בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יהוה אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶך הָעוֹלָם אֲשֶׁר קִדְּשָנוּ בְּמִצְוֹתָיו וְצִוָּנוּ לַעֲסוֹק בְּדִבְרֵי תוֹרָהבְּרוּךֶ אַתֶה חֲוָיָה שְׁכִינּוּ רוּחַ הָעוֹלָם אֲשֶׁר קִדַשְׁתַנוּ בְּמִצְוֹתֶיהֶ וְצִוְתָנוּ לַעֲסוֹק בְּדִבְרֵי תוֹרָה בְּרוּכָה אַתְּ יָהּ אֱלֹהָתֵינוּ רוּחַ הָעוֹלָם אֲשֶׁר קֵרְבָתְנוּ לַעֲבוֹדָתָהּ וְצִוְתָנוּ לַעֲסוֹק בְּדִבְרֵי תוֹרָה
Berakhot 11b:
Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu la’asok b’divrei Torah.
Nonbinary Hebrew Project:
B’rucheh ateh Khavayah Shekhinu ruach ha’olam asher kidash’tanu b’mitzvotei’he v’tziv’tanu la’asok b’divrei TorahFeminine God Language:
Brukhah at Ya Elohateinu ruach ha’olam asher keir’vat’nu la’avodatah v’tziv’tavnu la’asok b’divrei Torah
וַיִּהְיוּ֙ חַיֵּ֣י שָׂרָ֔ה מֵאָ֥ה שָׁנָ֛ה וְעֶשְׂרִ֥ים שָׁנָ֖ה וְשֶׁ֣בַע שָׁנִ֑ים שְׁנֵ֖י חַיֵּ֥י שָׂרָֽה׃ וַתָּ֣מׇת שָׂרָ֗ה בְּקִרְיַ֥ת אַרְבַּ֛ע הִ֥וא חֶבְר֖וֹן בְּאֶ֣רֶץ כְּנָ֑עַן וַיָּבֹא֙ אַבְרָהָ֔ם לִסְפֹּ֥ד לְשָׂרָ֖ה וְלִבְכֹּתָֽהּ׃ וַיָּ֙קׇם֙ אַבְרָהָ֔ם מֵעַ֖ל פְּנֵ֣י מֵת֑וֹ וַיְדַבֵּ֥ר אֶל־בְּנֵי־חֵ֖ת לֵאמֹֽר׃ גֵּר־וְתוֹשָׁ֥ב אָנֹכִ֖י עִמָּכֶ֑ם תְּנ֨וּ לִ֤י אֲחֻזַּת־קֶ֙בֶר֙ עִמָּכֶ֔ם וְאֶקְבְּרָ֥ה מֵתִ֖י מִלְּפָנָֽי׃
Sarah’s lifetime—the span of Sarah’s life—came to one hundred and twenty-seven years. Sarah died in Kiriath-arba—now Hebron—in the land of Canaan; and Abraham proceeded to mourn for Sarah and to bewail her. Then Abraham rose from beside his dead, and spoke to the Hittites, saying, “I am a resident alien among you; sell me a burial site among you, that I may remove my dead for burial.”
ויהיו חיי שרה מאה שנה ועשרים שנה ושבע שנים. לְכָךְ נִכְתַּב שָׁנָה בְּכָל כְּלָל וּכְלָל, לוֹמַר לְךָ שֶׁכָּל אֶחָד נִדְרָשׁ לְעַצְמוֹ, בַּת ק' כְּבַת כ' לְחֵטְא, מַה בַּת כ' לֹא חָטְאָה, שֶׁהֲרֵי אֵינָהּ בַּת עֳנָשִׁין, אַף בַּת ק' בְּלֹא חֵטְא, וּבַת כ' כְּבַת ז' לְיֹפִי:
ויהיו חיי שרה מאה שנה ועשרים שנה ושבע שנים AND THE LIFE OF SARAH WAS 127 YEARS (literally, 100 years, 20 years and 7 years) — The reason the word שנה is written at every term is to tell you that each term must be explained by itself as a complete number: at the age of one hundred she was as a woman of twenty as regards sin — for just as at the age of twenty one may regard her as having never sinned, since she had not then reached the age when she was subject to punishment, so, too, when she was one hundred years old she was sinless — and when she was twenty she was as beautiful as when she was seven (Genesis Rabbah 58:1).
עוד יתבאר הכתוב על זה הדרך ויהיו חיי שרה פי' בצער היו חיי שרה מאה שנה, כי בכולן היתה בצער, עד תשעים שנה והיא בחבלי לידה שלא ילדה לאברהם, וצא ולמד מה שאמרה רחל (ל' א') הבה לי בנים ואם אין מתה וגו', ומצ' עד מאה בקרוב שהיה ישמעאל רודף את יצחק להורגו כמאמרם ז"ל (ב"ר פנ"ג) והיתה מצטערת על הדבר הרי מאה שנה, ועשרים שנה ושבע שנים לאלה יחשבו שני חיי שרה כי אז בטחה בבנה כי כבר גרש אברהם את ישמעאל:
The Torah also alludes to the almost one hundred years that Sarah suffered either the anguish of childlessness or the animosity which developed between Ishmael and the son she finally bore at the age of ninety. We know from Rachel, (Genesis 30,1) that a woman's feeling of being unfulfilled when she has no children can cause her to consider her life as not worth living. The years in which Sarah "really lived," therefore, were only the last twenty seven years of her life during which she was able to enjoy Isaac's development in undisturbed tranquillity
ויהיו חיי שרה הרוצים למנות גימטריאות אומר כמנין ויהיו , היו חייה הם שלשים ושבע שנים שמיום שנולד יצחק עד יום העקדה שמתה, אבל התשעים שנה שחיתה קודם לכן אינן חשובין חיים שמי שאין לו בנים חשוב כמת.
ויהיו חיי שרה, “The years of Sarah’s life amounted to etc.” People fond of dabbling in the allusions found through the numerical value of words or whole sentences, will note that the numerical value of the word ויהיו equals the “life of Sarah,” in other words, Sarah’s real life commenced with the birth of Yitzchok, at which time she was 90 years old, whereas she died on the day of the binding of Yitzchok 37 years later. This is the numerical value of the word: ויהיו. As long as a person has no child he or she is considered as dead. (Talmud Nedarim, 64)
As the Torah tells us, by the time of Abraham’s circumcision, Sarah was “advanced in years” (she’s close to 90) and, not surprisingly, “had stopped having the periods of women.” (Gen. 18:11) But even when Sarah was young and menstruating, she was unable to conceive the child she desperately wanted. By her culture’s standards, Sarah’s inability to build up her husband’s house with children or provide him with an heir makes her a failure as a woman. But at the beginning of chapter 18, newly circumcised Abraham offers hospitality to three angels, one of whom has come to tell Sarah, long resigned to being her identity as an elderly, infertile woman, of her impending pregnancy – a public, culturally incomprehensible transformation of body and gender identity even more radical than Abraham’s circumcision. There were – there are – no words, no gender roles or social customs, through which to describe, understand, or relate to a woman Sarah’s age who becomes pregnant, gives birth, and nurses a child. As with Abraham’s circumcision, God marks Sarah’s transition from the familiar kind of woman she has been to this brand-new kind of woman by changing her name, which before her pregnancy is announced to Abraham had been “Sarai.”
Our mother Sarah had a transgendered heart.
Abraham seeks to, and succeeds in, securing a burial place for his family, a place that will keep Sarah’s memory alive, a touchstone for her in death and for her family in the future. Who creates these sacred places of memory and connection for those who are brutally murdered on our streets? For LGBTQ homeless people living in the shadows? Sarah has a family and a future, even in her death. Even today, people flock to Hebron to visit the burial place of our matriarchs and patriarchs, a trip that is its own sermon. In my first visit I marveled at the ornate decoration and wondered what was actually in the coffins. Even I, a cynical post-modern rabbinical student, was moved by the religious devotion. Visiting the grave of a loved one can be a powerful experience—the grave itself making concrete the death the visitor remembers and helping them to make concrete the memories.