The custom of the unveiling (the Jewish practice of unveiling the headstone at a gravesite, generally a year after the burial) comes from the burial of our matriarch Rachel, who was laid to rest on the side of the road to Bethlehem rather than in the family plot in Hebron. Why? Because a thousand years later, when the Jewish people were exiled from Israel, they would travel that very road. God instructed Jacob to bury her there so that, in her merit, the Jewish people would be redeemed. She would advocate for them before God, provide comfort to the exiled passerby, and nurture the weary travelers—giving them the strength to carry on.
Rachel was the quintessential mother, just as my mother was—not only to me but to so many others who were fortunate to cross her path on their own journeys.
She lived to welcome the traveler. She and Arnie opened their home to countless people over the years—Jews and non-Jews, religious and secular, ordinary and eccentric. Everyone was welcome.
But her hospitality extended far beyond her home. She carried that same warmth and openness across the world. She loved connecting with people everywhere.
I remember being with her when she saw an Indian couple at Trader Joe’s she had never seen before. Her face lit up as she approached them and told them about her trip to India. By the end of the conversation, she had somehow suggested that she herself might be Indian.
Every time she got her nails done, she would tell the Vietnamese ladies about the time she went to Vietnam in great detail—as if they had never been. Every time.
When she lost hearing in her right ear after a surgery, we were shortly after at a resort in Palm Springs when she saw a family signing to each other. She immediately got excited to connect and went up to them, pointing to her right ear and mouthing, “I am also deaf,” as she now identified with the hearing-impaired community, embracing it as if she had always been a part of it. We asked her to never do that again.
She once met a homeless person and, in an effort to relate, told her about the time she was locked out of her house for an hour.
Okay, that last one isn’t true. But it could have been—because that was my mother. She found a way to connect with anyone and everyone, and people loved connecting with her.
She didn’t just travel the world—she experienced it. And for her, experiencing the world wasn’t just about enjoyment; it was deeply spiritual. The number of Chabad rabbis she knew across the globe was astonishing, as she always sought out the Judaism in each place she went.
The first of the Ten Commandments states: “I am the Lord your God who took you out of the land of Egypt.” A question asked by Rashi in the Kuzari is: Why doesn’t it say, “I am the Lord your God who created the heavens and the earth”? Surely, that would be even more impressive.
The answer is simple. We were not there at the time of creation, but we were there when we were taken out of Egypt. Judaism, and our relationship with God, is not meant to be purely theological—it is meant to be experiential. We are meant to live it. To experience the commandments, to experience the world, to experience the connection with others, and to experience the connection with God.
This is why I believe my mother not only created a figurative welcome sign for all wandering Jews and weary travelers—as was her nature—but also why she loved traveling herself. She loved people. She loved the world God created. And every opportunity she had to connect with God’s creation, she took. She lived to experience all that God had to offer, and she lived to ensure that others always knew they had a place at her table.
One of my earliest travel memories with her was in sixth grade when she took me on my first cruise. And two summers ago, I had the privilege of joining her and Arnie on what would be her final trip—an Alaskan cruise.
Alaska, with its breathtaking landscapes, is a place that highlights the majesty of God. But what I will remember most from that trip happened in a narrow hallway on the ship, where my mother, for the first time, was navigating a sit-down motorized scooter as the amount of walking needed on the ship was exhausting for her.
She hadn’t wanted to bring the scooter. I had to push for months to convince her. She finally gave in—though at every stop on the ship, she made sure to clarify to anyone who would listen that she did not usually use one and that I had forced her into it.
One morning, as we made our way to the dining room, we needed to turn around in a tight hallway. A simple task—or so I thought. She made her first turn, but instead of pivoting smoothly, she drove straight into the wall. She reversed and tried again. Wall. Again. Wall. After three failed attempts, she decided to motor down the hallway to a larger open space to turn around. A good strategy—except that once she got there, she hit the wall again. Undeterred, she reversed and tried once more. Wall. Again.
Finally, she’d had enough. She lifted the arm of the scooter, stepped off, and declared, “I am done with this!” And as I doubled over in uncontrollable laughter, she gave me grief for it—with a big smile on her face.
I share this story not just because it was a hilarious moment we shared (and yes, I videotaped it) but because it encapsulates exactly who she was. She did not want the scooter because she never saw herself as sick. She was full of life, even in her final moments. And when life put obstacles in her way—just as she kept hitting that wall—she carried on. She did not give up. She kept moving forward, even if it meant trying and failing over and over again. And when she finally found a challenge she could not overcome, she simply found another way.
She was never going to let anything stop her from connecting with all the amazing people God put in this world and from experiencing this beautiful world itself that God created—until God Himself said it was time to experience the next one.
So today, we do more than mark the place where her physical presence was laid to rest. We honor the spiritual presence that she left behind—one that continues to live in the hearts of all the weary travelers, all the searching souls, and all those fortunate enough to have crossed her path.
And I have no doubt she is advocating in heaven for all our well-being and the ultimate redemption with the coming of Mashiach.
