I feel the warmth of Mamma’s embrace. I finally experience the gift of motherhood

"You were never at Kever Rochel?” people ask me incredulously when I share that I’m taking my first-ever trip to the kever, well over a decade after moving to Eretz Yisrael.

I don’t know why I never went. And now, as I step off the bus with my daughter on the day of her bas mitzvah, I wonder even more.

I search for the famed tree and domed roof, but all is gray and sterile. Then I walk into the tziyun, packed on this Rosh Chodesh, and emotion washes over me.

I break down crying.

Mamma!

I sob like I haven’t done in a long time. I’m so happy to be here.

Mother. The word means everything to me. It’s a relationship that was always a distant, elusive dream, because I grew up with an emotionally unavailable mother.

I wish I had a mother, I sob. I wish my mother had showed me love, even once. I wish I’d had a meaningful conversation with my mother, even once.

My daughter gets lost for a few moments in the crowd, and I’m glad for the privacy.

At Mamma Rochel’s kever, I mourn the mother I never had. I sense relief as I express my suppressed emotions. Here, I know Hashem — in the zechus of Mamma Rochel — is listening and taking in all of my pain.