In the world of biblical scholarship, it’s rare to find two independent researchers who, using entirely different methodologies and arguments, arrive at the same groundbreaking conclusion. Yet, this is precisely what has occurred with Dvora Lederman Daniely, author of “Sarai, is she the goddess of Ancient Israel,” and myself, author of “An Everlasting Quid Pro Quo.”
Both of us have explored the intriguing possibility that Sarai, also known as Sarah, was not merely the wife of Abraham, but rather the biblical representation of the ancient goddess Asherah. While our paths to this conclusion diverge significantly, the convergence of our findings suggests that this idea deserves serious consideration.
Lederman Daniely approaches the subject from a perspective deeply rooted in scriptural analysis. She argues that the biblical Sarah was, in fact, a divine figure—specifically, the goddess Asherah. Her analysis focuses on key passages in the Hebrew Bible, where she identifies patterns and references that point toward Sarah’s divine identity. Although her arguments are more focused on textual and theological implications, they provide a compelling case for Sarah’s divine nature.
On the other hand, my approach in “An Everlasting Quid Pro Quo” is decidedly secular. I argue that Sarah and Abraham’s Lord were not divine beings from the outset, but rather deified mortals. My analysis delves into the plot of the biblical narrative, reinterpreting it through a secular lens to uncover a story of human figures who were later elevated to divine status. This perspective not only challenges traditional religious interpretations but also offers a fresh understanding of the complex dynamics between Sarah, Abraham, and Abraham’s Lord.
This convergence is particularly striking because, despite our differing methodologies—Lederman Daniely’s theological focus versus my secular analysis—we both arrive at the same conclusion: Sarah was Asherah. We both recognize that while Sarah is presented as Abraham’s wife, the true partnership in the biblical narrative is between Sarah and Abraham’s Lord. However, where Lederman Daniely views them as inherently divine, I interpret them as deified mortals whose stories were woven into the fabric of Israelite religion.
Where is Sarah?
The biblical narrative provides us with tantalizing clues about Sarah’s role, particularly in Genesis 18, where Abraham receives a visit from three men, one of whom is the Lord. As the story unfolds, the Lord promises that Sarah, despite her advanced age, will bear a son. This promise leads to a moment of disbelief and laughter from Sarah, a reaction that Lederman Daniely interprets as not merely one of doubt, but of flirtation—an interpretation supported by her analysis of the Hebrew term לצחק (letzahek), which can imply a flirtatious or romantic context. Later, in Genesis 21, the narrative tells us that the Lord meets Sarah in the tent, and nine months later, Isaac is born. From a secular perspective, what happened in the tent is pretty clear: the Lord’s “visit” was more than a mere conversation, and it directly led to Sarah’s pregnancy, resulting in the birth of Isaac.
Lederman Daniely’s interpretation of this passage as containing “mythological fragments” adds an intriguing layer to the narrative. She suggests that the story of Sarah and the Lord reflects an ancient, syncretic tradition, where Sarah was not just associated with Asherah but was herself a divine figure—a view that aligns with my own conclusions, albeit reached through a different route.
The Etymological Connection: Sarah and Asherah
One of the most compelling arguments linking Sarah to Asherah lies in the etymology of their names. As discussed in my book, the only difference between the names Asherah (אשרה) and Sarah (שרה) is the letter aleph (א), which is significant in its own right. This letter, derived from the Proto-Sinaitic script, was associated with the image of an ox or bull, a symbol of strength and divinity in ancient Canaanite culture. The evolution of this symbol into the letter “A” in the Greek and Latin alphabets underscores its enduring significance.
In this context, Sarah (שרה), as the mother of Isaac and stepmother of Ishmael, could have been seen as a revered matriarch, or “Aluf” (אלוף), a title indicating high status or divinity. Over time, the name “Aluf Sarah” could have evolved into “Asherah,” suggesting that Sarah was not only deified but became synonymous with the Mother Goddess of Israel.
El-Sarai and El-Shaddai
Lederman Daniely’s insights extend beyond this, as she explores the possibility that the name “Shaddai” (שדי), traditionally associated with God, might actually be a reference to Sarai. She posits that “Shaddai” could be a linguistic variation of “Sarai,” potentially obscured over time through a confusion between the Hebrew letters R (ר) and D (ד). This theory aligns with the broader idea that the early Israelites worshiped a syncretic deity, combining aspects of both El and Asherah, or El and Sarai.
“Israel”: A Matronymic Name?
Finally, Lederman Daniely proposes a bold hypothesis: that the name “Israel” itself could be a matronymic, derived from the combination of Sarai and El. This theory is particularly compelling given the ancient tradition of matrilineal descent in Judaism, where a child’s Jewish identity is determined by the mother. If “Israel” indeed stems from “Sarai-El,” it would signify the deep, enduring influence of Sarah/Asherah in the spiritual identity of the Israelites.
A New Paradigm
The convergence of our research—Lederman Daniely’s scriptural and mythological analysis, and my secular interpretation—presents a new, comprehensive model for understanding the roles of Sarah and Abraham’s Lord in the biblical narrative. This model challenges the incomplete and often one-dimensional interpretations that have dominated biblical scholarship and offers a more nuanced, integrated understanding of the ancient world.
The fact that two independent scholars can reach the same conclusion using such different arguments is a powerful testament to the strength of this new model. It invites readers and scholars alike to reconsider long-held assumptions and explore the possibility that the origins of the divine in Israel’s history are far more complex—and far more human—than previously thought.
This convergence is not just a coincidence; it is a call to reexamine the evidence, push the boundaries of our understanding, and embrace the complexity of our shared history.
