Chayei Sarah: The Power of Showing Up

Chayei Sarah is framed by two profound losses: the death of Sarah, our matriarch, at the beginning, and the death of Abraham, our patriarch, at the end. Between these losses lies a story of continuity, a narrative thread that reminds us of the sacred charge to carry forward what has been entrusted to us. Isaac must have a wife, and it is Rebecca who emerges as the powerful presence, stepping into Sarah’s role as a matriarch and leader (Gen. 25:67).

Rebecca is remarkable. She is not just a passive participant in the unfolding story; she is its driver. In so many ways, she becomes the inheritor of Abraham’s legacy, perhaps even more than Isaac. Her agency, her decisiveness, and her strength establish her as a leader, ensuring that the family’s sacred mission does not falter.

This raises a critical question that echoes through time: will the next generation be up to the task? Can they carry forward the greatness of those who came before? This concern is not new—it is as old as the human story itself. Jewish tradition even has a term for this anxiety: “Yeridat HaDorot,” the idea that with every generation, there is a diminishing, a distancing from the heights of the past. It is a concept deeply tied to the nostalgia that often paints the past in glowing hues while casting shadows of doubt on the present and future.

And yet, Chayei Sarah challenges this notion. The story of Rebecca is one of hope and renewal. When she arrives, stepping off her camel to meet Isaac, she brings light back into Sarah’s tent. Tradition tells us that with her presence, the warmth, the aroma, the vitality of Sarah’s leadership are reborn. Rebecca shows up, and her presence restores strength to the family. As an ancient midrash imagines it:

…while Sarah was living, a light had been burning in the tent from one Sabbath eve to the next, there was always a blessing in the dough (a miraculous increase) and a cloud was always hanging over the tent (as a divine protection), but since her death all these had stopped. However, when Rebecca came, they reappeared” (Genesis Rabbah 60:16).”

In this moment of uncertainty in our world—amid the grief of war, the rise of antisemitism, and the fractures within and beyond our communities—the question of whether we are up to the task is deeply relevant. Can we rebuild? Can we light the tent again?

The answer, Chayei Sarah insists, is yes. We are the inheritors of an unbroken chain of resilience. Rebecca’s story reminds us that we don’t need to be the past to bring its light forward. Her strength was not derivative; it was her own. She made choices that transformed her into a matriarch, and we, too, have choices to make.

This past week, I witnessed both the depths of grief and the heights of human courage. In Israel, I stood with interfaith leaders, visited communities shaped by hope, and heard the stories of those determined to build bridges amidst the rubble. A Sufi leader and his Jewish wife are raising children together in kindergartens filled with light. A Bedouin matriarch is championing civil rights for her community with unyielding pride. Survivors of unspeakable horrors are choosing to live with purpose and love.

These moments reminded me that beauty and strength are incalculable, even in the face of immeasurable loss. The power to heal and to build lives within us, as it did in Rebecca. Like her, we are not bound by the circumstances of our birth or the weight of our past. We are free to choose, to show up, and to shine.

Rebecca teaches us that the work of bringing light into the world is not a task for someone else—it is ours. The blessing and burden of being alive is that we are the ones with the power to help, to heal, and to hope. We are made in the image of the Divine, carrying within us a spark of infinite potential.

So, friends, I ask you: what will you do with this one, wild, precious life? How will you show up in the world? Like Rebecca, will you bring light into a darkened tent?

We don’t have forever. But we have now. And now is the time to help.