available at exploratorium store

Lesson for my daughter, number three:

This Shabbat, Shabbat Shuvah, we are both elated that the new year has begun, and hesitant to find out what it will bring. We turn inwards for the strength to greet the unknown that lies ahead. We know that there will be challenge. We know that there will be frustration. We know that there will be days where it is hard to get out of bed, to keep going, to try again.

I am reminded of an important story about Ruth Bader Ginsburg. After battling cancer, her mother died the day before her high school graduation. Ruth allowed herself to grieve, but still attended college in the fall, fulfilling her mother’s wish. Then again, while parenting her young daughter and making her way through law school, she tended to her young husband who was also dealt a frightening cancer diagnosis. Not only did she support him in his healing, but she attended all of his classes on his behalf as well — in addition to her own. As a Harvard law professor wrote, she refused “to crumble into a heap of defeat.” She faced all manner of human challenges. But she was resilient, “fueled by a fierce determination to accomplish her dreams and achieve justice for others.”

This kind of strength, my girl, this resilience, is what I wish for you.

This week’s parashah, Ha’azinu, is among some of the last words we will hear from Moses. The Israelites are preparing themselves enter the promised land without him, while he tries to teach them everything they will need to know.

He reminds them that God will be there to care for them. He reminds them that God nursed them with דְבַשׁ֙ מִסֶּ֔לַע dvash miselah, with honey from a rock (Deut 32:13).

I want to remind you, my daughter, that this verse is where we found your name. From the moment you were born, we hoped for you to be sweet like honey, and strong like a rock. Like dvash miselah.

And so, in honor of your grandmothers who were strong, sweet, resilient women, we named you Sela. Our daughter. Our rock. Your strength, and your sweetness, is so very apparent to all who meet you for even a moment. But should you ever seek another example of compassionate strength in a tiny frame, I hope that you will remember Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

You may be wondering by now, my daughter, why I have singled you out for this letter when you are one of three. Aren’t these lessons important for your brothers too? Shouldn’t they, too, be proud Jewish Americans, who have the courage to speak up, who are strong and sweet and resilient?

The answer, my girl, is yes, of course.

And, it is no, too.

The world has changed since Justice Ginsburg was one of only nine women in a class of 500 law students. Today, no one would blink an eye to find a young woman — even a Jewish mother — enrolled at one of our nation’s elite law schools, thanks, in no small part, to her.

But in many ways, the world stands still.

There will still be people who are surprised that such strength can come from such a little person. They may try to intimidate you, or talk over you, or ignore you, or make you feel small. There will be people who are surprised by your courage.By your fire. There will be people who are surprised by you.

I know this, my girl, because they are surprised by me, too. And so, I thank God for Ruth, and my grandmothers, and yours, for all of the women who have walked this path before us and helped to pave the way.

Your brothers will surprise people too, but no, my girl — it will not be exactly the same. Their road looks a bit different, though they, too have an important journey ahead.

And so, my daughter, my strong-like-a-rock and sweet-like-honey girl, I leave you this letter to read, someday. For now, I know you are home, hopefully safe in bed. Sleep now, my little one. For tonight is Shabbat Shuvah, a Shabbat of turning. We have a big year ahead of us, and so very much to do.

Love always,

Mommy