“Beloved women and maidens.” This is how the female author began her appeal to her readers in the small, yellowing booklet I now hold in my hand, one of many like it held in the Judaica Collection of the National Library of Israel. The letters are Hebrew, but the language is not – it is written in Yiddish. And back then, in the eighteenth century when it was written and printed – its very production was almost unprecedented.
There was a time when prayer had nothing to do with literacy, books, or printing. Prayer was between man and his Creator. But was it truly meant only for man, or was it equally intended for woman? Unlike other fields, we find explicit, clear, and significant mention in the Bible of the role and power of women in prayer.
In the book of Bereishit (Genesis), when Yitzhak and Rivkah pray for children, it is Rivkah’s prayer that is answered. Later, Miriam the prophetess and Devorah, wife of Lapidot, lead prayers of thanksgiving. And one of the Bible’s most stirring prophecies is Rachel’s lament for her children:
“Thus said the Lord: A voice is heard on high, wailing, bitter weeping—Rachel weeps for her children.” (Jeremiah 31:14)
Yet, the journey from biblical recognition to women writing prayer books that became fixtures in Jewish homes was a long one.
The first woman to leave a lasting mark on Jewish prayer lived in biblical times. Her name was Chanah.
Chanah was the first wife of a man named Elkanah, and the mother (spoiler alert) of one of the most important prophets in Jewish history – Samuel.
Chanah was infertile. Her husband Elkanah, who loved her with all his heart, had children from his second wife – Peninah. Despite his love and preferential treatment of her, Chanah’s heart was broken, and she yearned for a child of her own.
“And she was deeply bitter,” the Book of Samueltells us, “and she prayed to God and wept profusely.”
In her sorrow, Chanah prayed in an unusual manner—
“She spoke in her heart; only her lips moved, but her voice was not heard.” (I Samuel 1:13)
The high priest Eli, witnessing her silent prayer, misunderstood her actions, assuming she was intoxicated. But when she explained herself, Eli was moved and blessed her, assuring her that her prayer would be answered.
Over a thousand years later, as the Oral Torah was committed to writing and a structured prayer formula was established, Chanah’s method of prayer was enshrined in Jewish law as the correct and ideal way to pray—silently, with heartfelt devotion (Talmud Berachot 31a).
With the destruction of the Second Temple, the Jewish diaspora spread across the world. Over time, Hebrew—the holy tongue—ceased to be a spoken language, and the overwhelming majority of Jewish women no longer understood it.
After the collapse of the Roman Empire and throughout the Middle Ages, Jews stood out in their relative rates of literacy – a Jewish boy, no matter when, where, or as part of what class – would usually learn to read and write at a very young age, primarily in Hebrew. Boys could thus hold a siddur in synagogue and pray from within it.
But what of the girls?
In most Jewish communities, women seldom attended synagogue outside of holidays and special occasions. They were not required to study Torah and typically only spoke the local vernacular or a Jewish dialect, which in much of Europe was Yiddish.
Without knowledge of Hebrew, women found it difficult to engage with the standard prayer texts. Yet, their spiritual needs did not disappear. While rabbinic discussions debated the permissibility of non-Hebrew prayers, women instinctively created their own—expressing their deepest hopes and worries in Techinot (entreaties or pleas).
At first, these were oral prayers, passed from mother to daughter. Over time, they were written down.
The first Jewish woman known to have written and published a book was Rivkah bat Meir Tiktiner, a sixteenth-century scholar who lived in Prague. Her work, Meineiket Rivkah (Rivkah the Nurse), was not a prayer book but rather a Mussar (ethics) guide for Jewish wives.
According to rumors, the title was not chosen by the author herself but was enthusiastically bestowed upon the book by the printer, who could hardly contain his amazement: “Who has ever heard or seen such a novelty? Has it ever happened that a woman composed something from her own mind and read verses and midrashim in homes?” (He likely said this in Yiddish).
These were words of moral instruction and ideas, not written prayers that women could actively use, but they marked the first budding recognition of the diverse spiritual needs of Jewish women in written form.
A few decades later, in 1648, the book Seder Techinot was published in Amsterdam. This was in essence a prayer book for women. The prayers were all translated into Yiddish, and written from a woman’s perspective. Printing technology at this point had existed for two centuries already, which led to the widespread distribution of this siddur, all throughout the European continent.
Over time, new books of Techinot began to appear alongside the more common siddurim and prayer formulas. These were also written in Yiddish but this time – they contained prayers written by women for women, regarding issues that concerned them.
These were often simple pleas, some of them of a day-to-day nature, some of them for special occasions – for Rosh Chodesh, the eve of Yom Kippur, and the like.
One of the most touching examples is Techinat Ha’Imahot (The Plea of the Matriarchs), in which the author appeals to Sarah, Rivkah (Rebbeca), Rachel, and Leah, asking them to intercede before God. In a heartfelt plea, the author invokes Sarah’s pain at nearly losing her son Isaac (at the Binding of Isaac) and prays that no mother experience such anguish.
They adorned bookshelves in Jewish homes across Europe – small booklets, sometimes even without covers, which provided knowledge but mainly consolation and catharsis for innumerable women and mothers.
Quite a few of these are now kept by the National Library in various states of wear and tear. Some of them came from family collections in better condition, and others came by a more roundabout route. Some were even looted by the Nazis and later rescued, and thus required more careful attention to ensure they be preserved and restored.
“The tradition of Techinot provides a rare glimpse into women’s spirituality and self-expression,” says Dr. Chaim Neriah, curator of the National Library’s Judaica collection.
“These prayers reveal an entire world of emotions, aspirations, and faith. Their widespread use and multiple printings testify to the deep need women had to express themselves—both in synagogue and in daily life.”
One of the most famous authors of this genre was Sarah Bat Tovim, or as she was probably known in the Yiddish-inflected community where she lived and operated – Sore Bas Toyvim.
Sarah was born in the small town of Satanov, then part of Poland, to a well-off family (her family name, which literally means “daughter of the good/refined” makes this blatantly clear) which arrived there from Brisk. Her life does not appear to have been easy, and she poured her heart out in pleas.
Two of the books she wrote have survived – Sheker HaChen and Shloshah She’arim – both collections of Techinot which also contain moral instructions and words of spiritual awakening.
In the introduction to Sheker Hachen, she reflects on her feelings regarding the spiritual role of women:
“Beloved women and maidens, read these prayers and let your hearts rejoice… Thus, I have composed a new Techinah to be recited every Monday and Thursday, on fast days and the High Holidays: ‘Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting,’ for beauty has no true substance, and only good deeds are what truly matter. ‘The wisdom of women builds her house’—the main thing is that a woman should manage her home, so that Torah may be studied within it, and that she guide her sons along the straight path in the service of the Creator. I am a poor woman, I have been ‘scattered and dispersed,’ I could not allow my eyes to find rest, for my heart was troubled within me. I recalled where I came from, where I am going, and where I will ultimately be taken, and a great fear came over me. I prayed to the Living God, Blessed Be He, ‘with torrents of tears,’ that my plea be accepted.
I, the woman Sarah Bat Tovim, of noble and renowned lineage, had no ‘foreign thoughts’ in my heart, and only God, Blessed Be He, did I ponder as I composed this Techinah, so that I might be remembered after my passing. And whoever recites this Techinah, may their prayer rise and be accepted before the Almighty, Blessed Be He.”
Many years after her passing, Sarah Bat Tovim became a legendary figure in Jewish folklore. She appears as a kind of benevolent fairy in I. L. Peretz’s story “The Match, or Sarah Bat Tovim” (Der Zivug, oder Sore Bas Toyvim), which includes distinct elements of the Cinderella tale—such as a pair of golden slippers and a young man who finds his beloved. She also makes a fleeting appearance in the works of Mendele Mocher Sefarim and even in Druyanov’s Book of Jewish Humor, where she is portrayed as the archetype of a righteous woman.
Alongside Sarah, there were other women whose names are known to us—women who wrote and composed prayers specifically for women. One such figure is Cyril Rappoport (whose Hebrew name was likely also Sarah), the author of Techinat Ha’Imahot (The Plea of the Matriarchs), previously mentioned. This prayer, which was printed with the subtitle “A New Plea” (A Neye Techinah), was indeed something new.
These women were not revolutionaries in the conventional sense. They did not seek to upend the structure of their families or disrupt the established order of their communities. But they gave voice to their fellow women. They wrote, printed, and published texts that addressed issues close to their hearts—motherhood, childbirth, education, household management. Their desires, dreams, and heartfelt pleas took on an independent existence through words, laid out in black and white.
“So says God,” the prophet Jeremiah tells us in response to Rachel’s prayer for her children:
“Prevent your voice from weeping and your eyes from tears, for there is reward for your work.” (Jeremiah 31:16)
For more on this topic, see A Jewish Women’s Prayer Book, edited by Aliza Lavie, English translation and adaption by Kaeren Fish
