Sarah, Our Mother, In Poetry

Sarah’s Trials
NAAMA ELDAR
Dirshuni (HBI Series on Jewish Women) (p. 29). Brandeis University Press. Kindle Edition.
Ten times was Abraham our father put to the test, and he withstood them all. This tells how great was the love of our father Abraham (Mishnah Avot 5:3).
Ten times was Sarah our mother put to the test, and she withstood them all. This tells how strong she was, and how great was her hope.
That she was barren and without a child;
And she was taken from her birthplace and father’s home to an unknown land;
That she was asked to lie on Abraham’s behalf on coming to Egypt and being taken to Pharaoh’s home where there was done to her what was done to her;
That her Egyptian maidservant bore a child for Abraham her man;
And her maidservant made light of her;
And her man said to her do with her as you see fit (Gen 16:6);
That she heard from the opening of the tent the news of Isaac’s birth;
That she waited many years for Abraham her husband to return from his journeys and wars;
That she was asked to lie on Abraham’s behalf on coming to Gerar, and being taken to Avimelekh’s home where there was done to her what was done to her;
That her son was taken from her to be sacrificed on the altar.

"Unlikely Origins of Prayer"
Rabbi Aviva Richman at https://hadar.org/torah-resource/unlikely-origins-prayer
In the text of the Torah where Sarai has no voice—and on the backdrop of pre-Rabbinic texts that give Avram a voice but not Sarai—it is remarkable to see our Sages draw out Sarai’s voice in this narrative. In the midst of a situation where she is objectified for her beauty, and deprived of any agency, Sarai’s voice emerges loud and strong, uttering the first words of prayer. The textual catalyst for the midrash is the phrase “ על דבר שרי / al devar Sarai ” (Genesis 12:17). At face value, this means “about the matter of Sarai,” where she is the object of discussion, but the midrash takes it instead as “due to the word of Sarai,” where she becomes a subject who speaks, finding her voice in this context of total degradation.
This is where prayer comes from. Not from a figure who is in direct relationship and regular conversation with God, but from someone who has no reason to believe God will do anything for her. In Avivah Zornberg’s words, hers is a faith of “grim realism.” God has never spoken to her and never indicated an interest in her own future. Nonetheless she decides to articulate the fragility of her position, and the untenable nature of her reality, directly to God.

Poem About Sarah Imeinu
By Neshama Sari, Age 14
Sarah Imeinu is an amazing mother, who I hope to be like one day
She is such an inspiration – from her footsteps to her times to pray
She had three special miracles inside her tent:
The candles that never went
The challah that continued to be fresh all week
And the protecting clouds just above the tent’s peak
The Challah smells warm and inviting
People had been blinded by the bright Shobbis candles
People hear Sarah’s happiness dancing in the rooms that is not scandal
She speaks to people in a calming voice that unites
She shares with us the way of life to shine our inner light

Chayei Sarah: Sarah’s cry
by Elizabeth Topper
“And Sarah’s life was a hundred and twenty and seven years; the years of Sarah’s life.” (Bereishit 23:1)
Master of the World! You designed Creation
not for chaos but for peace; it was You
Who called to Abraham to banish pagan ways.
You bestowed the blueprint of a life
lived by Your word, establishing
the covenant binding us to You.
You imbued Your people with the attribute
of mercy, condemning the depravity
of claiming children’s blood.
Will there be no limit to the torment
of Your children? I stand before You,
Holy One, and cry to You, “Enough!”

SONG OF SARAH
by Rachel Kann
Sarah speaks:
I occupy the space of paradox.
I will be mother eternal
And forever the barren one.
I exist in the realm beyond language.
Teru’a is my communication.
Words cannot capture the gasping laughter,
The keening wail,
All is teru’a.
I am both.
I am other.
I am not either/or, I am all.
I am Akara.
I am Ima.
I occupy the space of “what-if.”
I am intimate with the fine line of eelulei.
I died with my reality hanging in mid-air:
My soul flew out of my body
Before I could reach the dreadful endgame.
Yitzchak lived,
And yet his ashes are gathered on the altar.
Yitzchak survived,
And yet I died of his death’s possibility.
He is sacrificed and he is not.
To know life’s true goodness, you must venture to the brink.
The tov me’od can only come after reaching the most unthinkable.
Happy are the people who have faced the instability of the world head-on.
Happy are those that have heard the teru’a.
I looked into the unbearable abyss.
Gd did not create the world for nothingness,
It is meant to be inhabited,
We behave as if it were a solid place,
Knowing full well that we hang over the limitless gape.
Recognize darkness and choose light in spite of it.
We have knowledge of nothingness,
The mystery of ayin,
The secret of what is missing.
Inspiration is inhalation,
But first we must exhale
And create a hungry space.
With every breath we take,
Our lives are reinstated.
I exist beyond biology.
I am a warrior and my cause is honesty.
I choose to feel everything.
The shofar blast is not just a message of triumph,
Not just the crowning of the king,
It contains my suffering beyond earthly vocabulary.
Let it represent the response to our call.
To know you are lost is to recognize the possibility of being found.
It is good to understand the dislocation of the world,
This does not diminish its sweetness but increases it.
I am beyond language’s limitations,
Where even sevenfold repetition cannot reach me.
I was undone by words.
I died under the sign of a question mark.
I wept tekiah and teru’a.
Eelulei
I was undone by words.
I was undone by “what-if.”
I died of eelulei.
Happy are the people who know the sound of the teru’a.
Against reason, I am telling you to be happy:
Those who know the convulsive sobs of the shofar are blessed.
Teru’a is the call of woman,
The outburst of distress,
It is a short panting sound,
It is a groaning over and over.
I am a shofar played in the key of anguish.
I am the rock from which you were carved.
I created a cavity within myself to make space for you.
I am not simply womb.
I am the hammer that banged out hollowness.
I am she who gave birth to you.
I contain multitudes.
I am your glorious origin.
We shudder with existential unhinging,
Are intimately acquainted with uprootedness.
The cosmos is a cosmos of exile,
And yet…everywhere…Gd is crying out to us.
Wipe away the past.
Repaint the rocks.
Draw a stick across the dust.
Bring Tikkun:
Correction,
And healing.
Activate the force of Beresheet.
There is a need for trembling.
I am Sarah, who is the birthing of ALL of you.
I am pregnant with potential.
I am makevet.
Let the sounding shofar
Crown me with Malchut Triumphant.