The Book of Lamentations, a raw and mournful lament over the destruction of Jerusalem, grapples with this very feeling. It asks, in a voice thick with sorrow: "What shall I testify to you, and to what shall I compare you?" (Lam. 2:13).
But within that despair, there's a flicker of hope, a desperate clinging to the memory of past grace.
The Pesikta deRav Kahana, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Jewish holidays and special Sabbaths, dives deep into this verse. It’s not just about the devastation, but about the relationship – the broken, but not severed, relationship between God and Israel. "What shall I testify to you?" the text asks. "With how many prophets have I testified?"
Imagine a constant stream of messengers, pleading, warning, guiding. Rebbi says there was "one prophet in the morning, and one prophet in the evening." As it's written in 2 Kings 17:13, "God testified to Israel and to Judah, through every prophet and every seer." Interestingly, the text notes that the word for "prophets" (nevi'ai) is written in the singular ("His prophet," nevi'o) but read in the plural. It's a subtle reminder of the constant, unwavering nature of prophecy, a persistent voice trying to be heard. Rabbi Natan even takes it further, suggesting two prophets in the morning and two in the evening, "daily and persistently" (Jer. 7:25). It paints a picture of relentless divine communication.
But the text doesn't stop there. "What shall I testify to you?" it continues. "With how many ornaments have I adorned you?" This isn't just about warnings; it's about love, about lavish gifts. Rabbi Yochanan paints a breathtaking scene: On the day God descended on Sinai to give the Torah, sixty myriads – that's 600,000! – of ministering angels descended with Him, each holding a crown to adorn the Israelites. Rabbi Abba bar Kahana, also in the name of Rabbi Yochanan, ups the ante to one hundred twenty myriads – one to crown each Israelite, and another to gird them with royal armor (zayanim). Rabbi Huna the Great of Sepphoris suggests they were girded with "belts of magistracy (zunei)," evoking the image from Job 12:18: "He loosens the bonds of kings, and binds their loins with a girdle." It's a powerful image of being honored, protected, and empowered.
And the list goes on. "How many appointments did I arrange for you?" the text asks. "The Tent of Meeting, Gilgal, and Shiloh, and Nob, and Gibeon, and the two Eternal Houses." Each a sacred space, a place of connection and covenant. "For which people have I revealed myself with a strong hand, and dealt ten plagues to her enemies? For which people have parted the sea? For which people did I swarm quails? For which people have I brought myself near before Mount Sinai, and given her my Torah? For which people did I encircle with clouds of glory?"
It's a rhetorical flood, a torrent of reminders of God's unique and profound relationship with Israel. This is all for "the daughter of Jerusalem (Yerushalayim)," described as "the daughter who fears (yireah) and is complete (u'mushlemet) for Me."
Then comes the heart-wrenching question again: "And to what shall I equate to you, that I may comfort you (va'anachamech), O virgin daughter of Zion?" Rabbi Yaakov bar Avuna offers a poignant interpretation: "When I equate it to you, then I will comfort you." Meaning, only by fully acknowledging the depth of the pain can healing begin. "Virgin daughter of Zion," he continues, referring to "sons who distinguish (metzuyanim) me through circumcision, and with the cutting of hair, and with tzitzit" – the ritual fringes worn as a reminder of the commandments. Even in devastation, the markers of the covenant remain.
The verse concludes with the crushing line: "For your breach is as vast as the Sea; who will heal you?" (Lam. 2:13). Rabbi Cholfai offers a spark of hope: "He who in the future will heal the breach of the Sea, He will heal you as well." Rabbi Yehoshua bar Nechemiah echoes this: "He about whom they said at the Sea, 'Who is like You?' (Ex. 15:11), He will heal you." The same power that performed miracles in the past can heal even this unimaginable wound.
But then comes a stinging rebuke from Rabbi Avin: "'Who will heal you?' 'Your prophets foretold to you futility and folly' (Lam. 2:14)." And our Rabbis say, "Who will heal you?" Your prophets." It's a harsh reminder that the very people meant to guide them had led them astray. The healing, it seems, must come from within, from acknowledging the failures and turning back to the path.
So, what do we take away from this? It's a complex tapestry of devastation, remembrance, and a fragile hope for healing. It reminds us that even in our darkest moments, the echoes of past love and grace can offer a glimmer of possibility. And perhaps, most importantly, it challenges us to examine our own "prophets" – the voices we listen to, the paths we choose – and to ensure that they lead us towards truth and healing, rather than "futility and folly." Can we learn from the past, acknowledge the pain, and choose a different future? That, perhaps, is the question Lamentations asks us to consider.