When we think about Avraham’s hospitality in Parshat Vayera, the scene is filled with movement. Avraham sees three strangers from a distance, runs to greet them, invites them to rest, and immediately sets everything in motion to care for them.

The Torah repeatedly uses verbs of action. Avraham runs, hurries, takes, and serves. It is therefore unsurprising that Jewish tradition sees in him a model of zerizut—the readiness to perform a mitzva without delay. That same quality appears again later in the parsha when, on the morning of the Akedat Yitzchak, “Avraham rose early in the morning” (Bereishit 22:3). Yet in the midst of all this activity, one question deserves our attention: “Where is Sarah, your wife?” (Bereishit 18:9).

Where is Sarah? She is inside the tent. And she is also at work. Avraham hurries toward her and says, “Quickly… knead and make cakes” (Bereishit 18:6). Avraham notices the visitors. He initiates the encounter. He recognizes an opportunity for chesed. Sarah, in turn, transforms that intention into something tangible. They are not doing the same thing. And that is precisely why the encounter works.

One midrash describes Avraham and Sarah as equal to one another “in tzedakah and gemilut chasadim” (Midrash Mishlei 31). Their equality does not require sameness of role. This has much to teach us about leadership and communal service.

We sometimes imagine leadership as the work of the person who identifies a problem, gathers others, or initiates a project. Yet every initiative also depends on those who know how to transform an idea into action. Some people are particularly attuned to noticing a need. Others know how to organize a response. Some can teach. Others know how to listen. Some can contribute financial resources; others offer time, expertise, connections, or practical skills.

We do not all need to do the same thing in order to participate in the same mitzvah. Midrash Tanchuma connects Sarah to a verse from Eshet Chayil: “She girds herself with strength” (Mishlei 31:17). The midrash associates this phrase specifically with the episode in which the visitors arrive and Sarah moves into action (Tanchuma, Chayei Sarah 4).

The word that interests me is oz, strength. Not necessarily the dramatic strength of a heroic act. Sometimes oz is far more ordinary: recognizing what needs to be done and being willing to do it.

Years ago, while training as a Hatzalah volunteer, I repeatedly heard a simple phrase: “You have to do what needs to be done.” In emergency medicine, the idea is quite concrete. If someone needs CPR, one cannot become paralyzed by the fear of causing an injury. First, one attempts to save a life. Other injuries, if they occur, can be treated afterward. That sentence stayed with me.

That same year, during a trip to New York, an elderly woman in the family with whom we were staying spoke to me about covering my hair completely. I had covered my hair partially for years, but covering it fully felt profoundly uncomfortable to me. She listened to my explanations and answered simply: “A woman has to do what needs to be done.” It was exactly the same phrase.

I did not make a grand declaration. I did not announce my decision to anyone. I decided to try it “just for today.” The next day, again, only for that day. Then another day. And another. Over time, a practice that had initially felt foreign began to find its place within me. That experience taught me something about oz: we do not always wait until we feel completely ready before we act. Sometimes action precedes feeling. We first do our part, and then we grow into it.

Pirkei Avot offers two teachings that hold this sense of responsibility in balance. Hillel teaches: “In a place where there are no people willing to assume responsibility, strive to be that person” (Pirkei Avot 2:5). When we notice a need, we cannot always assume that “someone” will take care of it. But Rabbi Tarfon adds: “It is not your responsibility to finish the work, but neither are you free to withdraw from it” (Pirkei Avot 2:16).

These two teachings need to be read together. I do not have to solve everything. But neither can I use the magnitude of the task as an excuse to do nothing. And I do not have to contribute in the same way as the person beside me. Perhaps my responsibility is to notice the need. Perhaps it is to carry out one part of the response. Perhaps it is to coordinate, accompany, teach, provide resources, or connect the right people. A shared mission requires different capacities.

Perhaps, then, the question “Where is Sarah?” can become a question for us as well. Where am I in relation to the work that needs to be done? What ability has Hashem placed in my hands that could serve another person? What am I willing to place at the service of my community? An ability used only for myself is a capacity. When I place it in the service of another, it can become a mission.

Sarah teaches us the strength to act and to do what needs to be done. The question, then, is no longer only what our community needs, but what part of that need is ours to assume. What need do you see that calls for a response? And what is the next step you can take toward meeting it?