The Story Behind the Picture: Rachel’s Tomb

Eva Marie Everson

The day had been perfectly perfect. My coauthor, Miriam Feinberg Vamosh, and I had busied ourselves around the city of Jerusalem, hitting landmarks, historical locations, and a few shops. As we neared the noon hour, Miriam made a casual comment concerning Rachel’s Tomb, located on the outskirts of Bethlehem, separated by the short distance of five miles. “We could take a bus,” she said. “If you want to go.”

I asked why we couldn’t just take her car.

“There’s a small measure of danger,” she said. “We’ll have to go through some checkpoints.” Well, danger is my middle name, so I was all for it! Miriam and I headed for the bus station where we went through the same security checks as one does at the airport.

Because we were running a little early for the next bus, we decided to grab lunch, which we enjoyed. Then, as our time to board neared, we walked out to the secured pickup area. As we waited, there, sitting on the bench beside me, was one of the most beautiful Orthodox Jewish women I’ve ever seen. Stunning, actually. I couldn’t stop looking at her.

“Many Jewish women go to the tomb to pray about fertility,” Miriam had told me. “Or their mothers go to pray . . . their fathers . . . their husbands . . . sometimes we go to pray for the peace of Israel.”

I looked at the woman again and wondered if her goal was to pray for a child, much as Rachel had prayed for her two sons, Joseph and Benjamin. Realizing I was watching her, the young woman turned to me and smiled. “You’re so beautiful,” I told her. “Do you mind if I take your photo?”

She asked what I would use the photo for. I told her that I would never use it in my work, but just for my memory. She agreed and I snapped her photo (I so wish I could show it to you, but I am a woman of my word).

When the bus arrived, Miriam and I took the front seat opposite the driver with me at the window. Soon, we were rolling along into the area of Jerusalem known as Me’a Shearim, an ultra-Orthodox area outside of the Old City. I took several photos, noting much of the old with the new.

The bus filled and, after a couple of other stops, we were headed for the Rachel’s Tomb whose story is found in the 35th book of Genesis.

Then they moved on from Bethel. While they were still some distance from Ephrath, Rachel began to give birth and had great difficulty. And as she was having great difficulty in childbirth, the midwife said to her, “Don’t despair, for you have another son.” As she breathed her last—for she was dying—she named her son Ben-Oni. But his father named him Benjamin. So Rachel died and was buried on the way to Ephrath (that is, Bethlehem). Over her tomb Jacob set up a pillar, and to this day that pillar marks Rachel’s tomb (Genesis 35: 16-20).

The bus rolled to a stop, one of the first checkpoints. A young IDF soldier approached the bus, the door opened, and he stepped onboard. Then the door closed, and we moved forward as he radioed ahead. Again, the bus came to a stop, the young soldier stepped off the bus, key in hand. We were about to enter the gate leading to a place where Jewish men and women go to pray. My heart thudded as I glanced out the side window to see a young boy squatting next to his father. I couldn’t help myself; I had to snap a photo, which somehow the boy noted. He stood, explaining to his father that a strange woman was watching them. I could almost hear him, “Abba, there’s a woman there . . .” I smiled and waved, and the young child then threw himself into his father’s arms. Afterward, I returned my attention to the soldier with the key.

He reentered the bus after locking the gate behind us, and we moved on. Again, my heart raced as I spied the high wall erected between Bethlehem and the tomb, the number of soldiers standing guard. I shook my head, a thought rising within me, one I couldn’t quite articulate. Not yet, anyway.

The bus stopped in front of the tomb and the door opened, the soldier being the first out. Miriam stood and I shuffled behind her. As we stepped off the bus, I realized we would now dash between two rows of soldiers, their assault rifles at the ready. “Quickly,” they said in Hebrew.

We stepped into the cool of the tomb and I, unfamiliar with my surroundings, stepped to one side to allow the men and women to wash their hands in a fountain. Purification before prayer.

Miriam and I then followed the women to the “women’s side” of the tomb while the men moved along in another direction.

Over the next many minutes, I stood back, watched, and listened as the men cantered from one side of this ancient and beautifully draped tomb. The women then answered back in a song they seemed to know so well. All along, they sat in chairs and prayed from psalm books, some that had been carefully placed in and removed from stone-carved cubbies.

I fought tears as I slipped to the cool stone of the floor, my knees at my chest, my heavy camera resting in my hands. And then it happened. The young woman from the bus station stood, walked up to the tomb, lifted a hand, and offered a prayer. I sat straight then, raised my camera, and shot a picture I’ll never get out of my head, one that Miriam and I (and Thomas Nelson Publishers) enlarged to take up an entire page of our book Reflections of God’s Holy Land; A Personal Journey Through Israel.

I stood then. “Did you get it?” Miriam asked in a whisper. I could only nod.

Outside, I asked one of the soldiers if I could take a photo of the guarding wall. “Ken,” he said. Yes.

I did, then reentered the bus, taking my same seat as others meandered out, this time slowly. Deliberately and fulfilled.

We headed back to Jerusalem. “What are you thinking?” Miriam asked me.

The words had finally taken shape. “They do this?” I asked, incredulous. “They take their lives into their own hands–or the hands of soldiers–every day? To pray?”

“Every day,” she answered. Then, after a moment, she asked, “Did you ever feel afraid?”

I shook my head, tears swimming in my eyes, blurring my vision. “I haven’t felt that safe since I was in my mother’s womb,” I answered.

Miriam offered a nod. “I knew you’d say that,” she replied, then turned her face to look toward the Holy City.