The Torah portion Chayei Sarah—“the life of Sarah”—begins with Sarah’s death. The contrast is deliberate. The Torah’s concern is not merely with the end of her days but with the meaning of her days. It records Abraham’s memorialization of Sarah’s life, not only the fact of her passing. “Sarah’s lifetime was one hundred years, twenty years, and seven years: the years of Sarah’s life” (Genesis 23:1).
Rashi, commenting on this verse (Rashi to Genesis 23:1), explains that Scripture divides her years into three stages because each phase carried its own wholeness and spiritual integrity: at one hundred she was as sinless as at twenty, and at twenty she possessed the pure beauty of a seven-year-old. His point is that the virtues of Sarah’s character were integrated; each season of her life added depth and continuity to the next.
Abraham honors that continuity. The entire twenty-third chapter of Genesis is devoted to securing an honorable resting place for Sarah. Abraham insists on paying full price to Ephron for the cave of Machpelah. To accept it freely would cheapen the dignity of the memorial. In a culture like ours, which minimizes ritual and downplays remembrance, Abraham’s insistence feels countercultural. But he teaches that memory is sacred; to honor a righteous life requires intention and cost.
Before he negotiates with the Hittites, Abraham pauses simply to mourn. Grief unlocks memory. Perhaps he recalls their journey, their struggles, their laughter, their missteps, their triumphs. In that quiet space, Abraham opens the photo album of their shared life. Let us open that album with him.
There is the photo of joy: the miracle of Isaac’s birth, long awaited and impossible without divine intervention. There is the celebration at his weaning, the young child running freely, laughter restored to a household that had nearly forgotten it.
Another picture: Abraham sending Eliezer to find a wife for Isaac. Parents no longer choose spouses today, but every parent knows the combination of hope and anxiety that accompanies a child’s future. Sarah is not alive to see this moment, but her influence shapes it. Her character becomes the very measure by which Rebecca is recognized.
We turn the page and see dramatic scenes Sarah would never forget: Abraham defeating the four kings to rescue Lot (Genesis 14), returning home with honor. These were moments when Abraham’s faith soared and Sarah’s confidence rose with him.
Then we find the pictures that rarely make their way into “official” memory. The call of Abraham—packing their belongings onto donkeys, leaving everything familiar, stepping into uncertainty. What did they say to one another as they stepped into a future with no map? There is the picture of the Binding of Isaac. What did Sarah know? What did she fear? And how great was her relief when Abraham and Isaac returned?
Other pictures are so painful they usually stay tucked away: the famine that forced them into Egypt; the moment Abraham called Sarah his sister; the tension surrounding Hagar and Ishmael. These moments might have shattered a lesser marriage. Yet they became part of their shared story—difficult frames that nevertheless shaped destiny.
A life well lived is not one without struggle or mistake. It is a life in which forgiveness overcomes failure, and faith carries a family forward even when the path is uncertain.
The Torah then shifts to the story of Rebecca. The connection to Sarah is intentional. Rebecca appears because Sarah’s life is about to continue in her. At the end of Vayeira we learn of Rebecca’s birth (Genesis 22:20–23). The rabbis remark (Talmud, Rosh Hashanah 11a) that a righteous person does not depart this life until another arises to continue their work. Sarah’s spiritual successor is already in the world before she leaves it.
When Rebecca enters Sarah’s tent, the signs of blessing return. Bereishit Rabbah teaches (60:16) that three miracles that accompanied Sarah—her Shabbat lamp that stayed lit from week to week, the blessing on her dough, and the cloud of the Divine Presence over her tent—reappeared when Rebecca arrived. Sarah’s legacy did not end; it continued through the character of another woman prepared to carry it.
This theme echoes in a favorite story of the season, Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life. George Bailey, overwhelmed by disappointment, believes his existence has no value. Yet when he sees the world as it would have been without him, he discovers the beauty of small, unseen acts of goodness. A life well lived is not defined by heroism but by the countless quiet mercies that shape others’ lives in ways we rarely perceive.
Chayei Sarah teaches the same truth. Our lives continue through the people we touch. The question is what we choose to imprint on the hearts of others.
What, then, does a full and meaningful life require?
Take many pictures. Embrace both victories and failures; they all belong in the album.
Practice forgiveness. Hard moments will come; forgiveness preserves the future.
Show humble deference. Selflessness strengthens every relationship.
Live with faith. Pray boldly. Trust even in disappointment.
Pursue a larger purpose. Abraham and Sarah walked into uncertainty sustained by a vision bigger than themselves.
Most of us will never be spiritual giants like Abraham and Sarah. No chapter of Torah will be written about us. But our actions will be written on the hearts of others. They will shape the lives of those who follow them. And people who will never know our names will nevertheless be influenced by choices we make today.
Every life leaves something behind. The question is: what do we choose to leave?
Shallowness or depth? Self-seeking or self-giving? Fear or faith? Brokenness or blessing?
The life worth remembering—the life that continues through others—is the life well lived.
May our snapshots be snapshots of blessing. May our kindness flourish in others long after our own years are complete. Like Sarah, may our legacy be the ongoing miracle of a life lived faithfully before God.