Today, more than ever, our children need their parents’ prayers

I’m grateful to live a mere 15-minute drive from Kever Rochel. There’s something otherworldly about turning from the busy highway from my house onto the narrow two-lane road leading to Beit Lechem. The atmosphere shifts dramatically, entering enemy territory. The steel walls surrounding our small plot of land are forbidding and depressing, yet at the same time comforting. Kever Rochel has been swallowed by our galus, just as Yaakov Avinu knew it would be. We reach our Mama’s kever with the threat of extinction just a stone’s-throw away, yet we know that the promise of redemption still lies within its walls.
I’m drawn to Kever Rochel in a way that no other makom kadosh draws me. The Kosel inspires awe, tears, a yearning for closeness. Kever Rochel simply cuts me off at the knees. I slip onto a worn wooden bench, and suddenly I’m laying my heart in my mother’s lap.
As a mother, there are depths of tefillos welling up in my heart for my children. As Rochel’s daughter, I beg her to bring those tefillos one step closer to the Kisei Hakavod.
A few weeks ago, my brother came from the States. I picked him up from the airport and the first stop we made was to Kever Rochel. I knew the visit could not be a long one; still, my step was eager as I approached the women’s entrance. Then I stopped. In front of the entrance stood a small group of 12-year-old girls. They were each dressed in white, with a wreath of white roses encircling their heads. They held hands, smiling solemnly as their relatives and friends stood capturing the moment. And the moment captured me.
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