Someday, but not this day, please. How many of us thought that every time we heard Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s ?We had seen her flame through four cancer diagnoses, but it was never extinguished.
Each time, the flame rose, and she returned to us. This time, too, we wanted to believe she could will her way into the next year, where hope—we also want to believe—is waiting for us.She on September 18, just before the beginning of Rosh Hashanah—the Jewish new year.
We were already a nation of mourners, in the ninth month of a pandemic that has now more than 200,000 people in our country.
In the immediate wake of Ginsburg’s death, we were clawing for reserves of strength we weren’t sure could be found.In these last years, we asked too much of her, but.
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