It’s like your body is telling you it has all the nourishment it needs, just from the sheer act of weeping. Well, Jewish tradition actually speaks to this very experience.

Midrash Tehillim, a collection of homiletic interpretations on the Book of Psalms, explores this idea with a surprising connection between tears and sustenance. It says, quite directly, "From here we learn that crying satiates a person and he does not feel like eating.” The Midrash then draws upon the story of Hannah from the Book of Samuel to illustrate this point. Remember Elkanah, Hannah's husband? Seeing her distress, he asks (1 Samuel 1:8), "Why do you weep?" and then, in the very same breath, "Why do you not eat?". The Midrash sees a direct link: Hannah's tears are, in a way, replacing the need for food. It’s a profound image of grief and its ability to consume us entirely.

This idea then connects to the verse from Lamentations (1:16), "I had my tears for bread." It's not just about personal sorrow, though. It's also about collective memory, about remembering times of crisis and loss for the Jewish people.

The Midrash continues, saying "this I will remember and pour out my soul within me. I remember what You did to our forefathers in the desert when they said (Exodus 32:4) 'These are your gods, O Israel.' And I remember and pour out my soul within me." We are meant to remember the Golden Calf, that moment of profound betrayal in the desert. It wasn’t just an isolated incident; it's a wound that continues to ache, a reminder of human fallibility and the consequences of straying from faith.

And the act of remembering, the act of "pouring out our soul," is itself a form of sustenance. It’s a way to process the pain, to learn from the past, and to find strength in shared experience.

The Midrash offers another layer, too: "I remember what Moses said (Numbers 29:39) 'These you shall offer to the Lord at your set feasts.'" This connects the tears not only to tragedy, but also to sacred ritual, to the commanded offerings. Perhaps the act of remembering, whether joyful or sorrowful, is itself an offering. A way of acknowledging the past, present and future, and bringing ourselves closer to the Divine.

So, what does it all mean? Maybe it's a reminder that our emotions, even the most painful ones, are valid and powerful. That grief can be a force that shapes us, that connects us to our history, and that, in its own way, can even sustain us. It invites us to consider the many forms of nourishment we receive, both physical and spiritual. And it reminds us that remembering – both the good and the bad – is a sacred act.