When a famous person passes away, newspapers try to capture their life and accomplishments in an obituary. The greater the person’s achievements, the longer and more detailed the obituary.

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik noted that for Sarah, the matriarch and first lady of the Jewish people, we might expect a detailed account. Yet, she is remembered in this week’s parsha with one sentence: “These were the years of Sarah: a hundred years, twenty years, and seven years. These were the years of Sarah.”

Why does the Torah phrase Sarah’s age of death so unusually, dividing it into “a hundred years, twenty years, and seven years”? Why not simply say Sarah was 127?

The Midrash explains: at 100, Sarah was as beautiful as at 20; at age 20, she was as free of sin as at seven.

But this answer raises another question: the phrase “these were the years of Sarah” seems redundant. Rashi explains it means all her years were equally good. This phrase doesn’t just answer how old Sarah was, but reflects her essence. The Torah isn’t simply relating how many years the Matriarch Sarah lived, but who she was and how she lived. Sarah was 100, she was 20, she was seven.

In his words: “Sarah was a seven-year-old innocent child when she reached the age of twenty and a twenty-year-old lovely woman when she reached the ripe old age of a hundred. … The adult in Sarah did not destroy the child. Maturity did not do away with childhood. No matter how developed, no matter how capable and experienced a woman Sarah became, in the deep recesses of her personality there still existed an innocent child … This did not mean that her mind did not ripen with age, that she did not benefit by repeated events in her life or that her personality was not enriched by wisdom and life experience. However, Sarah still retained within her personality the young girl she once was.”

Rabbi Soloveitchik continues to say that the three traditional periods of life, namely childhood, youth, and adulthood, need not be mutually exclusive. Rather than replacing one with another, Sarah united them. She was simultaneously a child, a youth, and an adult.

Most of us move through life by replacing one stage with the next. Leaving childhood, we develop passion and idealism in youth but often lose our innocence. University campuses, where many great social movements began, illustrate this tension. They are spaces of youthful idealism, but also of lost purity. Similarly, in adulthood, as we gain wisdom and experience, the passion and idealism of youth often fade.

In one of my favorite Billy Joel songs, “Angry Young Man,” Billy Joel writes: “I believe I’ve passed the age of consciousness and righteous rage, I found that just surviving was a noble fight. I once believed in causes too, I had my pointless point of view, and life went on no matter who was right or wrong.” Winston Churchill captured this, saying, “Anyone who is young and not a liberal has no heart. Anyone who is old and not a conservative has no brain.”

I am not saying that we necessarily become more selfish as we age, but that a natural part of maturation is an exchange of idealism for wisdom and experience.

Imagine, though, if we could have it all. If we could be 100 years old with the wisdom of age, the passion of youth, and the innocence of childhood. That was Sarah.

Sarah maintained the purity of childhood and the idealism of youth throughout her life. As she grew older, gaining the wisdom of experience, she remained both innocent and passionate. This combination made her a transformative force.

Sarah’s example inspires us in two ways. First, young people entering the working world can strive to maintain their idealism. Professional aspirations or daily concerns need not extinguish passion for noble causes, like a love for Israel or other values. However, this depends on having the right mentors. Misguided teachers can corrupt youthful idealism, as seen when campus ideologies lead students to support unjust causes — like the “innocent” and “idealistic” support for Hamas and terrorism.

Second, combining childhood innocence with adult wisdom is vital in religious life. Rabbi Soloveitchik explained that the mitzvah of Torah study requires the ability to think conceptually and critically — not to accept things at face value, but to challenge and question, which a child is less capable of doing. On the other hand, says The Rav, when the Jew puts down the Sefer and picks up the Siddur, it is now the child who becomes the expert. Whereas Torah study requires self-confidence and self-assertion, prayer requires humility and self-negation. To pray means to surrender, to feel dependent on a greater force, something an adult with their highly developed mind and confident stature has a difficulty doing. Only an innocent child with his heightened sense of helplessness can come before God and pray in the ideal way Judaism demands.

To live fully as Jews, we must embrace both the innocence of childhood and the sophistication of adulthood. Sarah’s life teaches us not to replace one stage with another, but to integrate them. By doing so, we not only engage with all aspects of Judaism but also stay young at heart, carrying the qualities of every life stage into each moment.

Rabbi Mark Wildes is the founder and director of the Manhattan Jewish Experience (MJE), a vibrant community for young Jewish professionals, and the author of The 40 Day Challenge: Daily Jewish Insights to Prepare for the High Holidays and Beyond the Instant: Jewish Wisdom for Lasting Happiness in a Fast-Paced Social Media World.

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