Ruth

Emily Ralph was one of my best friends growing up. She lived on the other side of the University Campus, and was the only Jewish girl I knew. Emily was adventurous, creative, fun, and knew how to cook for herself. Her grandmother survived the Holocaust and I remember seeing VHS tapes of interviews with her. Emily’s mom was a social worker whose office was across from a corn field.

I liked Emily because her family was tranched like mine. I have 3 sisters, and the oldest has a different father than myself. Emily’s older sister had a different father too; he was a concert pianist, taught at the University and lived around the corner. Greencastle was very conservative, and in spite of small town expectations, it was nice to know that families could have layers.

Emily’s mom was a petit woman with knee-jerk empathy and a strong sense of right and wrong. I always admired how Emily got along with her mom. They seemed to be friends.

I came across the word ‘ruth’ recently. I was more familiar with ‘ruthless.’ There is comfort in the existence of that word’s antithesis; showing empathy, compassion. It’s as though the power of ruthless is balanced and ultimately overcome by its own root; the root is its absolution.

I remember vaguely those VHS tapes; an old woman, a grandmother, with a heavy accent, describing a very personal horror she survived. Only later did I realize how sublimely beautiful it was for her to name her daughter, “Ruth.”