Lonely, sits the city once great with people. She that was great among nations has become a widow. The princess among states has fallen under their power. She weeps bitterly. Her friends offer no comfort. Her allies have betrayed her. Empty of festival pilgrims, her gates are deserted. My eyes flow with tears.

Every year we chant these words on Tisha B’Av and are reminded that lament deserves our time. Pain will not be forgotten, but can be held. There is no just future without having an honest reckoning with our past.

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