Today, Jerusalem Weeps

How did the city that carried the glory of God become a city of tears?

Today I wear no leather.

Today I sit on the floor.

Today my voice trembles before it can even form the first word.

Eichah…

How?

How did the city that carried the glory of God become a city of tears?

How did the mountain where the Shechinah rested become a mountain of longing?

How did the songs of the Levi’im become the cries of an orphaned nation?

I cannot read Kinnot today without weeping.

Not because they are ancient.

Because they are alive.

Every word bleeds.

Every verse opens a wound that has never healed.

People ask me, “Why are you still mourning something that happened thousands of years ago?”

Because love does not expire.

Because a son never stops longing for his father’s house.

Because Jerusalem is not a chapter in a history book.

She is my mother.

She is my heartbeat.

She is the dream my ancestors carried through exile, through fire, through rivers of blood.

Today I am not reading poetry.

I am reading the tears of Jeremiah.

I am reading the cries of Kohanim who watched the flames consume the Beit HaMikdash.

I am reading the silence that followed when the music of the Temple was suddenly swallowed by fire.

I close my eyes…

I can almost hear it.

The crackling of cedar beams.

The crash of massive stones.

The desperate cries of fathers searching for their children.

The sobs of mothers clutching babies they could no longer save.

The smoke rising into Heaven.

And one terrible question echoing through the streets of Jerusalem:

Ribbono Shel Olam… where are You?

Today I walk in the Land my ancestors only saw through tears.

I stand in Judea.

I breathe the air of Israel.

I hear Hebrew spoken in the streets.

I watch Jewish children laugh beneath the same sky our prophets once looked toward.

And instead of making my tears disappear…

They fall even harder.

Because they never lived to see this.

How many Jews whispered, “Next year in Jerusalem,” knowing they would die before sunrise?

How many kissed the ground of foreign lands, imagining the dust of Zion?

How many entered the gas chambers with Jerusalem still on their lips?

I carry their dream.

I stand where they begged God to let them stand.

And yet…

My joy cannot be complete.

Because our Father’s House is still missing.

The mountain still waits.

The Shechinah still waits.

Jerusalem still carries an empty place in her heart.

Today I do not cry because we lost a building.

I cry because the world lost the place where Heaven embraced the earth.

I cry because I can almost feel the footsteps that are no longer heard.

I cry because I can almost hear the songs that are no longer sung.

I cry because somewhere deep within every Jewish soul is a memory we were born with but never lived.

A memory of home.

So today…

Do not ask me to smile.

Do not ask me to move on.

Sit with me.

Weep with me.

Let your tears fall upon the soil of Zion.

Let them mingle with the tears of Abraham, of David, of Jeremiah, of the exiles of Babylon, of the martyrs of every generation, of every Jew who turned toward Jerusalem and whispered through broken lips, “If I forget you, O Jerusalem…”

Do not hold back your tears today.

Let your heart break.

Let your soul ache.

Because only a heart that still mourns Jerusalem is a heart that still believes she will one day be whole again.

May the Holy One gather every tear shed today.

May He remember every broken prayer.

May He comfort Zion.

May He rebuild Jerusalem.

And may the day come soon when the only tears that flow through her streets are tears of joy.

Amen.