In this lesson we focus on just one verse in chapter 2 of Megillat Eicha, verse 20, yet it is one of the most difficult and harrowing verses in the Megillah. The lamenter turns toward Heaven and pleads: Master of the World, look and see to whom You have done all this. Around this verse revolve the commentaries, and through it opens the entire monumental chapter of the slaying of Zechariah the prophet in the Beit HaMikdash, of his bubbling blood, and of recognizing the gravity of the sin.
רְאֵה יְהֹוָה וְהַבִּיטָה לְמִי עוֹלַלְתָּ כֹּה, אִם־תֹּאכַלְנָה נָשִׁים פִּרְיָם עֹלְלֵי טִפֻּחִים, אִם־יֵהָרֵג בְּמִקְדַּשׁ אֲדֹנָי כֹּהֵן וְנָבִיא׃ - "See, Hashem, and behold, to whom You have done this! Shall women eat their fruit, the infants of their doting care? Shall priest and prophet be slain in the Sanctuary of the Lord?"
The Lechem Dimah explains: Master of the World, see and behold to whom You have done this. What a double calamity occurred here, where both the women and the infants suffered, those infants who had no sin whatsoever. And despite all this, "shall women eat their fruit, the infants of their doting care," women ate their own children, Heaven spare us. This is the meaning of "to whom You have done this": who are these people? Precisely those who did not deserve to suffer, those who bear no sin at all, the babies and the young infants.
Furthermore: "Shall priest and prophet be slain in the Sanctuary of the Lord?" This, too, is a twofold and compounded calamity. The Sanctuary of Hashem is the seat of justice, the holiest place of all. A kohen is a high level of sanctity, and a prophet is an immense level of holiness, a state of perfection, as the Rambam writes that a prophet's evil inclination never overpowers him in anything in the world. Yet in the holiest of places, a kohen and a prophet were murdered. What sorrow and what anguish. Therefore, the plea is: Master of the World, to whom have You done this? Specifically to those who did not deserve such punishment.
In the sefer Allon Bachut, he notes the dual phrasing: "Re'eh" (see) and "ve-habita" (and behold). Seeing denotes looking from afar, whereas beholding means gazing from up close, scrutinizing something near at hand. We ask the Holy One, blessed be He, to look, as it were, from afar at the pampered luxuries we once enjoyed, and to behold up close the terrible degradation to which we have fallen. In the Egyptian exile we did not lack food, as it is written, "We remember the fish that we ate in Egypt for free" - they had food. But here, women were driven to eat the fruit of their doting care, their own children.
The holy Zohar says: In the exile of Egypt they suffered less, because they were accustomed to hardship. Not so in the Babylonian exile, into which we went out from prosperity. At first we were in a state of immense wealth, like Marta bat Beitos, and within a very short time reached a state where she had nothing to eat, amid famine and siege. And this is "See, Hashem, and behold, to whom You have done this": to whom? To those whose situation was once so comfortable, to them You have done this, bringing them to such a dire state? For them, the blow is tenfold harsher, as they plunged from the highest peak into the deepest pit.
For the Gemara relates concerning Marta bat Beitos that she stepped on animal dung and her soul expired from sheer revulsion, fulfilling what was said: "The tender and delicate woman among you who would not venture to set the sole of her foot upon the ground." One who comes from a high station of wealth, refinement, and fastidiousness, and suddenly falls to such a low state, suffers sevenfold. And this is the plea: Hashem, see our exalted state then, and behold our degradation now, for that contrast is the hardest of all, and it should awaken Heavenly mercy.
The Akeidat Yitzchak explains that this verse is a continuation of the address to the wall of the Daughter of Zion. Earlier, the lamenter had already urged the wall to pray:
צָעַק לִבָּם אֶל־אֲדֹנָי, חוֹמַת בַּת־צִיּוֹן הוֹרִידִי כַנַּחַל דִּמְעָה יוֹמָם וָלַיְלָה, אַל־תִּתְּנִי פוּגַת לָךְ, אַל־תִּדֹּם בַּת־עֵינֵךְ׃ - "Their heart cried out to the Lord: O wall of the daughter of Zion, shed tears like a torrent day and night; give yourself no respite, let not the apple of your eye be still."
And now he tells her: Wall of the daughter of Zion, say before Him, "See, Hashem, and look: to whom have You done this?" And lest one say that such a thing had already occurred in the past, that women ate their own children, we indeed find an example of this in the Book of Melachim II. During the days of the great famine and siege in Shomron, Yehoram son of Achav was walking upon the wall, and two women came before him. One said: I agreed with my friend that today we would eat my son and tomorrow her son. I gave my son and we ate him, and the next day, when her turn came to give her son, she hid him and refused to bring him. Now, O king, judge! The king heard this and was horrified, and he tore his garments; then the people saw the sackcloth that was against his flesh underneath, for due to the gravity of the situation he wore sackcloth against his body. He then swore that the head of Elisha ben Shafat would not remain upon his shoulders unless he prayed for the situation. Following this came Elisha's prophecy, "Tomorrow at this time, a se'ah of fine flour shall be sold for a shekel," followed by the account of the four metzora'im that is read in the haftarah.
If so, regarding the first matter, one could say that it had already occurred in the past. Therefore, the author of the lament asks another question: "Shall kohen and prophet be slain in the Sanctuary of the Lord?" Such a thing had never occurred before! As it were, the wall of the daughter of Zion directs herself before Hashem and says: Master of the Universe, if You say regarding the first that it already happened, the second certainly never occurred! How is it possible that a kohen and a prophet be slain in the Sanctuary of Hashem? What sorrow and what grief!
The Targum translates: Look, Hashem, and behold from Heaven, to whom have You caused this, whether women should eat their fruit, infants of pampering. "Infants of pampering" (olelei tipuchim) means infants who were cherished, wrapped in silk. Thus far is the claim of Kenesset Yisrael. Now, this verse is actually an expression of two speakers: the first speaker is Kenesset Yisrael, lamenting, "to whom have You done this," and the Attribute of Justice responds to her: "Shall kohen and prophet be slain in the Sanctuary of the Lord?" You ask questions? Is it natural in your eyes that a kohen and a prophet be slain in the Sanctuary of Hashem? How could you do such a thing? And if the murder of a kohen and a prophet in the Beit HaMikdash is not difficult and monstrous in your eyes, let it not be difficult in your eyes "whether women should eat their fruit." In plain words: you are paying the price for the horrific and terrible situation you created.
The reference is to the killing of Zechariah. It should be noted that an error fell into Me'am Lo'ez, where it is written "Zechariah ben Iddo," which is a mistake. There were two Zechariahs: Zechariah the prophet from the Trei Asar (Twelve Prophets), and Zecharyahu ben Yehoyada the Kohen. The one killed in the Sanctuary of Hashem was Zecharyahu ben Yehoyada, who was both Kohen Gadol and a prophet of Hashem, and was stoned to death in the Beit HaMikdash for rebuking Israel over their deeds and telling them that the Beit HaMikdash would be destroyed. They did not listen to him, and not only did they fail to heed him, but he was stoned by the king's command because he spoke words that were unpleasant to his ears - that the people of Israel were destined to be exiled, along with harsh words against the king.
Thus it is related in Divrei HaYamim II 24: "And the spirit of God clothed Zechariah son of Yehoyada the kohen, and he stood above the people and said to them: So said God, Why do you transgress the commandments of Hashem and will not prosper? For you have forsaken Hashem, and He has forsaken you. And they conspired against him and stoned him with stones at the king's command in the courtyard of the House of Hashem. And King Yoash did not remember the kindness that Yehoyada his father had done for him, and killed his son." And what was that kindness? When Atalyah killed all the royal offspring, Yoash was saved by Yehoyada hiding him inside the Kodesh HaKodashim. Following this, when people came and told him, "The Kohen Gadol enters there only once a year on Yom Kippur, and you survived there," he made himself into an idol. And that same Yoash, whom Zechariah's father had saved, sent to kill his prophesying son. At the moment of his death, Zechariah said: "May Hashem see and avenge" - meaning, may the Holy One, blessed be He, see what you are doing to me and demand my blood from you.
Exactly one year later, Hashem demanded his blood: on that very day, the army of Aram marched upon Jerusalem and brought devastation and slaughter among them. Many years passed, and Nevuzaradan, captain of the guard, entered the Azarah (Temple Courtyard) and saw bubbling, seething blood. This was the blood of Zechariah, for no matter how much they tried to wash and scrape it away, nothing helped, and the blood would immediately return and bubble up. For two hundred years this blood seethed in the Azarah. Nevuzaradan asked what this blood was, and at first they told him it was the blood of sacrifices. He brought all kinds of animals and tested them, but none matched that blood. He said to them: If you do not tell me, I will kill you all. They said to him: There was a prophet among us who rebuked us in matters of Heaven; we did not listen to him and killed him, and now his blood is seething. He told them: I will appease him. He began slaughtering over it the elders of the people and the Sanhedrin, young men and maidens and schoolchildren - millions he killed over that blood, until he was horrified by the staggering amount of blood. He then pleaded with Zechariah, saying: The best among them I have killed; do you want me to kill them all? Only then did the blood rest from its seething. Following this incident, he was shaken to his core, and he went and converted.
Many stories are told about the man who was the first to cast a stone at Zechariah the prophet. In the book HaTzaddik Rabbi Shlomo, a story is recounted of a young man who was possessed by a dybbuk. That young man would wander among people, detailing their sins to them, and hugging and kissing them. The person would be terrified by having his sins recounted to him and would begin to repent, and as soon as he had thoughts of teshuvah, the dybbuk would flee from him and say, "I hate you, I cannot remain near you." Due to its intense wickedness, it attached itself to sinners, and if someone had thoughts of repentance, it could not stand to be near him. Sometimes it would say to the person, "What do you have to do with thoughts of teshuvah?" And when that failed, it would flee. When they asked the dybbuk why it had entered this particular young man, it revealed that it was the soul of the one who had cast the first stone at Zechariah the prophet, and for more than two thousand years it had been wandering without rest, because it was the first to bring about the prophet's murder. It could not bear being in the presence of talmidei chachamim either: it would embrace and kiss the wicked, but from a talmid chacham it would flee far away.
The Ponevezher Rov, Rabbi Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman, once entered the dining hall on Shabbat and saw tables that were not covered with a tablecloth, as is customary on Shabbat. He said to the bachurim: Let me tell you a story. I have a tradition that this dybbuk of Novardok - the very dybbuk we have been speaking of - was once forcibly brought on Shabbat into the home of Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin, disciple of the Vilna Gaon, a holy of holies. In that home the spirit had no rest, and began running back and forth searching for a place. Due to the intense holiness in the home on Shabbat, with a holy man like Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin, the spirit could not bear it - until it found a corner of a table where the tablecloth was folded back. It crouched down, embraced that spot, and rested there. It had a hold only in an uncovered place. "From here," he told them, "be meticulous about covering the table on Shabbat, for a place where the table has no cover is a place where the external forces and the Sitra Achra gain a foothold."
It is related that once they threatened that dybbuk that they would take him to the Vilna Gaon, and he replied: "I am not afraid of him at all; he has no dealing with us." And as is well known, as cited in the introduction to Sifra DeTzniuta, the Vilna Gaon did not deal with dybbuks at all. This was the opposite of the approach of the holy Ari, who made great efforts to attend to the rectification of all the souls up to his generation. In fact, the Gaon once went to the cemetery on the yahrtzeit of his mother, and he regretted it for the rest of his life, because the souls became aware of his greatness and would come and disturb him day and night to arrange their rectification, causing him great distress and anguish; from then on he never went back. It is also told that they asked the dybbuk who the thirty-six hidden righteous men (Lamed-Vav Tzaddikim) of the generation were, and he enumerated many names, including unfamiliar ones, and among them also the Vilna Gaon, though not among the foremost. They asked him: "Is the Gaon not among the foremost?" He told them: "No, because the Vilna Gaon is somewhat famous." From this we see that publicity and renown are detrimental.
In the book Shomer Emunim, it is brought that this dybbuk eventually came to the Maggid of Kozhnitz as well. How did matters move between two places as distant as Novardok and Kozhnitz? The Gaon Rabbi Yaakov Edelstein, Rav of Ramat HaSharon, related that according to what he knew, many people would come to the dybbuk to hear about Heavenly punishments and strengthen themselves in the service of Hashem. There is no greater encouragement in fear of Heaven than hearing someone describe the sins he committed and the punishments he is receiving. However, word reached the authorities, and the government suspected that a sorcerer was wandering among the Jews - and in Europe, anyone suspected of sorcery was immediately executed. Once the young man's life was in danger, there was no choice but to smuggle him out, and they smuggled him to Kozhnitz, to the Maggid.
Rabbi Moshe Holtzberg, Rosh Yeshivah of Karlin-Stolin, related to Rabbi Yaakov Edelstein - as had been transmitted among them from person to person - what happened when the dybbuk arrived in Kozhnitz. What is a dybbuk? It is a wandering spirit that finds rest inside a person's body; as long as it is within the body of a living person, the forces of impurity and the Sitra Achra that are meant to torment it cannot harm it, so it serves as a city of refuge for it. However, the living person is controlled by it and suffers terrible agony. Initially, the Maggid attempted to exorcise the spirit using holy names, yichudim (Kabbalistic unifications), and adjurations, in the manner that the Torah luminaries would remove dybbuks. The spirit heard this and began to laugh out loud. It is known that the dybbuk spoke through the person's throat, but in its own voice rather than the host's voice. It said to him: "Do you think you will scare me with these unifications? In our generation, the generation of the prophets, children had the intentions (kavanot) that you are focusing on right now; am I to be impressed by this?"
The Maggid of Kozhnitz asked him: "What is the way to rectify you?" - for this dybbuk was a great Torah scholar, who would converse in Torah learning with eminent scholars. He replied: "Ever since my death, I have reincarnated over a hundred times with no rest, and there has never been a Talmid Chacham who judged me favorably and argued my merit. If a Talmid Chacham is found who will advocate for me whole-heartedly, that will bring about my rectification." The Maggid reflected and told him: "I have a merit to argue on your behalf, but on condition that you show me your spiritual stature." For this was a soul from the First Temple era, the era of the prophets, which we cannot fathom at all. The Vilna Gaon says that we cannot comprehend what a cobbler was in the era of the prophets, let alone what a Torah scholar was in that generation. He said to him: "I will show you, but not here - rather outside the city." The Maggid wrapped himself in his tallit, took him outside the city, and argued in his favor. A pillar of fire then appeared before him reaching from the earth to the heavens, and he saw other things that he did not wish to recount. Only then could he grasp the tremendous power of that spiritual level.
And what was that defense? Rabbi Moshe Holtzberg told Rabbi Yaakov Edelstein that the Maggid found a halachic rationale according to which he supposedly had permission to stone the prophet. Not that it was genuinely permitted, but that there was room to err and think it was permissible. For a prophecy of doom can change, and as long as the prophecy has not been uttered by the prophet, it is still subject to change, since it has not been delivered and has no enduring reality. If so, he had a grievance against the prophet: "Why did you come and speak?" And if you say that the prophet was obligated to express it and forbidden to suppress his prophecy - and a prophet who suppresses his prophecy is liable to death - he would say to him: "You should have sacrificed your life to death rather than bring such disaster and distress upon the Jewish people, for by delivering the prophecy you bring evil upon them." In truth, this argument is flawed, for if Hashem sent him to speak, it indicates that the way to save Israel was not through silence, but through speaking and bringing them to repent, otherwise an even greater destruction, G-d forbid, might have occurred. Yet this defense was sufficient to bring about the rectification of that soul.
Rabbi Eliyahu Lopian also relates that on the day the Vilna Gaon passed away, that spirit cried out with terrible screams. When they asked why, it said that many angels had descended to greet the Vilna Gaon. It was then that the people in Novardok realized that the Gaon had passed away in Vilna. Long before news agencies and news broadcasts, nearly two hundred and fifty years ago, they knew it from the dybbuk. Rabbi Eliyahu Lopian further related that they would bring wrapped books before him, and he could distinguish which was a holy book and which was not. Once, they brought two wrapped books before him; from one he began to tremble and screamed, "Take this out!", while to the second he did not react at all and remained calm. It turned out that these were two volumes of an edition of the Zohar: one volume had been printed by the Slavita press in holiness and purity, while the other had been printed by Sabbath desecrators. In the second volume he sensed no holiness at all, whereas the first, printed by G-d-fearing Jews, aroused fear and trembling in him. It is just like a Sefer Torah written by a heretic, which contains no sanctity, versus a Sefer Torah written by a G-d-fearing person, which possesses sanctity. We do not feel it, but the spirit felt it.
There is another story: A certain young scholar (avrech), the son of an extremely wealthy man, was a tremendous matmid (diligent student) who spent his entire life immersed exclusively in Torah. One day the Emperor visited the city of Krakow and the entire city was bustling, while he sat and learned in his home as usual. Hearing the noise and commotion, he went to the window and opened it in order to recite the blessing, "Who has imparted of His glory to flesh and blood." When he closed the window, a stone fell from the wall and rolled close to the Emperor. Suspicion was immediately aroused that someone had attempted to assassinate the Emperor by throwing a heavy stone from above. The police went up, saw that the stone had fallen from his home, and arrested him. All attempts to persuade them that he had nothing to do with it and that it was an accident were of no avail, and he was sentenced to death. People said that if the Rav of the city were to come, speak in his favor, and intercede with the royal officials, it might help. They turned to the Rav, but he stated that the judgment was true and that this young scholar was liable to death, refusing to do anything. Ultimately, he was executed, and in the aftermath whispers and complaints began in the city: How could the Rav have done such a thing, when he could have been saved?
At the funeral, the Rav requested that the bier be brought into the synagogue, something done only for the righteous. They brought the bier inside, and the Rav said to the deceased: "I decree and command you by the authority of the Torah: Rise and stand, and reveal to the people the reason for your death, so that the people do not complain and you quiet from upon me the grievances of the Children of Israel." To everyone's astonishment, the dead man sat up on the bier and said: "I am the first one who threw a stone at Zechariah the prophet, and therefore I was sent here to this world. Many times I have come and did not merit rectification. In this reincarnation I merited to reach my rectification; the Rav, who knew this, devised means so that an outcast not remain banished, and ensured that my soul would reach its place in the Upper Gan Eden - which is why he did not intervene to save me." He finished speaking, lay back down, and his soul departed once again. It then became clear that what the Rav had done was in accordance with true judgment and halachah. That spirit kept reincarnating again and again, and there are many other stories, but this suffices to understand how many reincarnations were undergone by the one who was the first to murder a priest and prophet in the Sanctuary of Hashem.
The Ramban writes in Sha'ar HaGemul: "All the afflictions of Iyov are not sufficient punishment for a single sin." On the surface, these words appear exaggerated. If a person committed one transgression - spoke lashon hara, or even committed a lighter offense - are all the afflictions of Iyov truly not enough for it? But come and see how much a single sin cost here: the finest of Jerusalem's sons were killed, the Sanhedrin, school children, sages, and righteous men, and the blood still did not rest. This was only a single sin, yet look how many were slain on its account; eighty thousand young priests, and the sin was still not atoned for! From here we begin to comprehend that the words are precise: for each and every sin, all the afflictions of Iyov do not suffice.
Yet we must understand: Nevuzaradan said, "The best among them I have slain; is it your will that I destroy them all?" - and with this statement the blood ceased its seething. On the surface, this is difficult to understand; either way you look at it: if the sin was atoned for, the blood should have rested on its own; and if the iniquity was still simmering and demanding more slaying and more judgment, how could a mere statement cause the seething of the blood to cease? What occurred at the moment Nevuzaradan posed his question?
Rav Chatzkel Levenstein, author of Ohr Yechezkel and Mashgiach of the Ponevezh Yeshivah, observed: From here we see the immense power of true awareness. The primary factor is not the external action, but the inner awareness. When Nevuzaradan asked, "Zechariah, do you wish that I wipe them all out?", what did he recognize? He recognized the devastating consequences of sin. He saw that following that murder the blood continued to boil, and he understood that such a sin warrants death for all of Klal Yisrael. "Do you wish that I kill them all?" meant: I understand that for such a transgression, everyone deserves to die. And this is precisely what is demanded from Heaven - that a person truly recognize what sin is and the destruction that iniquity brings. The moment he reached this realization, the blood subsided from its boiling.
It emerges that inner awareness is far more significant than the act alone, for an action can be purely external, mere mechanical mimicry. But awareness is the profound understanding of what damage is, what sin is, and how severe sin truly is. And if a person attains this understanding and recognition, that in itself is already tremendous. Certainly, external deeds are also necessary, but the essence is how much internal awareness a person has of the sin, the damage, and the deficiency. That is what is demanded of him.
Verse 20 is the outcry of "See, Hashem, and behold, to whom You have done this" - a seeing from afar of what we once were, and a close gazing at what we have become. Kenesset Yisrael protests the double catastrophe that struck the innocent, women and infants, and the Attribute of Justice responds: Is the murder of a Kohen and prophet in the Temple not shocking in your eyes? From here opened the entire narrative of Zechariah ben Yehoyada, his blood that boiled for two hundred years, Nevuzaradan who slaughtered tens of thousands on its account and ultimately converted, and the chain of reincarnations of the man who cast the first stone. From all these we learned the gravity of a single sin, to the point that all the afflictions of Iyov do not suffice to atone for it. And we also learned the other side: the blood rested from its boiling not by force of an action, but by force of awareness. The primary thing required of a person is an internal realization of the severity of sin and the devastation it wreaks.