What if the Book of Genesis had a female God who created the world? What if the first human was a woman, and it was the man who ate the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Bad?
Eight years ago, after years of asking questions like this, I began regendering the Bible to tell a different story — one in which women are at the center, and men find their place in supporting roles.
This initiative evolved into Toratah, a regendered version of the Hebrew Bible that I’ve been developing with a growing community in the U.S. and Israel.
Toratah means “Her Torah” — and through it, I have sought to expand the Jewish bookshelf by bringing the lived experience of women into sacred language. As a woman artist and student of Kabbalah, I found myself longing for a sacred text that spoke directly to me, one that honored women not just as supporting characters but as central, divine figures in our spiritual narrative.
One day, in 2016, I sat down at my laptop and began rewriting the Torah, flipping the genders of every character.
I discovered a Goddess who created Khovah (Eve) in Her image. I encountered Emrahama, the top matriarch, who nearly sacrificed her daughter Titzhak at the Goddess’ command. I watched as the son of Par’a opened a basket to find a baby girl crying, and his heart went out to her. Men in Toratah are caring for their daughters, while women are taking on roles of power and leadership.
And you know what? The heavens didn’t fall. Instead, something miraculous happened: The text opened up to me in a way it never had before. It wasn’t just about swapping pronouns — it was about reimagining the very nature of gender, power and divine inspiration.
This work stands on the shoulders of many women rabbis and scholars, the innovators who came before us and put out a call to go beyond “what if” into “is.” Toratah was born out of this process, and with it came a spiritual awakening. Suddenly, these ancient stories expanded the points of contact with my life and with that of many others. Women who had long struggled to see themselves reflected in sacred texts now had a mirror.
Men, too, found something transformative in Toratah. By stepping into the domestic sphere, men in these stories experience a fuller, more balanced sense of identity. They are not warriors or rulers — they are nurturers, caregivers, partners in creation.
Between Toratah and Torato (my name for the traditional Torah — “his Torah”), gender roles become fluid. This opens up a powerful new spiritual landscape, one that encourages us to expand our theological imagination. By reading the Bible through this regendered lens, we begin to see that gender is not just a social construct — it’s a sacred concept beyond traditional behavioral roles, one that can shape the way we understand divinity and our communal lives.
Over time, Toratah has grown from a solo endeavor to a communal project. We’ve already published key sacred texts at Beittoratah.org, including the first five books of the Bible in Hebrew, Genesis in English and four of the five megillot. And now we’re translating Exodus chapter by chapter.
It’s been inspiring to see how the text resonates with people, especially in our group study sessions, where participants bring their own stories, experiences and insights to the table. There’s something extraordinary about hearing a passage that you’ve known your whole life, but in a new voice, through a new lens. It’s as if the text itself becomes more dynamic, more alive.
Earlier this year, we released “ZimraTah: Songs for Toratah,” an album featuring an extraordinary group of artists. It’s now available on all major music publishing platforms, and it was celebrated with a concert at Central Synagogue in New York. The songs take verses from Toratah and bring them to life through melody and harmony, allowing listeners to connect with these sacred stories in yet another way. For me, the album represents another step in the expansion of the Jewish bookshelf — a reminder that sacred text doesn’t just live on the page, but in our voices, our music, our rituals.
The purpose of Beit Toratah is to bring these texts into the world, and it has been exciting to learn how rabbis and educators have been teaching Toratah in various communities
This month, I’ll be speaking at two public events in Northern California, inviting the Bay Area community to join in this reimagining of our tradition. I’ll lead Toratah study sessions after Shabbat dinner at the JCCSF on Nov. 15 and the following morning at Chochmat HaLev in Berkeley, which you can attend in-person or on Zoom.
I’ll also be discussing our forthcoming book, “Toratah: The Regendered Bible, Genesis 1-6 with Commentary,” in collaboration with Tamar Biala, which will be published next year by Ayin Press. This book represents the next chapter in Toratah’s story, and I’m eager to see how it will continue to inspire conversations about gender, power and spirituality in both Jewish and non-Jewish communities alike.
As I prepare for its publication, I find myself reflecting on how far we’ve come since I first sat down with my laptop and typed those opening lines. Toratah is no longer just a personal project — it’s a communal offering, a sacred path that invites us to rethink not just our sacred texts, but our lives.
My hope is that as more people encounter Toratah, we’ll continue to expand the Jewish bookshelf, creating new sacred texts that honor the full range of human experience, and in doing so, make room for all of us in the divine narrative. I invite you to join me on this journey on Nov. 15 and 16, or via our online programs at BeitToratah.org.