What’s Her Story? Sarah’s Life

Our Torah portion, Chayei Sarah—חַיֵּי שָׂרָה—The Life of Sarah, begins with an unexpected twist: not with her life, but with an announcement of her death:

וַיִּהְיוּ֙ חַיֵּ֣י שָׂרָ֔ה מֵאָ֥ה שָׁנָ֛ה וְעֶשְׂרִ֥ים שָׁנָ֖ה וְשֶׁ֣בַע שָׁנִ֑ים שְׁנֵ֖י חַיֵּ֥י שָׂרָֽה׃ |וַתָּ֣מת שָׂרָ֗ה… וַיָּבֹא֙ אַבְרָהָ֔ם לִסְפֹּ֥ד לְשָׂרָ֖ה וְלִבְכֹּתָֽהּ׃  (Genesis 23:1)

What can we learn about Sarah’s life from a story that begins with her death, and how do we reconcile this paradox?

For much of my life, I struggled to connect with Sarah Imenu, our matriarch. She often seemed passive and overshadowed by Abraham, with her beauty highlighted but her voice and agency absent.

A portion titled “The Life of Sarah” opens with her passing—a contradiction that goes beyond literary tension, inviting us to reflect on what life truly means and how it is remembered.

For much of my life, I struggled to connect with Sarah Imenu, our matriarch. She often seemed passive and overshadowed by Abraham, with her beauty highlighted but her voice and agency absent. “Now I know what a beautiful woman you are” (Gen. 12:11). Her actions, like her treatment of Hagar, often felt harsh, and her abrupt death left her story feeling incomplete.

In her poem “The Life of Sarah: Summery”(Ynet), Dr. Ruhama Weiss, an Israeli scholar and poet, captures Sarah’s life through a list of clipped, passive verbs to reflect her lack of control over her own story:

Married / barren / taken on a journey / taken on another journey / taken on yet another journey / beautiful / desired / given to Pharaoh / returned with her husband (and with wealth) / barren / gave her maidservant to her husband / her maidservant conceived / tormented her maidservant / taken on another journey / received a promise / laughed (denied) / given to the king of Gerar / returned with her husband (and with wealth) / gave birth / banished her maidservant / died.  (Translation assisted by AI tools.)

The poem reads almost like a checklist, a detached summary of a life lived in the shadow of others’ decisions. Even in the moments where Sarah acts—such as giving Hagar to Abraham or later expelling her—her actions come across as reactive, shaped by the pressures of her circumstances. She is constantly taken—taken by Pharaoh, taken by Avimelech, taken on endless journeys.

Her question stayed with me. It echoed my struggles and prompted me to dig deeper.

Last year, I heard this frustration again from a student as I was preparing her for her bat mitzvah Sermon. She wrote:  “When I learned this was my Parasha, I was excited. I wanted to learn about Sarah’s accomplishments. But when I read it, I was disappointed. Her whole life is summed up in one sentence—her age when she died. So why is it called Chayei Sarah at all?”

Her question stayed with me. It echoed my struggles and prompted me to dig deeper. What is Sarah’s life? And why does this Parashah carry her name?

Like her, I navigate a world of rigid structures, and like her, I strive to assert my voice within those boundaries.

My perspective shifted when I took Rabbi Jill Hammer’s course on Women in the Torah through midrash at AJR, NY.  Midrash—the art of filling gaps and amplifying voices—and discovered a new Sarah. Midrash doesn’t just explain the text; it reimagines it, breathing life into its silences.

Let me share three midrashim that transformed my understanding of Sarah:

1. Sarah as a Prophet: The Talmud (Sanhedrin 69b) identifies Sarah as “Yiscah,” meaning prophetic vision. She could see through Ruach HaKodesh—divine inspiration—making her a prophet in her own right. Sarah didn’t just walk alongside Abraham; she shared in his divine mission, perceiving truths that shaped their destiny.
2. Sarah’s Moral Authority: In Midrash Tanchuma, Sarah commands an angel to strike Pharaoh when he tries to take her into his palace. Sarah is not a victim but a figure of strength, asserting her agency and protecting herself through divine intervention.
3. Sarah, as a Teacher: Rashi, drawing on midrashic tradition, explains that Sarah and Abraham “made souls in Haran,”—meaning they brought people closer to belief in one God. While Abraham taught the men, Sarah taught the women. She was not just a passive partner but an intellectual leader.

These Midrashim reframe Sarah as a woman of prophetic vision, moral courage, and intellectual leadership. She shapes her own destiny while playing a pivotal role in the Jewish people’s legacy.

Sarah is no longer a figure to resist but one to connect with. Like her, I navigate a world of rigid structures, and like her, I strive to assert my voice within those boundaries. Through the Midrashim about Sarah, I’ve understood the power of reinterpretation—the ability to revisit and reshape the stories that define us.

To my students and all of us wrestling with these sacred texts, I offer this: Sarah’s life is not bound by the words on the page. Her legacy lives in the midrash, amplifying her voice and how we see her anew.

May her life inspire us to seek meaning beyond the surface, to amplify silenced voices, and to find the courage to reshape our narratives with wisdom and resilience.

In a way, we are all Sarah.