I couldn’t believe my luck. It had been an intense few weeks, and I really wanted a pick-me-up. I settled down into my seat as the driver headed toward the Begin. (Note to my mother reading this: When you’re in seminary things feel safer than they do from say, 6,000 miles away.)

Twenty minutes later we pulled up, and, to my shock and dismay, the gates around the compound were locked. I hadn’t known this, but apparently Kever Rochel closes every night from 10:30 p.m. until 12:30 a.m. I couldn’t have been more disappointed.

It ‘s probably too late to go to the Kosel… I thought. I felt the tears coming.

I approached the two guards, hoping they would make an exception, but no luck. It was closed and there was no way they would let anyone in.

Defeated, I headed back to the taxi. Then I heard the driver ask the guards: “What rank in the army do you need to be to issue an order to open the gate?”

I turned around in surprise. I heard them say something, and the taxi driver looked at me with a smile and said, “Don’t worry, we’re getting in.”

We got back into his car, and he whipped out his phone. “Halo, Avi? Kein, it’s Yossi. Tell me, what’s the number of that guy we spent Pesach with? You know, Eli Mizrachi? Ah, you don’t have it. Okay, who does? Moshe? Metzuyan.”

Next: “Halo, Moshe, I’m with mishehi Amerika’it here in Kever Rochel. Nu, do you have Eli Mizrachi’s number? No, you don’t, he changed his number, but Yaron has it? Ah, what’s Yaron’s number? Tov.”

And then: “Kein, Yaron….”

Before long he got Eli Mizrachi on the line. “Halo, Eli? Kein. Mah nishma, it’s Yossi Asoulin, you remember me? Kein, from Pesach. Listen, I have an American here and she wanted to go to Kever Rochel, but it’s closed. Is there any way you can get us in? Yeah? Fantastic.”

He shut his phone triumphantly and turned to me. “We’re going in!”

I dried off my tears and was looking around when an army jeep appeared from nowhere. A soldier inside rolled down his window and asked: “Yossi Asoulin?”

“Kein.”

“Follow us.”

The guards who were guarding Kever Rochel watched in disbelief as they were ordered to open the gate. I felt very VIP, if I’m being honest. The army jeep went first, and we followed in the taxi. When we got to the kever, the soldiers got out and said to me: “You have five minutes.”

I ran.

Five minutes of just me and our mother. Not a soul around but me. Five minutes of pouring out my pent-up stress from the past few weeks and feeling all the heaviness melt away. Five minutes of Rochel Imeinu’s undivided attention. It felt like I was getting a big hug, a reassurance that everything would be okay. Our mother is here. Hashem is with me.

It may have only been five minutes, but it was truly the best birthday gift ever.

(And yes, Mom, I got back to the dorm safely.)

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 865)