Chapter 1 of Megillat Eicha progresses in describing the abysmal state of Jerusalem, and right in its midst arrives a verse that forms the heart of the entire lamentation. Until now, Knesset Yisrael has enumerated the afflictions one by one, and in verse 16 she pauses and says: Do you want to know what I am truly weeping over? Let us examine this verse closely, guided by the commentaries and the Midrashim, and discover the profound depths it contains.
עַל־אֵלֶּה אֲנִי בוֹכִיָּה עֵינִי עֵינִי יֹרְדָה מַּיִם כִּי־רָחַק מִמֶּנִּי מְנַחֵם מֵשִׁיב נַפְשִׁי הָיוּ בָנַי שׁוֹמֵמִים כִּי גָבַר אוֹיֵב׃ - For these things I weep; my eye, my eye runs down with water, for a comforter who would revive my soul is far from me; my children are desolate because the enemy has prevailed.
The Alshich explains: Knesset Yisrael laments here that the Shechinah has distanced Itself from us. Over all the terrible afflictions listed earlier - "The Lord has trampled all my mighty men in my midst; He called an appointed time against me to crush my young men; the Lord trod the winepress of the virgin daughter of Judah" - over all of these, we held back. But do you know what I am truly weeping over? "For these things I weep; my eye, my eye runs down with water." Over what? "For a comforter who would revive my soul is far from me" - over the fact that the Holy One, blessed be He, has distanced Himself from us. For as we explained, part of the exile and part of the suffering we endured within it is the iron barrier that has divided us from our Father in Heaven. It is over this that it is fitting to weep. And because the comforter has distanced himself, because the Holy One, blessed be He, is no longer with me, it follows naturally that "my children are desolate because the enemy has prevailed" - the enemy is now able to overpower us, the enemy can prevail over us. Over these things it is truly fitting to lament.
The author of Lechem Dimah notes the grammatical nuance here: it does not say, "For these things I weep [bocheh]," but rather "bochiyah." Bocheh is a verb, whereas bochiyah is an adjective - a woman who is a weeper, someone characterized by constant weeping. That is to say: from so much weeping, I am designated as a bochiyah, one who weeps continuously. This is not a one-time weeping or a momentary grief. This is also how the afflictions themselves are characterized: not an event that happened and ended, but bochiyah - for each and every year, we weep and mourn over the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash.
On this verse, Chazal recount in the passage of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza in Masechet Gittin: There was an incident involving the son and daughter of Rabbi Yishmael ben Elisha, who were exceedingly handsome and were taken captive by two different masters. They were slaves, strikingly beautiful, and of distinguished lineage - the children of Rabbi Yishmael ben Elisha the Kohen Gadol. Their masters said to one another: "Let us mate them and share their offspring." They brought them into a single room to marry them to each other, neither knowing that the other was their sibling. The son sat in one corner and wept, and the daughter sat in the other corner and wept. He said: "Shall I, the son of a Kohen Gadol from a distinguished family, marry a maidservant?" And she said: "Shall I, the daughter of a Kohen Gadol from a distinguished family, be married to a slave?" When dawn broke, they recognized each other, embraced, and burst into bitter weeping until their souls departed. Over them Yirmiyahu lamented: "For these things I weep; my eye, my eye runs down with water." It is over these tragedies that it is truly fitting to weep.
And in Eicha Rabbah it is related: Vespasian the emperor filled three ships with the nobility of Jerusalem in order to place them in the disgrace of Rome - to consign them, Heaven forbid, to houses of ill repute. They stood up and cast themselves into the sea. About this as well, the Midrash states that a heavenly voice (bat kol) went forth and proclaimed: "For these things I weep; my eye, my eye runs down with water."
The Rav of Worms (the Rokeach) notes something interesting: Why is there a pause between the first "my eye" (עיני) and the second "my eye" (עיני)? It is an allusion telling us that there was an interruption between the destruction of the First Temple and the destruction of the Second Temple. "My eye, my eye" - two eyes: one eye for the First Temple, and a second eye for the Second Temple; and when both were destroyed, both eyes shed tears. And why not together? Because there were seventy years of exile and another 420 years during which the Second Temple stood. Therefore, Scripture placed a pause between them, to tell you that the destructions did not occur immediately one after another, but with an interval of years between them. Another explanation: "My eye, my eye" comes to allude to the two Sanhedrins that deserve to be mourned over - one Sanhedrin and the second Sanhedrin, which were not identical, as one was the Great Sanhedrin (Sanhedrin Gedolah) and the other was the Small Sanhedrin (Sanhedrin Ketanah); therefore, they are mentioned separately from each other.
The author of Binyan David explains why Jerusalem says, "A comforter is far from me," introducing a parable. Two shopkeepers lived in the same town, Reuven and Shimon. At first, Reuven's star shone bright and everyone bought from him, while only a scarce few bought from Shimon - someone stuck without milk at ten at night would run over to Shimon because Reuven was already closed. As time went on, as everything is a matter of mazal and Divine assistance (siyata di'shmaya), Reuven's customers began to dwindle while Shimon's customers multiplied. Would it make any sense for Shimon to go comfort Reuven and say to him, "Take comfort, it's not so bad, with God's help the customers will return to you"? After all, I gained his customers - should I comfort him with something that would cause me damage? Would I shoot myself in the foot?
The moral of the parable: "I shall be filled from the ruined one" - Chazal teach that Jerusalem was filled only from the ruins of Tyre. When Tyre is destroyed, Jerusalem is filled; and when Jerusalem is destroyed, Tyre is filled. The forces of impurity (the kelipah) and holiness are rivals to one another: when the kelipah rises, holiness declines, and when holiness rises, the kelipah declines. Therefore, the Congregation of Israel laments: "A comforter is far from me." Who will comfort me? The nations? On the contrary, they were built up from my destruction! If one of them were to comfort me and say, "Take comfort, you will once again become great" - at whose expense? In order for me to be great, he must become small; Tyre must be destroyed for Jerusalem to be built. Consequently, Master of the Universe, this impossible situation has caused a comforter to be far from me: no one comes to comfort me, because anyone who comforts me would essentially be pronouncing something negative upon himself.
The author of Lechem Dimah explains by way of homiletic allusion (remez): "For these things (al eileh) I weep" - we committed the sin of "these" (eileh), as in "These are your gods, O Israel" (Eileh elohecha Yisrael). In the wake of the Golden Calf, the Shechinah departed, "a comforter is far from me." And who is the "restorer of my soul" (meshiv nafshi)? That is the Holy One, blessed be He, who restored my soul when I stood at Mount Sinai, as it is written that their souls fled and the Holy One, blessed be He, restored their souls. Consequently, "my children are desolate": through the Tablets of the Covenant we were free men - free from subjugation to foreign kingdoms, free from the Angel of Death, and free from the evil inclination. But now the enemy arrived, "for the enemy has prevailed," and through this we became desolate once again - we are no longer free men, there is subjugation to foreign kingdoms, and the Angel of Death has dominion over us. And the roots of all this lie in the sin of the Golden Calf.
The author of Lechem Dimah further notes: Indeed, one of the names of Mashiach is Menachem ("Comforter"). "Far from me is Menachem, the restorer of my soul" - we anticipated the redemption, yet I see that it is moving further and further away. When will we finally merit the coming of Menachem, the restorer of my soul, at which time the evil inclination will be abolished and wars will cease as well, and through this we will ultimately see eye to eye when Hashem returns to Zion?
And one can further explain by way of allusion: "The Torah of Hashem is perfect, restoring the soul" (Torat Hashem temimah, meshivat nafesh). It is well known from what the kabbalists explain, as noted in the work Mishnat HaGilgulim, that the Torah is "perfect, restoring the soul": ordinarily, when a person sins, he must return in a reincarnation (gilgul), but by fulfilling Hashem's mitzvot, he restores his soul without needing to reincarnate - he rectifies it, and the soul does not need to return. According to this, "far from me is a comforter who restores my soul": Mashiach is far from me, and consequently the restoration of the soul is delayed as well, requiring reincarnation after reincarnation until the soul returns and rectifies what it damaged.
In the Egyptian exile there was terrible, agonizing sorrow and great pain; nevertheless, it is still considered a mild exile compared to what we are experiencing today, in two respects. First: "A comforter is far from me" - in Egypt they were there for 210 years, whereas here we have already been in exile for two thousand years; comfort is far removed from us. And second: in Egypt, "they were fruitful, and swarmed, and multiplied, and became exceedingly mighty," whereas here, "my children are desolate, for the enemy has prevailed" - continuously dwindling. Thus, we have suffered double in comparison to the exile in Egypt.
The Dubno Maggid, in Kol Yaakov, offers a parable. A wealthy man had an only daughter of extraordinary qualities. She sought to marry only someone as exceptional as herself, refusing to accept just anyone suggested to her, waiting instead for someone truly worthy of her. Much time passed, and she prayed that the Holy One, blessed be He, would arrange a suitable match for her. And indeed He did: a handsome young man, an artisan of unparalleled skill, whose very tools for that delicate craft in which he excelled were worth a vast fortune. Seeing that he was accomplished in every respect - appearance, character traits, and profession - she married him.
Not many days passed before false accusations were brought against him, and he was forced to leave the city. The woman burst into tears: "I waited so long for you; everyone waited so long for this match, and now you are leaving?" He tried to comfort her, but to no avail. He said to her: "I will leave a pledge with you to guarantee that I will return. Do not fear that I will go to a distant place, settle there, and forget that I have a wife. I am being expelled from the city and have no choice, but I promise to remember you and make every effort to return." What did he do? He left his precious and unique artisan's tools with her, saying: "Now you can rest assured, for without them my hands are tied; they are indispensable for my craft."
Many days passed, and a certain man met her. She asked him: "You have come from the land where my husband is; perhaps you have heard how he is doing, and when he will return?" He said to her: "In my opinion he will never return. Let it go; you are wasting your time, do not get your hopes up." She said to him: "Sir, you are mistaken - he left his most precious artisan's tools in my hands, and he will surely return for them." The man burst into laughter and said: "Madam, do you think your husband is still practicing that craft? Your husband changed professions, and today he no longer needs those tools. Even if you were to return them to him, they are of no interest to him whatsoever, and you have no reason to expect him to return for them." Hearing this, the woman burst into tears, realizing that if so, the chances of his return were slim indeed.
What is the nimshal? To every country and every nation, the Holy One, blessed be He, gave kings and ministers, but to the people of Israel He gave the most special thing of all - the Land of Israel. Many desired it and many yearned for it, and even today we see that many hands have laid claim to it, but the Holy One, blessed be He, matched it to us. The Midrash says that they delighted in one another: there is a land that is pleasing to its inhabitants yet its inhabitants are not beloved to it, and there is a land whose inhabitants are beloved to it yet it is not pleasing to its inhabitants - but here was a match made in Heaven: the Land of Israel is beloved to us, and we are beloved to it. The Land of Israel is a special place: the air of the Land of Israel makes one wise, and through the mitzvot dependent on the Land, one reaches tremendous spiritual attainments. And so the match flourished beautifully.
Yet over time, Israel corrupted their ways, and the decree of exile was pronounced against them. And what would guarantee that we would return? What would ensure that we would not forget this match, that we would not build magnificent palaces in foreign lands and completely forget that we were exiled from our homeland? What did the Holy One, blessed be He, do? He took away from us the tools of our craft. And what are the tools of our craft? The good character traits required for Torah study, the love of Hashem, holiness and purity, sublime wisdom, prophecy and Ruach HaKodesh, and the sweetness and delight of Torah and mitzvot. King David says: "Sweeter than honey and the drippings of the honeycomb" - who among us has ever felt such sweetness as David felt? All of this was taken from us; we do not feel such sweetness, nor do we feel such delight. And all this so that we would sit in exile and say: "Ah, how we miss the Land of Israel! How we miss the sweetness, the delight, and the enthusiasm in the service of Hashem! Master of the Universe, grant us already the opportunity to return - 'Send Your light and Your truth, let them guide me; let them bring me to Your holy mountain and to Your dwelling places, and I will go to the altar of God, to God my exceeding joy' - that we may merit at last to rejoice in the mitzvot of Hashem. We perform the mitzvot here with a lack of enthusiasm and desire - Master of the Universe, return our craft tools to us!"
And all of this is effective and urges us to return to the Land specifically when we make our Torah primary and our worldly occupation secondary. For then a person says: Where is the taste that was once felt in Torah study? Where is the breadth of mind to grasp and comprehend the sugya thoroughly? How distant that is from us - Master of the Universe, when will You redeem us and return us to the Land? But the moment we stop engaging in Torah, the moment the mitzvot are no longer our foremost concern, returning to the Land of Israel may be nice, but it is not our lifeblood and it is not what we yearn for. And where is the passion for Torah and mitzvot? We have changed professions. We have reached a state where we no longer seek Hashem, and consequently, our distance from Torah and our coolness toward mitzvot no longer cause us pain.
To what can this be compared? To a man whose house burned down - a precious home filled with treasures - and someone comes along and consoles him with the blessing that he will be blessed with a son. Is that a consolation? I am glad and grateful, it is a great joy for me, but it does not console me for the loss of my home; it is not at all of the same nature as the tragedy. And this is what we say: "Far from me is a comforter who could restore my soul." For what does the prophet promise us? Spiritual success, closeness to God: "And the earth shall be full of the knowledge of Hashem, as the waters cover the sea"; "Your young men shall see visions" and dream dreams; "I have also spoken to the prophets, and I have multiplied visions"; "For they shall all know Me, from the least of them to the greatest of them." But in truth - does this console us? Knesset Yisrael says: "Far from me is a comforter who could restore my soul," for today I desire other things and seek other occupations, and those tools no longer entice me to return, and those promises no longer speak to me as something worth striving for. This shows the depths of the lowly state to which we have descended: the consolations do not speak to us, they do not restore our soul, because our aspirations are different, our hopes are different, and our expectations are different. We have become materialistic, physical people, and when the prophet speaks to us of spiritual concepts - it sounds nice, but we are no longer there. And over this, "I weep": Why do we not aspire to those wonderful promises of spiritual elevation and closeness to Hashem, may He be blessed? Why is this not our primary concern? For these things it is truly fitting to lament.
The sefer Anaf Yafeh brings a wonderful insight. The holy Zohar explains on "For these things I weep" (al eleh ani vokhiyah) - over the sin of "These (eleh) are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up from the land of Egypt," namely the sin of the Golden Calf, which is the sin that caused us all our misfortunes. As it is said, "And on the day that I visit, I will visit [their sin upon them]" - the Holy One, blessed be He, exacts punishment from us now for what happened then. The sin of the Golden Calf is the root cause of all the troubles that followed, of both destructions of the Beit HaMikdash. And where is this hinted? "Ani Vokhiyah" (אני בוכיה) - the initials form Av (א"ב), teaching you: Over what is the weeping of Av? Over "these" (eleh) - over the matter of "These are your gods, O Israel."
To this foundation one can add another wonderful point. For it is well known that there was another event for which we paid the price of the Destruction, and that was the sin of the Spies: "You wept a weeping without cause; by your lives, you shall weep a weeping for generations." There, it was a weeping over the claim that Hashem was bringing us to the Land to fall by the sword - a baseless weeping. And the Holy One, blessed be He, said: "You despise the Land? You will weep a genuine weeping when the Land is taken from you on this very night, on the night of Tisha B'Av." Thus, not only the first reason is hinted here, but also the second.
Let us begin with a brief grammatical premise: there is a recognized concept of "carrying another with it," where a word or two appearing earlier in a verse carries over to its continuation. An example is the prayer Aleinu: "that He did not make our portion like theirs, nor our lot like that of all their multitudes" - what does "our lot like that of all their multitudes" mean on its own? Rather, the opening words "that He did not make" also govern the continuation: that He did not make our portion like theirs, and that He did not make our lot like all their multitudes. According to this, we can explain: the lamenter comes and asks, over what do "my eye, my eye runs down with water"? "My eye, my eye" represents the two Batei HaMikdash, an aspect of "the delight of my eyes." And over what? Over two reasons: first - "over these" (al eileh), alluding to "these (eileh) are your gods, O Israel"; and second - "over [this] I weep" (al ani bochiyah), alluding to "you wept a weeping for naught." Over these two sins, my eye, my eye runs down with water; I weep over the destruction of the two Batei HaMikdash because of the two ancient sins that brought ruin upon us: the incident of the Golden Calf and the unwarranted weeping. One could also say that the duplicated phrasing "my eye, my eye" hints: why were there two destructions? Because there were two sins - the Sin of the Golden Calf and the Sin of the Spies.
The Me'or Einayim writes that the word al ("over" or "on account of") contains an allusion to the true causes of the weeping. Our Sages teach that the two agents of sin form the acronym al (ע"ל) - ayin (eye) and lev (heart): the eyes see and the heart desires. In the language of Chazal, an "agent" (sarsur) is an intermediary, a broker. What mediates sin and creates our connection to it? The eyes. The eyes see and the heart desires, and then the limbs of action finish the deed. This is what we say: "Over these (al eileh) I weep" - on account of the sins of the eye and the heart (ayin and lev) I weep. It is over this that one must cry; this is what brought about our entire decline. A beautiful hint to this appears at the end of the Megillah: "For this our heart was faint; for these our eyes grew dim" - al, eye and heart: "our heart was faint" corresponds to the heart, while "our eyes grew dim" corresponds to the eyes. They initiate the sin, and in the end, they pay the price.
The Lu'ach Erez explains that the Community of Israel laments and says: Do you know why I weep? Because only "my eye, my eye runs down with water." I am the only one who feels the anguish of the destruction. All the others who saw my ruin not only failed to share in my distress and feel my pain, but they even rejoiced over my downfall. And this makes every grief and suffering ten times harder. Whoever seeks an example of this need only look to the terrible Holocaust in Europe. We thought that perhaps we would receive a little empathy from the world; we thought that America, which is not considered an enemy of the Jews, would at least undertake some rescue effort for the Jews and see a need to protect them. Yet suddenly we saw that "my eye, my eye runs down with water": the apparatus of extermination operated like a well-oiled, efficient machine, and no one rose to protect us, no one spoke out that a genocide was taking place, no one asked why or for what reason or how exterminating the Jewish people was connected to the war, and no one ordered the trains to the death camps to be halted.
This is what the prophet Yirmeyahu says in his prophecy of destruction in chapter 6: "O daughter of my people, gird yourself with sackcloth and wallow in ashes; make mourning as for an only son, a most bitter lamentation." Mourning as for an only one (eivel yachid) - we are the only ones who feel the mourning, the only ones who feel the loss, the damage, and the anguish, while all the nations around remained in their indifference. Therefore, a bitter lamentation is fitting, an immense eulogy, for no one feels this grief other than us. Moreover, an even greater eulogy is called for, because, as the Eicha Ya'avetz writes, the grief has already faded from our hearts, and we no longer remember the destruction. Thus, eivel yachid also assumes the meaning of "mourning of solitary individuals" - there are only isolated individuals in the generation who truly mourn and feel the absence. For this, it is certainly fitting to mourn and grieve.
The Yalkut HaGershuni cites a wonderful explanation in the name of the Tikkun Moshe. If you wish to know why "the comforter who should restore my soul is far from me," the answer is: "because my children are desolate (shomemim), because the enemy has prevailed." We anticipate the redemption, the coming of Menachem - for Mashiach is called Menachem - when we will emerge from troubles and from exile. And why is Menachem, who is meant to restore my soul, far from me? Because "my children are desolate," in the sense of mishtomemim (astonished): How can it be that the enemy has prevailed? Are we really so bad? What is wrong with us? Are we not decent people? After all, we have wonderful youth, and all sorts of similar talk, so it is completely incomprehensible why calamity has suddenly struck. Can there be any hope of redeeming a nation that is completely unaware of its sins? "Behold, I will enter into judgment with you because you say, 'I have not sinned'" - and this is a transgression graver than the sin itself; for if you sinned, you might yet repent, but if you claim you have not sinned, one does not repent for mitzvot! This is what the prophet says here: Why is the redemption far off, why is the comforter who should restore my soul far from me? Because when the enemy prevailed, my children were astonished: Why in the world do we deserve this? After all, we are decent, righteous people! And if that is your attitude, then indeed Menachem is far off - for how can a comforter come without repentance, and how can Mashiach arrive when Am Yisrael has not mended its ways?
Rabbi Pinchas Miller quotes in the name of his father that this verse contains an allusion to the secret of consolation. Even though the Jewish people have been in exile for thousands of years, and even though they suffered persecutions, murders, Inquisitions, autos-da-fe, and pogroms, we are confident that ultimately our righteous Mashiach will come and there will be a complete redemption, without any shadow of doubt. From where does this certainty come? The verse tells us: the very fact that you still mourn and weep, two thousand years after the Beit HaMikdash was destroyed, and Am Yisrael still sit, weep, and lament over it. "My eye, my eye runs down with water," even though it is "far from me" - even though this took place so many years ago - this itself is "a comforter that restores my soul."
And how does this itself console and restore the soul? For it is decreed upon the deceased that he be forgotten from the heart, and it is known that this takes twelve months. Even if one remembers the deceased, the decree is not that he be forgotten from the intellect, but rather forgotten from the heart: one no longer weeps, one no longer feels sharp grief; one remembers, but does not grieve as before. And when Yaakov Avinu refused to be comforted for twenty-two years and continued to weep, it was clear that Yosef was not dead. Yosef was not dead, and therefore he was not forgotten from the heart. From here we derive the fundamental principle: when a person weeps over something for years on end, it is a sign that this thing is not dead, but is an enduring reality destined to return. Over what is dead one does not weep for more than a year; if one continues to weep, it is a sign that the matter is alive and real, and cannot be erased from the heart. This is the meaning of: "Over these I weep" - over the destruction I weep, "my eye, my eye runs down with water," even though it is far from me and even though many years have passed since the destruction. This very fact consoles and restores my soul, telling me: You still grieve, you still weep; that is a sign that it is not dead, a sign that the reality endures, a sign that the redemption will surely arrive, and Menachem, the restorer of my soul - Melech HaMashiach - will come. The tears are not in vain, for the weeping itself serves as proof of our yearning, and if we yearn, it is a sign that it is not dead, but a living and enduring reality destined to return to us.
The sefer Likutei Chaver Ben Chaim, cited in Yalkut HaGershuni, explains this verse based on the Gemara in Tractate Sanhedrin. There it is related that when Rabbi Zeira saw the Sages engrossed in discussing the coming of Moshiach, he would say to them: Leave it, do not dwell on this. Why? Because several things come only through hesech hada'at (when one's attention is diverted), and one of them is Moshiach - and if you do not divert your attention, Moshiach will not come. The moment one constantly cries, "Moshiach, Moshiach!", that very perpetual preoccupation holds it back. He said to them: Do not speak about matters of Moshiach; the son of David comes only through hesech hada'at. And over this the prophet laments here: because "my eye flows with water," because I am perpetually consumed with exile and anticipating Moshiach, therefore "the comforter who would revive my soul is far from me" - Moshiach does not come, because there must be hesech hada'at. Incidentally, this should not be misunderstood: one must certainly anticipate Moshiach, but constant preoccupation with the topic - on the contrary, from the Gemara we see that Rabbi Zeira said this only pushes the redemption further away.
A single verse, "For these things I weep," carries within it the entire depth of the lamentation: the weeping is not merely over external afflictions, but over the distance of the Shechinah - "for the comforter who would revive my soul is far from me," and once the comforter has distanced, naturally "the enemy has prevailed." The word used is bochiyah rather than bochah, indicating that the weeping is perpetual and for all generations; "my eye, my eye" corresponds to the two Destructions that came about because of two sins: the "these" of the Golden Calf and the weeping for naught over the Spies; "for" (al) hints to the eye (ayin) and the heart (lev), the brokers of sin through which we sinned and through which we were stricken. And there is no one to comfort, for the nations are built up from our destruction, and worse still - we ourselves no longer yearn for the consolations that the prophet promises, for the tools of our craft were taken from us and we no longer yearn to restore them. Yet even so, a consolation is concealed here: the very fact that we are still weeping two thousand years after the Destruction proves that this connection is not dead, that it is alive and enduring and destined to return. May it be His will that we merit to truly seek the Torah, the mitzvot, and the Land of Israel, and may the comforter who restores our soul arrive speedily in our days.