Chapter 1 of Eicha is a lamentation over the city that was emptied of its substance. In verse 4, the author of the lament turns from the city itself to the roads leading up to it, to the gates, to the kohanim, and to the maidens - all those whose lives revolved around the Beit HaMikdash and its festivals. Let us study the verse according to the commentators and see how every detail within it forms a complete lamentation in its own right.
דַּרְכֵי צִיּוֹן אֲבֵלוֹת מִבְּלִי בָּאֵי מוֹעֵד, כׇּל שְׁעָרֶיהָ שׁוֹמֵמִין, כֹּהֲנֶיהָ נֶאֱנָחִים, בְּתוּלֹתֶיהָ נּוּגוֹת וְהִיא מַר לָהּ׃ - The roads of Zion mourn, for none come to the festival; all her gates are desolate, her kohanim sigh, her maidens grieve, and she is bitter.
The author of the lament declares: "The roads of Zion mourn, for none come to the festival." Targum clarifies a major principle here: as long as Jerusalem stood built, the people of Israel refused to make the pilgrimage. They did not want to ascend to appear before the Master three times a year. Consequently, because of Israel's sins, the roads of Zion were laid desolate. The roads became deserted, turning mournful "for none come to the festival" - those very people who were meant to come three times a year on the festivals to appear before Hashem no longer arrive.
"All her gates are desolate, her kohanim sigh" - and why do the kohanim sigh? Over the cessation of the sacrificial offerings. "Her maidens grieve" - the maidens were accustomed to go out at two times in the year to dance in the vineyards: on Tu B'Av and Yom Kippur. Now the dances in the vineyards, which were the days of matchmaking, have ceased. "And she is bitter" - her heart, too, is profoundly embittered.
The sefer Alon Bachut explains that these days, Tu B'Av and Yom Kippur, were days of joy for women. The daughters of Israel would go out and dance in the vineyards in white garments, and there matches were made. Rav Dessler elaborates extensively on this topic, referencing the account of the tribe of Binyamin in Yehoshua and Shoftim, where they were told that the girls would be dancing in the vineyards and from there they should take wives. Since the rest of Israel had sworn not to give their daughters to them in marriage, they were instructed to catch for themselves wives from among the dancers, so that "you did not give them to them." Rav Dessler offers a lengthy explanation there of the underlying concept and why specifically these times, Tu B'Av and Yom Kippur, were designated for matchmaking. At any rate, these days were uniquely joyful for women.
And who found her match there among the vineyards? An allusion to this is found in Shaul's words to Yehonatan: "You son of a perverse, rebellious woman... and to the shame of your mother's nakedness." What did he mean to convey to him by this? Chazal explain: when Shaul was there in the vineyards, his wife - Yehonatan's mother - instead of Shaul taking her, she took him. For Shaul was modest, retiring, humble, and shy, and so she took him. On the other hand, it is said of him that he was handsome and taller than all the people. Consequently, she chose him rather than him choosing her, and there was an element of impropriety in this, as it is the nature of the man to pursue and not the woman. Therefore, when Yehonatan acted as he did, Shaul told him: "and to the shame of your mother's nakedness" - meaning, your conduct stems from your mother having acted with a degree of boldness.
In any case, this period was a time of joy for women. On Yom Kippur it was said, "I have forgiven according to your word" - and in what merit? In the merit of the women who did not worship the Golden Calf, and their righteousness protected us. For what was the original atonement of Yom Kippur? For the sin of the Golden Calf. Moshe Rabbeinu descended, and the Holy One, blessed be He, said to him on Yom Kippur, "I have forgiven according to your word" - on this day there was pardon and forgiveness for the sin of the Golden Calf. And who did not sin with the Calf? The women, who refused to hand over their nose rings. It follows, therefore, that Yom Kippur is a festive day for women.
Likewise, on Tu B'Av, when the generation of the desert ceased dying - in whose merit was this? In the merit of the women, who did not despise the desirable Land, but rather cherished it. Those who lamented over the Land were the men; the women did not lament. Those who wept, "Why did you bring us up from the land of Egypt," dreading the giants and so forth, were the men and not the women.
Incidentally, the holy Arizal says that this is why the wives of most men in our generation rule over them. He wrote this five hundred years ago - and had he lived today, he would have fainted! Yet that is what he wrote in his time: that the wives of most men in our generation rule over them because we are reincarnations of the wilderness generation, and in that generation, the women were the righteous ones. They did not take part in the Golden Calf, nor did they weep over the Land. Consequently, they hold a sense of superiority over us today: since the woman did not stumble, did not make the calf, and did not cause them to be barred from entering the Land, she possesses a natural sense of stature.
To return to our subject: on Tu B'Av, those destined to die in the wilderness ceased dying, in the merit of the women who did not despise the Land and who did not worship the Golden Calf. Therefore, this is an especially auspicious time for women; it is their Yom Tov, which is why they would go out and dance in the vineyards.
Yet in a later era, in the time of Yarovam, we already see that women deteriorated as well; the women were no longer righteous. We find that women were burning incense to the "Queen of Heaven," and weeping for the Tammuz - forms of idol worship. Suddenly, we see that the women did not hold back; rather, they took an active part in everything the people were doing, in all the corruptions of the time. If so, what joy remains here? Saying "we had no part in the Calf" is over; that was long ago. Now, you are active participants in everything this nation does. Therefore, the author of the lamentation says, "her maidens are grieved" - nogot coming from tujah, meaning grief and anguish - "and she is bitter," because now she too deserves punishment, and she too deserves to have their festival abolished, since women were full partners in the sins of that generation.
In the sefer Chut Shel Chessed, the connection between the parts of the verse is explained: as long as the Beit HaMikdash stood, every maiden thought in her heart, "Perhaps I will merit to be married to the man of the highest stature in the Jewish people" - and who was that? The Kohen Gadol. Every maiden hoped for this, for "he shall take a wife in her virginity." But once "her priests groan" and the priesthood has been suspended, consequently "her maidens are grieved." The maidens are in grief, "and she is bitter" - each one feels bitter, for she has missed this opportunity. She thought she might marry the Kohen Gadol, but alas, her priests groan, and the priesthood is no more.
In Eicha Rabbah, the order of the verse is explained: corresponding to "the roads of Zion mourn," it mentions the groaning priests. Why? Because the priests remember days of old, when people would arrive on the festivals, coming and offering sacrifices - the pilgrimage burnt-offering and the festival peace-offering - and the priests also benefited, receiving their portions of meat. And corresponding to "all her gates are desolate," it mentions the maidens. What is the connection? Betrothals were conducted at the city gate, as proven by Boaz, who went to the elders at the gate. Since betrothals took place at the gate, what resulted? "All her gates are desolate" - the gates stand empty, and consequently, "her maidens are grieved," for there are no betrothals and no celebrations now.
The holy Alshich explains the words of the Midrash: What is meant by "the roads of Zion mourn"? Even the roads long to fulfill their purpose. "For lack of festival pilgrims" - as though the roads themselves experience sorrow, as though the path itself laments. We often encounter such poetic language, where personification is used to depict joy or mourning: "And all the trees of the field shall clap their hands," or the mountains "skipped like rams, the hills like lambs" - the mountains themselves dance, the mountains themselves rejoice. And when the people of Israel do not do the will of the Omnipresent and do not make the pilgrimage, even the roads, as it were, are in sorrow: the roads of Zion themselves mourn.
Another explanation: through the footsteps taken along the way, holy angels were created, and those angels are the ones who lament - the beneficent angels born from the roads of Zion. Thus it is said, "How beautiful are your steps in sandals, O noble daughter," which Chazal expounded as referring to the pilgrims ascending in their footwear. It turns out that this involved a tremendous mitzvah through which an angel was created. Now that pilgrims no longer ascend, those angels, as it were, weep over the fact that no more angels are being created through the festival pilgrimage.
In the sefer Lechem Dim'ah, he explains: What is the meaning of "The roads of Zion mourn"? As we have noted, even the trees and stones wept over the destruction of Jerusalem. This is the city of which it was said, "Our feet were standing within your gates, O Jerusalem" - and what is the meaning of "within your gates"? Why stand at the gate rather than enter inside? The Lechem Dim'ah explains: when people arrived at Jerusalem, they did not enter the city immediately; rather, they stood looking from the outside, held in awe by the city's beauty, for whoever has not seen Jerusalem has never seen a beautiful metropolis in his life. "Our feet were standing within your gates, O Jerusalem" - like a person rooted to the spot out of sheer wonder at the city's beauty. And now, that very same place: "The roads of Zion mourn", grieving and desolate.
Another explanation for why "the roads of Zion mourn": it is the way of a mourner to let the hair of his head grow wild. And as for roads, when people do not walk upon them, what happens to them? They become overgrown with weeds. And not only dirt roads, but paved ones as well: on a road where no one drives for a period of time, you will see grass sprouting up through the pavement itself. Thus, the roads themselves are like mourners: a mourner lets his hair grow wild, and the roads, having become desolate with no passersby, sprout wild weeds.
The Lechem Dim'ah adds a wonderful insight into this: What is the connection between a road and mourning? What does a mourner look like? He has stubble, he has an unkempt beard. And what does a mourning road look like? A traveled road is one without plants and without thorns; people tread upon it and journey along it, and vegetation never grows in the middle of the way. By contrast, when people stop traveling the road, suddenly you see vegetation, you see weeds - the road begins to sprout stubble. "The roads of Zion mourn" - the roads of Zion look like a mourner: just as a mourner has stubble on his face, so too on the roads of Zion one sees stubble, taking on the appearance of mourning. And what caused this? "With none coming to the festival" - because they no longer ascend on pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and when people do not make the pilgrimage, the path naturally produces thorns and briers. All of this stems from the fact that they did not ascend to Jerusalem for the festivals.
The Allon Bachut offers another explanation, by way of homiletic wit, on "all her gates are desolate": since pilgrims no longer arrived, there was no longer any need for gates. How so? When people reside in a city, carrying is permitted within the city - but ostensibly the city has open gateways, which would make the area exposed. The Gemara explains: if its gates are closed at night, this renders the entire area a single domain. A city whose gates are closed at night becomes like a single unified place within which carrying is permitted under the status of a private domain (*reshut hayachid*). But now, since its inhabitants were exiled from it, "all her gates are desolate": the gates stand desolate, for there is no need for them. A gate that closes possesses, as it were, vitality; it is in active use. But when there is no need for it - since there are no people here and no need to enclose the area - the gates are desolate of their function, which was closing the gates of the city to permit carrying within its walls.
We must understand the connection between "the roads of Zion mourn" and "all her gates are desolate." A wonderful explanation, by way of homiletic wit, is offered by Rabbi Yehonatan Eybeschütz. There is a halachah in the laws of Eruvin that a public thoroughfare - a road traversed by sixty *ribo*, six hundred thousand people - has the halachic status of a public domain (*reshut harabbim*). If such a thoroughfare bisects a city, and it is sixteen amot wide, it is judged as a public domain and cannot be rendered permissible for carrying by means of an eruv. What must be done to permit carrying within it? The Gemara teaches: it must have a surrounding wall and doors that are closed at night; only through this can even a public thoroughfare traversed by six hundred thousand people be validated so as to be considered part of the city. And the Gemara states that Jerusalem was traversed by such a thoroughfare - a road of six hundred thousand people - yet its gates were closed at night, and therefore carrying was permitted throughout Jerusalem.
Based on this, Rabbi Yehonatan Eybeschütz writes in his sefer Ahavat Yehonatan: After the Beit HaMikdash was destroyed, the pilgrimages ceased. "The roads of Zion mourn," there are no festival-goers, none coming on the festivals to ascend to Jerusalem. If so, what of the thoroughfare inside Jerusalem - is it still a public domain? Surely there are no longer six hundred thousand people there! And if there are not six hundred thousand people, is there any need to close the gates at night? There is no longer any need, for only a thoroughfare traversed by six hundred thousand people requires closing the gates to turn it into a private domain. It follows, therefore, that the gates are now superfluous. This is what the poet laments: "The roads of Zion mourn, with none coming to the festival" - there are no longer six hundred thousand people on the thoroughfare in Jerusalem, and therefore "all her gates are desolate." The gates stand desolate, with no need to shut them; they sit idle without any function, and there is no longer any need to lock them to render Jerusalem a private domain.
In a single verse, "The roads of Zion mourn," the entire fabric of life in Jerusalem unravels: the roads are desolate because the people refused to make the pilgrimage when the city was built - measure for measure; the gates are desolate of their purpose, whether as the gates of engagement or as gates closed at night to permit carrying; the kohanim groan over the offerings that have ceased; and her maidens grieve - for the dancing in the vineyards on Tu B'Av and Yom Kippur has ended, those days that were festivals for women because they had not sinned with the Golden Calf and had not rejected the desirable land, but which ceased once they too became complicit in the corruptions of the generation. The road itself takes on the appearance of a mourner, overgrown with wild hair and weeds, and even the angels created from the footsteps of the pilgrims lament that they are no longer being brought into existence. There is not a single detail in this lamentation that does not cry out the very same message: the entire destruction grew out of failing to cherish what they held in their hands.