Continuing through Chapter 2 of Megillat Eicha, we arrive at pasuk 10. The entire chapter depicts the attribute of strict justice that struck Zion, and this pasuk paints the picture of mourning among the leaders of Israel and the daughters of Jerusalem after the Destruction. This lesson examines the plain meaning of the text, the Midrashic insights expounded by Chazal, and the ethical lessons that emerge from it.
יֵשְׁבוּ לָאָרֶץ יִדְּמוּ זִקְנֵי בַת־צִיּוֹן, הֶעֱלוּ עָפָר עַל־רֹאשָׁם חָגְרוּ שַׂקִּים, הוֹרִידוּ לָאָרֶץ רֹאשָׁן בְּתוּלֹת יְרוּשָׁלָ͏ִם׃ - The elders of the daughter of Zion sit on the ground, they are silent; they have cast dust upon their heads, they have girded themselves with sackcloth; the maidens of Jerusalem have bowed their heads to the ground.
"The elders of the daughter of Zion" - explains the author of the Shem Tov - are the Torah scholars. They observe mourning over Jerusalem and sit on the ground, but they do not stop there; rather, "they have cast dust upon their heads, they have girded themselves with sackcloth." There is a progression of expressions of grief here. Sitting on the ground is still a minor expression; casting dust upon one's head is the peak of mourning. Who cast dust upon his head? Iyov, when his afflictions began. Indeed, it is worthwhile to enter the Three Weeks of Bein HaMetzarim by studying the themes of Iyov in order to connect with this subject.
And even after the days of mourning passed, they continued their mourning. "The maidens of Jerusalem have bowed their heads to the ground" - those maidens of Jerusalem, who were renowned for their beauty, bowed their heads to the ground out of profound grief over the Destruction of the Beit HaMikdash.
There is also a continuation here of what was seen above. Because there was no Torah, and because the prophets were steeped in sorrow, it is said: "her prophets also found no vision from Hashem" - for the Shechinah does not rest amid sadness. Furthermore, prophecy does not rest outside the Land of Israel. Although Yechezkel prophesied outside the Land, this was only because his prophecy had begun here in Eretz Yisrael, and his prophecy was also for the sake of the Land of Israel. Consequently, "the elders of the daughter of Zion sit on the ground, they are silent" - there is no longer prophecy, they find no vision from Hashem, and the Shechinah is absent.
This is also the reason for the flight of Yonah. Did Yonah the prophet really think one could flee from the Holy One, Blessed be He? Rather, Yonah reasoned: prophecy rests only in Eretz Yisrael. If I leave for outside the Land, a prophecy cannot be delivered to me; and if no prophecy is delivered, I cannot be sent on a mission to Nineveh; and if I do not go to Nineveh, they will not repent, and no heavenly accusation will be brought against the Jewish people. His entire purpose was therefore simply to leave the Land of Israel.
On this pasuk, Chazal expound in Eichah Rabbah: Rabbi Elazar said, do not treat the passage of vows lightly, for it was through the passage of vows that the Great Sanhedrin of Tzidkiyahu was slain. Do not disregard the matter of vows; come and see what vast and terrible devastation was caused as a result of a single vow.
And what was the incident? When Yechanyah was exiled, Nevuchadnezzar appointed Tzidkiyahu over five kings, as it is written in Yirmeyahu 27: "And send them to the king of Edom, and to the king of Moav, and to the king of the Ammonites, and to the king of Tzor, and to the king of Tzidon, by the hand of the messengers that come to Jerusalem unto Tzidkiyahu king of Yehudah." Tzidkiyahu would enter and leave Nevuchadnezzar's house freely without having to ask permission before entering.
Once, Tzidkiyahu entered his house and found him tearing off and eating the flesh of a hare while it was still alive. At first glance, what pleasure could there possibly be in this? To take a living hare, watch it twitch, and bite into raw, living flesh with the fur and the blood - can that really be enjoyable? The explanation is that in those days, they placed immense value on displaying raw power, cruelty, and callousness. They looked with contempt upon emotional, gentle, and soft-hearted people, and their ideal of pride was specifically the ruthless man. Just as we see with ISIS: someone severs a person's head, and to them it is an expression of strength and virility. Today we value gentle souls, but in their times, a person was respected the more brutish, fearless, and battle-scarred of a thug he was. They even took deliberate actions to cultivate these cruel traits within themselves, so they would never be startled or shaken - and part of this "training" was to take a live hare, tear it apart, and sink one's teeth into it. All this was meant to build cruelty and toughness, so that a little gore and blood would never unnerve him.
Nevuchadnezzar never expected anyone to see him: such things were done in private chambers and not in public, so people would not speak of it. But Tzidkiyahu, who was accustomed to entering his home without permission, saw exactly what he was doing. Nevuchadnezzar said to him: "Swear to me that you will not publicize this matter." And Tzidkiyahu swore to him. And by what did he make him swear? The Midrash says: by the Inner Altar - just as we find in the Gemara that people would swear "Ha'avodah!" by the service of the Beit HaMikdash.
The five kings were sitting before Tzidkiyahu, mocking and gossiping about Nevuchadnezzar. They flattered Tzidkiyahu, saying to him: "Monarchy is not fitting for him, but rather for you, who are from the lineage of King David!" See how quickly a person accepts flattery when it is directed at him. Tzidkiyahu was ensnared by their cunning and began speaking disparagingly of Nevuchadnezzar as well: "You think you know about him? I will tell you things none of you ever knew or heard, things only I witnessed - I saw him tearing off the flesh of a living hare and eating it! Understand what kind of beast we are dealing with; is this one fit to be king?"
As soon as they heard this from him, they immediately went before the king and said to him: "This Jew who comes and goes in your house is telling people he saw you tearing and eating a hare." Look at what "nice" kings they were: with Tzidkiyahu they gossiped about Nevuchadnezzar, and once he spoke, they went to Nevuchadnezzar to gossip about Tzidkiyahu. This is the literal meaning of a rochel (peddler/talebearer): like a peddler wandering through the towns, buying from this one and selling to that one, buying from that one and selling to this one. That is why one must always be wary of gossips: he may be pleasant to you and tell you tales about others, but you are not present with the other person to hear what stories he tells about you. It is a double-edged sword, and it is best to keep one's distance from such people.
And this is what is written, "And Tzidkiyahu rebelled against the king of Babylon." How did he rebel? Against the oath he had sworn to him, by going and humiliating him and revealing his private secret. Immediately, Nevuchadnezzar came from Babylon and encamped in Daphne of Antioch, and the Great Sanhedrin went out to greet him. When he saw that they were all distinguished, honorable men of stature, he ordered that chairs of honor be brought out and seated them with great respect. He said to them: "Expound the Torah to me; teach me a little of what is written in your book." Immediately they read passage after passage and translated it before him into his language so that he would understand.
When they reached the passage of vows, "When a man vows a vow" - this was the exact point he had been aiming for all along. For what interest did Nevuchadnezzar have in words of Torah? What did he care about halachot? But now they had arrived at the core issue. He said to them: "'When a man vows a vow' - if one vows or swears and wishes to retract, can he or not?" They answered him: "He may go to a sage, who releases him from his vow." He probed further: "And if he swore to his fellow man, must the release be done in his presence or can it be in his absence?" They told him: "It must be done in his presence." He said to them: "It appears to me that you released Tzidkiyahu from the oath he swore to me; and how could you have released him when it was not done in my presence? After all, he swore to me, and you should have brought me before you to see if I agreed to release the oath!" Immediately, he decreed that they be cast down to the ground - and this is what is written: "The elders of the daughter of Zion sit upon the ground in silence."
"They cast dust upon their heads" - as a sign of mourning and distress. And the Midrash expounds: they began invoking the merit of Avraham, of whom it is written, "Whereas I am but dust and ashes." That is, they began dredging up merits from history, realizing that they were deeply entangled as rebels against the king: you went and released the oath of one who acted against the king, aided him against the king, and released an oath that halachically should never have been released without him.
"They girded sackcloth" - they began to invoke the merit of Yaakov, of whom it is said, "and he put sackcloth on his loins" when mourning for Yosef. Yet these merits did not protect them. What did they do to them? They tied their hair to the tails of their horses and made them run from Yerushalayim to Lod. And this is what is written, "The maidens of Yerushalayim have lowered their heads to the ground" - those great figures of Israel, the Sanhedrin, were dragged over the stones from Yerushalayim to Lod. A grotesque, unnatural death; may Hashem spare us.
It is written of Tzidkiyahu that he stood out in his righteousness from all the members of his generation; so writes Rashi in Yirmiyahu chapter 38. And in Sanhedrin (103a) it is said that the entire world was sustained in the merit of Tzidkiyahu. We are speaking of a person of tremendous spiritual stature, described as a completely righteous man. Despite all this, because he swore to Nevuchadnezzar that he would not reveal his secret, and the Sanhedrin annulled his oath under strained halachic grounds - and even though bedi'avad (in retrospect) the annulment was valid - he was nevertheless referred to as "the profane, wicked prince of Israel": both wicked and profane. What is more, Chazal derived from this that the wicked are called "dead" even during their lifetimes. You are speaking of a towering tzaddik, on the one hand keeping the entire world in existence by his merit, yet on the other hand counted among the wicked who are considered dead while alive. How hanging by a hair's breadth is a person's life, and between Gan Eden and Gehinnom lies no more than a hair's breadth. A person can be a complete tzaddik, yet with a slight deviation do something for which the most severe things will be recorded against him.
Let us consider: why did the Sages invoke specifically the merit of Avraham and the merit of Yaakov? The Me'am Lo'ez explains that Avraham was scrupulous regarding oaths, for it is said of him, "I have raised my hand to Hashem, God Most High," swearing, "If from a thread to a shoe strap" - and he stood by his oath and fulfilled it. Yet you were not careful, and went and annulled an oath that was forbidden for you to annul. Therefore, they took an example from someone who possessed this merit of being meticulous with oaths. And why Yaakov? Because of him too it is written, "And Yaakov made a vow, saying: If God will be with me and protect me on this way... then this stone shall be a house of God, and of all that You give me I will surely give a tenth to You" - and he too stood by his vow and his oath.
Yet this still requires understanding: why did they take the example of Yaakov specifically in connection with sackcloth? What is the connection between Yaakov's faithfulness to his vows and the sackcloth he placed upon his loins in mourning over his lost son?
The author of the Beit HaLevi offers a wonderful explanation. When punishment came for having annulled Tzidkiyahu's vow, the Sanhedrin began to engage in soul-searching: how could it be that they were being punished? After all, there were grounds to annul it - an annulment for the sake of a mitzvah, as cited in Nedarim (65a), or because the royal decree of King Tzidkiyahu weighed heavily upon them. And even though an annulment for a mitzvah must also be done specifically in the presence of the one to whom the oath was made, they nevertheless recognized in themselves a deficiency and sin due to the resulting Chilul Hashem (desecration of God's Name). For what happened here? The king of Babylon says to himself: He swore to me, and you went and annulled it for him? And you did not call me to ask if I consent to the annulment? A desecration of the Name was generated here as a consequence. They realize there is a sin here, and they search for its rectification.
And here let us listen to something remarkable. Yaakov Avinu experienced immense anguish when Yosef was gone. But what was the core of this grief? Certainly his grief was not merely like that of an ordinary person mourning the loss of a child. For an ordinary person, it is decreed that the dead fade from the heart, and eventually he is comforted. It cannot be that Yaakov Avinu would wear sackcloth and mourn for twenty-two years, saying "I will go down to the grave to my son mourning," merely over the loss of a son. Especially since we have seen throughout history people who lost not one or two, but twelve children or more, and we have not seen them in such unrelenting agony and mourning. Surely this was mourning of an entirely different nature.
The essence of Yaakov's grief was that a tribe was missing from the tribes of God. There are twelve tribes, and if one is missing, the completeness of Klal Yisrael is missing. If Yosef is gone, it means: I have not fulfilled my mission in this world, and my bed is not complete; and if my bed is not complete, everything I have done is worthless, for I was charged with bringing forth the twelve tribes of God. That is why when Yaakov said to Lavan, "Give me my wife, that I may come to her," Rashi notes there that even the most vulgar person would not speak that way - yet everything depends on who you are. If you are Yaakov, the meaning of your words is: so that I may have the twelve tribes of God, for I have a purpose and a destiny in the world. Like a person saying to his fellow, "Give me tefillin, I want to put them on" - does he have any reason to be embarrassed? And it is written that he was promised that if he had the twelve tribes of God, he would not see Gehinnom. Does Yaakov Avinu need promises? He needs them, showing that he has a mission. And this was his weeping. Over a spiritual matter it is truly fitting to grieve: over the loss of a relative people find comfort, but a spiritual loss is an eternal loss. And perhaps there was a flaw in me, that I sent him in an improper manner to a place of danger, and because of me a tribe from Israel is missing.
Through this, we understand why Yaakov completely ignored Reuven's offer. Reuven came and said: "You may put my two sons to death if I do not bring him back to you," and regarding this it is said, "This is a foolish firstborn," and Yaakov was entirely unwilling to listen to him; he only listened to Yehudah. At the level of peshat, one could say that when Reuven made his offer, Yaakov was not yet starving, whereas when Yehudah proposed, the food was already gone - and momentum matters greatly. But according to our approach, there is another explanation: when Reuven came and said, "Take my sons and put them to death," Yaakov told him: You do not understand what I am talking about at all. You assume I am talking about the loss of a son, so you offer me two children in exchange? I am speaking of losing a mission in the world, an eternal mission. Yehudah, by contrast, came and said, "Then I shall have sinned against my father all the days" - he paid in a spiritual, eternal currency. Yaakov said to him: With you I can talk; you understand that this is about eternity, about the mission of the Jewish people and its future, and I can rely on you.
From here, the author of the Beis HaLevi raises a question that already appears in the Midrash, and it is a tremendous wonder: if the mission was to establish twelve tribes, what prevented Yaakov from marrying another wife who would bear him a son and complete the count? The Midrash explains: Yaakov was barred from doing so, for Lavan had made him swear, "If you take wives besides my daughters," and as long as one of the Matriarchs was alive - and all four Matriarchs were Lavan's daughters, some from his wife and some from the maidservants - he could not marry another woman.
Yet one must still ask: what was the problem with annulling the oath? The answer is that Yaakov Avinu was deeply afraid of the chillul Hashem (desecration of God's Name) that would result vis-a-vis Lavan: "Look at Yaakov the righteous man; he swore to me, and then went and annulled his oath to take another wife!" This would be a terrible chillul Hashem. The Beis HaLevi notes that for Yaakov Avinu, this trial was almost as difficult as the Akeidah. It meant that all his toil and efforts throughout his entire life, shepherding Lavan's sheep to establish the tribes, would seemingly be in vain, since a tribe was missing - and though he could easily resolve this, there was an oath involved, and it would cause a chillul Hashem. In the end, Yaakov Avinu did not annul the oath, because it was unbearable for him to do anything that involved a chillul Hashem. For twenty-two years he wore sackcloth and ashes, just so as not to annul the oath.
Therefore, when the Sanhedrin stumbled and were trapped in the sin of annulling vows, what merit did they invoke? We have sinned, our Father, we have transgressed - we did not care about the chillul Hashem that would result, we did not care about what Nevuchadnezzar would say afterward. Please, Master of the Universe, act for our sake in the merit of Yaakov Avinu, who suffered terrible anguish of soul for twenty-two years because his mission in the world was not being realized, yet did not go to annul the oath he swore to Lavan - all because of chillul Hashem. We failed in this; at least remember for us the merit of Yaakov, who stood firm in it. Now we understand why "they girded themselves with sackcloth" - they began invoking the merit of Yaakov, about whom it is written, "and he put sackcloth upon his loins." This is precisely Yaakov's unique merit regarding oaths: that he put sackcloth upon his loins and refused to annul an oath that could have resolved his profound distress, out of fear of chillul Hashem and lest the honor of Heaven be diminished in Lavan's eyes.
The author of Divrei Shaul, cited in Yalkut HaGershuni, explains the verse along ethical (mussar) lines. Man is formed from a union of two forces operating within him in opposite directions: the material force, originating from the dust, and the form (tzurah). The body is the external part, and the form is the internal part: the spiritual intellect, the head, the essence of man, his higher faculties and understanding, the dimension of the soul. When a person passes away, a separation occurs between these two forces: the body returns to the earth from which it was taken, and the soul returns to the lofty source from which it was hewn.
What happened over the years? People gradually subjugated the intellectual power to the body. The Holy One, blessed be He, gave you a body and gave you a soul, and the well-known parable is that of a rider and a horse: the body is the horse, and the soul - the spiritual, formal dimension of man - is the rider. Man is meant to steer the horse where it needs to go, to gain mastery over the body, its desires, passions, impulses, and pleasures, to govern them and guide them to the right destination. But what happens in reality? Instead of the horse being subjugated to the rider, the rider becomes subjugated to the horse. The horse neighs at the sight of grass, and immediately the rider steers it there; the horse sees an attractive mare, in the words of Chazal, and immediately the rider turns toward it. Instead of you, the rider, directing the way, the horse becomes the master and dictates where you must lead it. Thus we subjugated the intellect to the material, bodily dimension, and as a consequence, the Jewish people sank to a nadir that brought about exile, affliction, and suffering.
And this is what the verse means: "The elders of the daughter of Zion sit on the ground and keep silence" - what caused the destruction that brought them to sit in silence in this manner? "They have cast dust upon their heads." Man is composed of a head and of dust. But you, instead of letting the head direct the dust, took the dust and raised it above the head. The dust became the one dictating to the head what to do: the body demands its pleasures and employs the intellect, and instead of the intellect serving as the judge of what is good and bad, it turns into an attorney for the body, justifying everything the body desires: "I permit this to you, it makes sense, this is the right thing to do." You took the dust, the coarse, material part of you, and elevated it above the head. Why was your head placed at the top? Because the head houses the intellect, the soul, and the power of thought - so that you would rule with it over the body. A person must walk with his head upright, allowing it to make the decisions, rather than standing on his head. And what did they do? They elevated the dust and materialism above their heads. Therefore, "The elders of the daughter of Zion sit on the ground and keep silence" - this is what caused the destruction, the mourning, and that entire exile.
A parable illustrates this: A man was seized and imprisoned in a remote location where there was neither minister nor governor. The prisoner learned that an annual fair was being held in the city where the minister resided, and all the merchants were traveling there. Being in prison, he had no way to speak to the minister directly, but now he knew that merchants were heading to the minister's city and might speak on his behalf, appealing for mercy so he would be freed. He turned to them and pleaded: "When you arrive at the fair, speak with the minister, so that perhaps he will release me." They promised him: "Do not worry; we will speak with him."
When they arrived at the fair, everyone was busy - this one buying, that one selling, another negotiating - and they all completely forgot about him. However, there was one person there who had already concluded his business and was preparing to return to his town. The members of the group turned to him and said: "Do us a favor: go and speak with the minister; after all, you have the time! You are already about to head back, while we are still in the middle of trading. If we go now, the fair will end and we will not manage to buy and sell properly. You have the opportunity - you go speak with the minister."
And the moral of the parable: Everyone is obligated to remember Jerusalem, to set Jerusalem above their highest joy, to remember the Beit HaMikdash in its glory and to mourn its destruction. But what can be done? This world is a fair in which we are preoccupied and overwhelmed over our heads: livelihood struggles, health issues, raising children, shalom bayit, and what not. Who has time to place Jerusalem at the forefront of their concerns, to remember the destruction, to lament it, and to recite Tikkun Chatzot? An ordinary person, as it were, lacks even the mental headspace for this. And all this is true when a person is young; but when he has grown old, has already retired, no longer engages in commerce, and his time is in his hands - why now do you not remember the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash? Why do you not lament the exile of the Shechinah? On the contrary, you are already about to return to town, you are already "smelling the flowers from the roots" - well, before you return to town, do a favor: try to speak with the minister, make some effort to bring the Redemption!
This is what the verse means when it says, "The elders of the daughter of Zion sit on the ground and keep silent": The primary grievance is against the elders of the daughter of Zion. Why are you silent? Why are you not lamenting the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash? Why are you not pleading for its rebuilding? At the very least, the elders of the daughter of Zion ought to cast dust upon their heads, gird sackcloth, lament, and plead for the rebuilding of the Beit HaMikdash. For the elders are already poised to return, and the fair no longer interests them as much; therefore, it is precisely upon them to focus on praying for the Redemption, for the coming of our righteous Mashiach, and for the rebuilding of the Beit HaMikdash.
Verse 10 depicts the mourning of the elders of the daughter of Zion and the maidens of Jerusalem in ascending degrees of grief: sitting on the ground, dust on the head, girding sackcloth, and lowering the head. Beyond the peshat, we learned from the Midrash that the verse refers to the Great Sanhedrin who were killed for the sin of releasing Tzidkiyahu from his oath to Nevuchadnezzar, and from this we were instructed not to treat the laws of vows lightly, as well as to keep distant from flattery and talebearing. "Cast dust" and "girded sackcloth" invoke the merit of Avraham, who was scrupulous with his oath, and the merit of Yaakov, who according to the Beit HaLevi wore sackcloth and mourned for twenty-two years, refusing to annul his oath to Lavan out of fear of Chilul Hashem, even at the cost of leaving his life's mission incomplete. Furthermore, we learned the moral lesson of the Divrei Shaul: when dust rises over the head, and instead of the intellect governing the body it becomes its defense attorney, this is the very root of destruction. And the parable of the fair teaches that the demand is directed primarily at the elders, whose hands are free from the marketplace, to lament and plead for the rebuilding of the Beit HaMikdash swiftly in our days.