King David, Sarah, and the Rebbe teach us that real life continues and grows through the next generation.

We’ve all been following the elections here in the United States over the past few days. The political map is changing. Things that seemed clear just a few days ago don’t look so clear any more.

In Israel, too, the outcome is still undecided. Two political blocs face each other: Netanyahu’s bloc and the one led by Eisenkot. All the possibilities are still open. Nobody knows for sure how it will end.

It’s always a fascinating moment. Everyone wants to kno—who will win? Who will end up in the seat of power?

And by Divine providence, just as we’re talking about leadership and struggles for power, we read the haftarah for Chayei Sarah, which takes us into a story about leadership and a struggle for power.

Holding On to the Altar

The story takes us to the final days of King David. He was only seventy, but his strength was fading. And the big question was: Who would be the next king? Who would inherit David’s throne?

David’s fourth son, Adonia, the son of Chagit, saw himself as the natural heir. His older brothers, Amnon and Avshalom, were no longer alive. The throne was his for the taking—and he decided that he wasn’t going to wait.

He began gathering supporters. He brought Yoav, the son of Tzeruya, David’s army commander, over to his side, along with one of the leading priests. He arranged a chariot for himself, with fifty men running ahead of him. Then he held a great feast at which he effectively declared himself king.

There was, of course, just one problem: King David was still alive. And he had never named Adonia as his successor.

That’s where Natan the prophet came in. Natan understood right away what was happening. And he knew that David intended Shlomo to be king. And if Adonia’s plan succeeded, Shlomo and his mother, Batsheva, could be in danger.

Natan went to Batsheva. She had to go in to David, he told her, and remind him of his oath to her: her son Shlomo would reign after him.

Batsheva entered David’s room and bowed before him. She reminded him that he had sworn that her son Shlomo would succeed him and sit on his throne. 

But now, she told him, Adonia was making himself king without his father’s knowledge. He had held a feast, invited the king’s sons and the men of Yehuda, and was already behaving as though he were king. 

If David didn’t act now, she warned, she and Shlomo would be in danger after his death.

While she was still speaking, Natan came in too. He confirmed what she had said and asked David whether he had really decided that Adonia should succeed him. 

David called Batsheva back in and assured her that he would keep the oath he had sworn in G-d’s name: Shlomo, her son, would reign after him.

But David didn’t leave it at a promise. He called Natan the prophet, Tzadok the priest, and Benayahu, the son of Yehoyada, one of his great warriors. They were to put Shlomo on David’s own mule, take him down to the Gichon spring, and anoint him there as king of Israel.

And that’s exactly what happened. A parallel anointing ceremony took place. Tzadok and Natan anointed Shlomo as king. They blew the shofar, and the people cheered: “Long live King Shlomo!”

The noise reached the place where Adonia was sitting with his supporters, celebrating his own coronation. Soon, Yonatan, the son of Evyatar the priest, arrived with the news: King David had made Shlomo king!

In an instant, everything changed. The people sitting with Adonia walked out. A moment earlier, they had been supporting him and celebrating with him. Now they wanted nothing to do with him.

Adonia was left alone. His whole plan had fallen apart.

Terrified, he ran to the altar and grabbed hold of its horns—the projections at its corners—hoping that Shlomo wouldn’t kill him. In those days, the altar was seen as a place of refuge. Someone who held on to its horns was asking for shelter and protection.

Shlomo sent for Adonia, but he didn’t have him killed. If Adonia behaved properly, Shlomo said, no harm would come to him. Adonia came before Shlomo and bowed—in other words, he recognized his sovereignty—and Shlomo sent him home.

Long Live King David—Forever

Now, the haftarah itself ends with a very interesting verse. When David assures Batsheva that Shlomo will succeed him, she bows and says, “Yechi adoni hamelech David l’olam”—“May my lord, King David, live forever!” That’s where the haftarah ends. (I Kings 1:31)

But David is already an old man. He’s passing the kingdom on to his son. Shlomo is about to become king. How can she say that David will live forever?

The Rebbe answers that there’s a deeper idea here. Shlomo is continuing David’s kingship. David’s kingdom, his way of life, and his legacy will live on through Shlomo. As the Rebbe explains, Batsheva’s declaration expressed the eternity of the House of David through his son Shlomo. (Likkutei Sichos, vol. 25, p. 114)

It brings to mind the familiar song we sing: “David melech Yisroel chai v’kayam”—“David, King of Israel, lives and endures.” We’re not just talking about a king who lived thousands of years ago. We’re saying that his kingship never came to an end. David, King of Israel, lives and endures because his legacy is still alive in the Jewish people.

What Does It Mean to Really Live?

And that brings us to this week’s Torah portion, Chayei Sarah, “The Life of Sarah.” If someone handed you a book with that title, you would assume it was Sarah’s biography. You would expect to read about her life, her years with Avraham, and everything she accomplished.

But when you start reading the Torah portion, what do you find? It begins with Sarah’s passing: “Sarah’s life was one hundred years, twenty years, and seven years—the years of Sarah’s life.” (Bereishis 23:1)

The portion begins with her death! Why does the Torah call it “The Life of Sarah” when its first major event is her passing?

The Rebbe explains something beautiful. A person’s life isn’t measured only by the number of years he lives in this world. The real question is what remains after he’s gone. Does his way of life still influence others? Do the values he taught live on in the next generation?

That’s exactly what we see with Sarah. It’s after her passing that we begin to see just how much her life continues. Yitzchok marries Rivka, and the Torah tells us that he brings her into the tent of his mother Sarah. Then it says, “Vayinachem Yitzchok acharei imo”—“Yitzchok was comforted after the loss of his mother.” (Bereishis 24:67)

Rashi explains that three things that had been present in Sarah’s tent returned when Rivka arrived. The candle burned from one Friday evening to the next. There was a blessing in the dough. And a cloud rested over the tent.

In other words, Rivka brought Sarah’s home back to life. She continued Sarah’s way of life and the holiness that had filled her tent. That is Chayei Sarah—the life of Sarah. (Likkutei Sichos, vol. 15, p. 145ff.)

There’s another point here, connected to the dispute over the Previous Rebbe’s library some forty years ago. The Rebbe insisted that the books belonged to the Previous Rebbe, and that no one had the right to touch them.

Then the Rebbe went further. The Previous Rebbe is alive, he said. And with every passing year, his life and his work in this world grow. He becomes more active, and carries out his work with even greater vitality. As time goes on, he becomes healthier, fresher, and more alive.

That’s a remarkable idea. Usually, a person passes away, the years go by, and his influence gradually fades. But the Rebbe teaches us that with a nasi Yisroel, a spiritual leader of the Jewish people, it’s just the opposite. His life and his influence only grow stronger.

And that’s exactly what we’re seeing this week. The Kinus Hashluchim, the International Conference of Chabad Emissaries, is taking place in New York. Close to six thousand shluchim from around the world are coming together. They meet, spend time together at Chassidic gatherings, listen and learn, draw fresh strength, and then head back out to the places where they serve.

When you look at that picture, you see something extraordinary. 

The Rebbe began sending shluchim out with one vision: No Jew anywhere in the world should be without someone to turn to.

Wherever a Jew might be, someone should be there to welcome him, help him, bring him closer to Judaism, give him strength, and remind him that he’s a Jew. The Rebbe wanted every Jew, even in the most distant place, to know that he had somewhere to go and that someone was thinking about him.

Today, when we look at the thousands of shluchim arriving from every corner of the world, we see that this vision isn’t just continuing. It’s growing. It’s spreading. It’s reaching new places.

Another shliach. Another Chabad House. Another community. Another Jew finding his way back to Judaism.

The Rebbe’s work hasn’t just been preserved. As the years go by, it becomes greater, more active, and more relevant.

As the Rebbe put it then: “Noch merer un noch shtarker un noch frisher un noch lebediker”—ever greater, ever stronger, ever fresher, and ever more alive. (15 Tammuz, 5745)

That is eternal life!