Days That Come With You
Rabbi Reuven Ibragimov
Last week's parasha ended on a cliffhanger. Avraham climbed Har HaMoriah with Yitzchak, ready to offer him on the altar. This was a man who had spent his entire life teaching the world that human sacrifice is an abomination, and yet he found the courage to obey. The Midrash tells us the Satan tried everything to stop him, appearing first as an old man and then as a young one. Perhaps you misunderstood. Perhaps your father is hearing things. Avraham would not be moved, and at the final moment an angel called out: stop.
This week opens with a striking verse: וַיִּהְיוּ חַיֵּי שָׂרָה מֵאָה שָׁנָה וְעֶשְׂרִים שָׁנָה וְשֶׁבַע שָׁנִים שְׁנֵי חַיֵּי שָׂרָה, “The life of Sarah was one hundred years, and twenty years, and seven years; the years of the life of Sarah” (Bereishit 23:1). No one writes an age that way. Rashi explains that the Torah breaks the number apart to teach us כֻּלָּן שָׁוִין לְטוֹבָה, all her years were equal in goodness. Sarah did not simply pass through life. She lived with balance, and every year carried meaning.
Rashi (23:2) also teaches that Sarah's passing follows the Akeidah because when she heard that her son was nearly slaughtered, her soul departed. This is puzzling. Sarah was a greater prophet than Avraham. When Avraham hesitated to send away Hagar and Yishmael, Hashem told him: כֹּל אֲשֶׁר תֹּאמַר אֵלֶיךָ שָׂרָה שְׁמַע בְּקֹלָהּ, “Whatever Sarah tells you, listen to her voice” (21:12). Why was she not inspired, as Avraham was?
Perhaps the answer is simple. It was not her test. The moment she stepped into Avraham's shoes, she could not survive it. Our tests are custom made. You can pass yours, and I can pass mine, but the moment we wish for someone else's challenges, we fail. Stop trying to trade your tests away. They are yours alone, and they are designed to make you great.
After burying Sarah, the Torah tells us: וְאַבְרָהָם זָקֵן בָּא בַּיָּמִים וַה׳ בֵּרַךְ אֶת אַבְרָהָם בַּכֹּל, “Avraham was old, coming with his days, and Hashem blessed Avraham with everything” (24:1). Time was running out, and Avraham was thinking about legacy. He insisted on paying full price for Me'arat HaMachpelah, land that had already been promised to him, so that every generation would know how precious Eretz Yisrael is. He made Eliezer swear not to take a wife for Yitzchak from the daughters of Canaan, but to find a woman whose values matched his own.
Contrast this with an interview Mike Tyson gave recently. A young reporter asked him what legacy he wants to leave behind. His answer: “I don't believe in legacy. It's just another word for ego. We're just dust. Who cares about me when I'm gone?” That is the very opposite of how Judaism thinks. Live for now, satisfy your wants, and forget the rest. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks taught that we are the story we tell. Avraham understood that everything he did was for the future.
The Kabbalists teach that the soul has five levels: nefesh, ruach, neshamah, chayah and yechidah. We do not receive them all at once; they unfold in stages over a lifetime. Some opinions teach that as Rivka matured, she received a portion of Sarah's soul. That is why, when Yitzchak brought her into his mother's tent, the candle again burned from Shabbat to Shabbat, blessing returned to the dough, and the cloud rested over the tent (Rashi 24:67). וַיִּנָּחֵם יִצְחָק אַחֲרֵי אִמּוֹ, “And Yitzchak was comforted after his mother.” Sarah's legacy lived on.
What does it mean to be “coming with his days”? Many people grow old wishing their past would not follow them. Avraham's days came with him because each one was invested in something eternal. Thirty-five hundred years later, we are still telling his story.
We are not here to finish everything. We are here to be initiators. Ask yourself: how do I want to be remembered? Will my days come with me, or will I be embarrassed by them? It is not always about winning the test. It is about struggling through, doing your part, and letting Hashem do the rest. Our actions matter. Our legacy matters.
Shabbat Shalom.
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