Chapter 1 of Eicha is the lamentation of ruined Jerusalem, and the verse before us - verse 7 - is one of its central verses. In a single verse, it expresses memory, downfall, loneliness, and the enemy's mockery. Let us examine it slowly, and see how the Rishonim and Acharonim open gate after gate within it.
זָכְרָה יְרוּשָׁלַ͏ִם יְמֵי עׇנְיָהּ וּמְרוּדֶיהָ, כֹּל מַחֲמֻדֶיהָ אֲשֶׁר הָיוּ מִימֵי קֶדֶם, בִּנְפֹל עַמָּהּ בְּיַד צָר וְאֵין עוֹזֵר לָהּ, רָאוּהָ צָרִים שָׂחֲקוּ עַל מִשְׁבַּתֶּהָ. - Jerusalem remembered the days of her affliction and her miseries, all her precious things that were from days of old; when her people fell into the hand of the enemy and there was none to help her, the enemies saw her and mocked at her ruin.
Seemingly, the simple meaning is: in exile, in the days of her affliction and miseries, Jerusalem remembered all her precious treasures - the good that she once had. Such is human nature: someone who was in a good situation and then fell takes pleasure in recounting and recalling days gone by - once I had this, once I did that, once I had such and such wealth. He longs for the good old days.
Ibn Ezra explains: when the destruction befell Jerusalem, she recalled with yearning the days of her affliction and miseries themselves. That is, those difficult days endured until now - the poverty and hardship - are now considered something we yearn to return to, compared to the present troubles. The troubles of the past became her "precious treasures", things that are coveted. Later troubles make the earlier ones forgotten: when the later ones came, it was as if she was told - do you remember when things were bad? What we had back then was far better than what we have today.
The Dubno Maggid asks: is it not human nature to quickly forget the good? So we find regarding Yosef - "and all the plenty shall be forgotten in the land of Egypt." A starving person does not remember satiety: what are you telling me about food having existed once? I have not eaten in two weeks! Good is forgotten quickly. How, then, can it be said here that Jerusalem remembered all her precious things?
This is comparable to a parable. A king's son was captured by tyrants who hated the king, and they beat and abused him. The captors feared that he might forget his father and mother, and then his anguish would lessen - for the beating of a commoner is not like the beating of a prince who remembers who he is and where he came from and is nevertheless beaten; that is a terrible and dreadful agony. What did they do? They compounded their cruelty: they would disguise themselves as the king and queen and beat him in their guise, in order to heighten his anguish and ensure he would not forget his parents' home. One day, a relative arrived at the place of his captivity and asked: do you still remember your parents? Do you still remember where you came from? He replied: what are you talking about? I am beaten every day by people who resemble them; the captors dress up as my parents and strike me - how could I possibly forget them?
Says the Dubno Maggid: the Jewish people enjoyed goodness at the highest conceivable level. It is enough to look at the days of Shlomo - there was never a better era: silver and gold were as common as the dust of the earth, the entire world came to learn the wisdom of Shlomo and to see how a properly ordered kingdom is run. This was goodness in its absolute perfection. And when the Holy One, Blessed is He, brought evil upon us, it was measure for measure - absolute evil. And why evil at its extreme? Because we experienced goodness at its extreme and rebelled. It turns out that when we are asked, "Do you remember the good that once was?" the answer is: how could I not remember? The very fact that I am receiving evil at its peak intensity reminds me that I once had goodness at its peak intensity. Those striking me are dressed in the garments of Father and Mother - and these garments are the evil that arrived in its full force corresponding to the good that once existed in its full force. Therefore, Jerusalem perpetually remembered all her precious treasures.
The Dubno Maggid further explains: it is human nature to perceive the taste of prosperity precisely after poverty, and the taste of food specifically after hunger. When food is brought to a person who is full - it is nice, he eats, fine; perhaps he thinks, "Maybe I will be hungry later." But when food is brought to someone who has not eaten in two days - he truly knows how to appreciate it. Light is recognized only from within darkness, and satiety is recognized only from within hunger.
If someone's eyes are injured, Heaven forbid, and he has to wear a patch for two weeks - when his eyes are uncovered, he begins thanking Hashem for having a pair of seeing eyes. Yet which of us woke up this morning and said: "Thank You, Master of the Universe, that I can see with both eyes"? How much gratitude we owe! If a person were deprived of his eyesight for just two hours, he would afterward thank Hashem a thousand times over for the pair of eyes the Holy One, blessed be He, gave him. And so it is with everything: one who cannot hear, or someone suffering from any other deficiency.
A man whose arm was once in a cast observed: you would not believe how much one needs to thank the Holy One, blessed be He, for a functioning hand. You cannot even button a shirt on your own. An action that takes fifteen seconds and goes entirely unnoticed suddenly becomes a whole production - trying to fasten each button with one hand; getting up in the morning; pulling up a zipper with one hand. How much gratitude we owe Hashem for two working hands, and for every single detail of our lives.
Yet the question arises: how long will he continue to be grateful? He was deprived of his sight for two hours or two weeks, and after some time passes - well, Baruch Hashem, I have eyes, what of it? We get used to the good very quickly, and once we become accustomed to it, we no longer marvel at it. The daily impulse to thank the Master of the Universe at every moment fades away. At first, when we were in desperate need, we gave full and heartfelt thanks; after a while, it becomes routine.
So it was in Jerusalem. The people of Jerusalem quickly grew accustomed to the good: there was abundance, there was blessing, the Shechinah rested in their midst, and anyone who reads the Midrashim will find wondrous depictions of the Jewish people's state during its golden eras. At first, the sweetness was deeply savored, but over time its flavor faded. It is like someone who buys a new car and is thrilled, drinking in that "new car smell," but after a while - the excitement wears off.
And this is the meaning of "Jerusalem remembered the days of her affliction and her sorrows, all her treasures": when did we begin to remember her treasures? Only when the days of poverty and misery arrived. As long as the good was routine, it seemed trivial and taken for granted; the moment even a little hardship began - only then do I realize how good I had it back then, how exquisite was what Hashem gave me. From here comes the lesson: a person should not wait, Heaven forbid, for days of adversity. Right now, when things are good for you, thank the Master of the Universe for your health, your livelihood, your wife and children, your success, the very breath of life you draw. Do not wait for a situation where you only realize how much you ought to be grateful when things turn difficult - start right now, while all is well.
The Abarbanel connects the end of the verse to its beginning: "when her people fell into the hand of the adversary and she had no helper" - and then "Jerusalem remembered the days of her affliction and her sorrows, all her treasures that were from the days of old." Initially, it seemed to the Congregation of Israel that the surrounding nations loved her: trade relations, reciprocal visits, exchanges of ambassadors, sister cities - everything was fine, they wished us well. But "many curry favor with the generous": when we are doing well, many come around and act pleasantly and affectionately. But when the nation fell into the hand of the adversary and had no helper - only then was the true face of the nations revealed.
And then "Jerusalem remembered" - she recalls and says: where are those days when the nations seemed so sympathetic, so affectionate toward Israel, showering the Jewish people with praise? That was only when things were going well for us. As soon as we began to decline, suddenly all those supposed lovers fled to their hiding places - in the better scenario; and in the worse scenario, they joined our enemies. It was an optical illusion to think that the nations loved us: they merely saw our success and wanted to profit from it, not because they genuinely cared for us.
The author of Lechem Dimah explains: when the nations saw the Jewish people in exile observing Shabbat and observing Shemittah, they would mock them: "In the Land you did not observe them!" It is written that people were seen treading winepresses on Shabbat. In the Land of Israel they did not observe Shabbat and did not observe Shemittah - indeed, the seventy years of exile corresponded to the seventy Shemittah cycles that Israel failed to observe, and the Vilna Gaon calculates this precisely based on all the wicked kings of Israel, arriving at exactly seventy unobserved Shemittahs, corresponding to the seventy years of exile. And now, in exile, they suddenly observe Shabbat and Shemittah? The nations said to them: "Only now do you remember? After you were cast out, after you were driven away, only now do you keep them?"
According to this, the wording is very precise: it should have said "they mocked her Sabbaths" (shabbetoteha), but instead it says "they mocked her cessation" (mishbatteha) - from the term hashbatah, causing cessation or desisting. They were not mocking our observance of Shabbat there, but rather that we observe it there while here we did not. This is what seemed ridiculous to them: here, in the Holy Land, with the dwelling of the Shechinah, you did not observe Shabbat; you caused Shabbat to cease and caused Shemittah to cease when you were here - and now, in exile, you suddenly begin to observe?
According to this, the opening of the verse is also explained: the prophet personifies the city, as though Jerusalem herself were a living figure. And what does Jerusalem remember? She remembers how Israel caused her distress, failing to keep Shabbat and Shemittah, "all her precious things that she had from the days of old." And she, as it were, yearns for Israel to go into exile, hoping that there they might awaken and begin keeping Shabbat and Shemittah. It turns out that Jerusalem herself laments that the mitzvot of the land and the observance of Shabbat were not upheld here.
The Lechem Dim'ah adds another explanation: the adversaries saw and mocked her cessation - yet Scripture states, "Do not rejoice when your enemy falls, and let your heart not be glad when he stumbles, lest Hashem see it and it displease Him." Whoever gloats over another's downfall is punished by the Holy One, blessed be He. Israel expected that since the nations were rejoicing over their downfall, Hashem would immediately take retribution against them. But that was not what happened. Hashem did not punish them.
And over this very point he laments: "adversaries saw her, they mocked her cessation." We had hoped that at the very least Hashem would punish them, yet ultimately He did not. And why? Because of "her cessation" - what befell the people of Israel was decreed upon them from Heaven, and the nations were merely instruments of Divine Providence. "Woe, Assyria, the rod of My anger" - Assyria was merely the rod and staff with which to strike Israel. Thus, even this minimal expectation, that whoever rejoices over our fall would be punished, we did not merit to see - and this weighed even more heavily upon our grief and pain.
Rav Noach Gad Weintraub explains that the tragedy of the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash differs from all other tragedies. The well-known principle is that later troubles cause earlier ones to be forgotten: a person endures a hardship, another hardship follows, and he no longer devotes thought to the first; it no longer occupies space in his mind. Similarly, it is a decree that the deceased is forgotten from the heart - this is simply human reality: a person does not weep for someone who passed away thirty years ago; he may feel sorrow, there may still be a corner in his heart, but the grief gradually fades away.
Yet here we see that this is not the case. For thousands of years we remember the days of her affliction and anguish, the destruction, the hardship, the troubles and suffering; we read about them, study them, revisit them, and read Megillat Eicha. And after all, countless later tragedies occurred, and the Jewish people went through trials, hardships, and persecutions - may tragedy not rise up twice - yet the original tragedy still accompanies us, still remains in our hearts, and each year brings its lamentation. What is the reason?
Let us explain this with a parable. A man was once very wealthy; every door was open to him, and he succeeded in everything he did - until fortune turned against him and he was reduced to a crust of bread. From that point on, all his troubles began: creditors were knocking at the door, each demanding his share, and he was pursued without a single day of rest. Later, he needed to marry off his daughters but was unable to, having not a penny to his name. His older daughters had been married off in great wealth, with matchmakers knocking at his door with the finest proposals; today, he is given suggestions that are shameful even to hear. His head is weighed down by suffering, while his daughters sit at home, their hair turning gray. On top of that, the mortgage defaulted, and the bank wants to evict him from his home.
Someone met him while he was lamenting, and asked: What are you grieving over? He replied: Over my financial collapse. The man said to him: What are you talking about? That happened ten years ago, are you still dwelling on that? You have plenty of new problems! He answered: None of these new troubles are new at all. They are merely manifestations of that original fall, its offshoots, its branches. Were it not for that collapse, I would not be facing any of them: I would have no creditors, no matchmaking difficulties, and no one would be evicting me from my home. Every single one of these problems - and one could list countless more that arose in the wake of that downfall - would never have existed had I not fallen financially. Thus, this man is not simply reminiscing about something in the distant past; rather, every new pain that arises reminds him of his initial fall, because everything began right there.
The same applies to our situation. Every single one of our troubles stems from the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash, from the exile of the Shechinah, from our having grown distant from Hashem our God, and our iniquities having brought this about. Our entire reality, the persecution by the nations, all stems from that original sin of spurning the Shechinah's presence among us; following this, the Holy One, blessed be He, destroyed our Sanctuary, and from there all our troubles began. The troubles of exile, the troubles of persecution, economic struggles - everything that accompanies us today is not a new misfortune, but an offshoot of that original tragedy of estrangement from Hashem, may He be blessed.
Had we possessed closeness to Hashem as in the era of the Beit HaMikdash - look at the idyllic descriptions we find in the era of Shlomo: the immense wealth, the entire world coming to learn his wisdom, silver and gold as common as stones in Jerusalem, every man under his vine and under his fig tree. What, then, brought us to all this? The destruction of the Beit HaMikdash. These are not separate troubles, and therefore there is no reason for later hardships to make us forget the earlier ones: every subsequent trouble reawakens our understanding of why we are suffering in the first place - as a direct consequence of what occurred back then. Therefore, "Jerusalem remembered the days of her affliction and her anguish": every tragedy that befalls Jerusalem merely reminds her once again of the days of her affliction and her anguish and all that occurred in the past. Through this, we are meant to be stirred to pray and plead that the redemption come, that He say to our troubles, "Enough!", and renew our days as of old.
One verse - and seven gateways. The Ibn Ezra teaches that the afflictions intensified so rapidly that even the old days of poverty became desirable. The Dubno Maggid teaches that evil strikes with an intensity corresponding to the full intensity of the past good, and therefore the evil itself reminds us of the good - and also that a person only truly appreciates goodness after it is lost, so one must give thanks right now while things are good. The Abarbanel teaches that the affection of the nations is contingent upon our success, and in our downfall its true face is revealed. The Lechem Dim'ah teaches that "mishbateha" is related to cessation (hashbatah) - the adversaries mocked that in exile we observe what we neglected in the Land, and also that we were not privileged to see retribution strike the mockers, for they were merely the rod of wrath in Heaven's hand. And Rav Noach Gad Weintraub teaches that the memory does not fade, because all our subsequent troubles are merely branches stemming from that initial downfall. And all this is meant to awaken us to plead: Renew our days as of old.