On September 18, 2020, Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg died on both Rosh Hashanah and Shabbat. In Hebrew, dying on Rosh Hashanah makes one righteous, or Tzaddik. Adding Shabbat increases the righteousness exponentially. Outside the Supreme Court that Friday night, Shabbat and Erev Rosh Hashanah, a diverse crowd of grieving Americans recited the Mourner’s Kaddish in honor of Justice Ginsburg, who was Jewish. Outside the Supreme Court the following night, sundown on Shabbat and the first day of Rosh Hashanah, they sang Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech ha-olam… for Havdalah. The custom of Havdalah marks the close of Jewish Sabbath at sundown on Saturday. Have diverse crowds from countless backgrounds and religions ever gathered in the United States to honor and indulge in the meaning of Jewish Sabbath practices or Jewish end-of-life rituals? Though not a precedent, an earlier milestone suggests that drawing on the rituals of Jewish Sabbath to mourn Ruth Bader Ginsburg marks a significant moment in American religious history.
On Friday, April 15, 1865, President Abraham Lincoln died on both Passover and Shabbat. Jewish leaders traveled to Washington, DC, to recite Kaddish for someone who was not Jewish for the first time in American history. Jewish intellectual and religious leader Isaac Leeser recited the Mourner’s Kaddish at Washington Hebrew Congregation in the capital city.[1] Three key issues had faced American Jewish communities during the Civil War: chaplaincy debates, General Ulysses S. Grant’s notorious General Order 11, and the rights of Saturday versus Sunday observers. Chaplaincy debates started soon after the Civil War began. After the Department of War rejected an application for a Jewish chaplain to provide his services to the U.S. Army, President Lincoln collaborated with Congress to enact legislation that would enable the Department of War to reverse its policy regarding Jewish chaplains in the Army.[2]
The most significant discrimination that Jewish Americans endured in U.S. history was likely the infamous General Order Number 11, when Grant expelled Jewish soldiers from the Army. He claimed that they had been smuggling and speculating disproportionately compared to non-Jewish soldiers. The stereotype of a conniving, scheming Jewish person fit dangerous, timeless, antisemitic tropes. President Lincoln swiftly reversed the Order. Jewish leaders appreciated Lincoln’s quick action. While Lincoln earned respect from American Jewish communities during the chaplaincy debates and in the aftermath of General Order 11, the President’s approach to Sabbath debates remained Christian-centric. President Lincoln actively encouraged U.S. soldiers to observe Sabbath on Sundays. A Jewish soldier replied: “Shall you not give the same privilege to a minority?”[3] Ironically, Confederate General Robert E. Lee repeatedly accommodated Jewish holidays and Saturday observance, likely because Jewish soldiers were white-passing, and the Confederacy centered white supremacy.[4]
These Civil War era religion-state issues lingered for decades. Additional religious minorities in the U.S. Army had to appeal for their rights and traditions throughout subsequent decades. General Order 11 proved formative for religion-state debates in the postbellum United States. Although Grant repented by becoming the first sitting U.S. President to visit a synagogue, Adas Israel, some political opponents blamed the Civil War on the U.S. not being Christian enough.[5]Christian lobbyists in postbellum America campaigned for temperance, Sunday closing laws, and even a Christian Amendment to proclaim America as a Christian nation.[6] Christmas became a federal holiday in 1870. Another significant change, which has since faded in historical memory, was the end of Sunday mail delivery in 1912. Business communications and commerce continued on the Jewish Sabbath, Saturday.
After World War II, once again, postwar Christian activists further integrated Christianity into U.S. government and society. They added “one nation under…” to the Pledge of Allegiance. In 1953, President Dwight Eisenhower attended the first National Prayer breakfast.[7] Despite the First Amendment’s assurance against Congress establishing national religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof, the United States has historically centered Christianity. But something changed in September 2020. Previous high-profile Jewish mourning had revolved around Israel, like Shimon Peres’s 2016 death and commemorative services in Washington, DC. Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s passing was nothing like that.
Americans from wide-ranging and even political backgrounds gathered at the Supreme Court to recite Kaddish on Shabbat. They recognized Shabbat’s overlap with Erev Rosh Hashanah. All over social media people from diverse traditions expressed, “may her memory be a blessing,” which is traditional Jewish phrasing, or even “may her memory be a revolution” to integrate today’s political moment. At sunset on Saturday, September 19, mourners returned to the Supreme Court. Jewish leaders led them in song, “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech ha-olam…” They added into a microphone, “We are saying goodbye. We take this flame, and we drop it into the wine, but we know that the flame has not truly been extinguished because it lives on in our hearts.” Goodbye to that week’s day of sacred rest, to the Jewish year 5780, and to the Honorable Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. She was not only a feminist woman, but also a Jewish feminist woman. How fitting that the most significant moment thus far for the Jewish Sabbath and also the High Holy Days on a national stage commemorates her passing.
Photo by Brandon Graham at the US Supreme Court
[1] Laura Cohen Apelbaum and Claire Uziel, Editors, Jewish Life in Mr. Lincoln’s City (Washington, DC: Jewish Historical Society of Greater Washington, Lillian and Albert Small Jewish Museum, 2009) 19.
[2] Jonathan D. Sarna, When General Grant Expelled the Jews (New York: Random House, 2012).
[3] Adajah Behrend, Letter to President Lincoln (4 December 1862) in Gary Phillip Zola, We Called Him Rabbi Abraham: Lincoln and American Jewry, A Documentary History (Southern Illinois University Press, 2014) 209.
[4] Laura Cohen Apelbaum and Claire Uziel, Editors, Jewish Life in Mr. Lincoln’s City (Washington, DC: Jewish Historical Society of Greater Washington, Lillian and Albert Small Jewish Museum, 2009).
[5] Jonathan D. Sarna, When General Grant Expelled the Jews (New York: Random House, 2012).
[6] Gaines M. Foster, Moral Reconstruction: Christian Lobbyists and the Federal Legislation of Morality, 1865-1920 (The University of North Carolina Press, 2002).
[7] Kevin M. Krus, One Nation Under God: How Corporate America Invented Christian America (New York: Basic Books, 2015).
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Thank you for the post. I’m not sure I properly understood the second and third sentences of the opening paragraph. Since no one controls the date of his/her death, how can the fact of dying on Rosh Hashanah or Shabbat make one righteous, except perhaps in some quasi-mystical sense? Surely the emphasis of the Jewish tradition (ok, there’s not a singular one but using the phrase loosely) tends to fall on how one lived, not the date on which one dies?