Chazal (Eichah Rabbah 1:1) observe that three leaders prophesized using the word eichah, how: Moshe Rabbeinu, Yeshayahu, and Yirmiyahu. Moshe said, Eichah essa levadi? “How can I alone bear?” Yeshayahu said, Eichah haysah l’zonah kiryah ne’emanah? “How has the faithful city become a harlot?” (Yeshayahu 1:21). Yirmiyahu said, Eichah yashvah vadad? “How she sits alone” (Eichah 1:1). This, say Chazal, may be compared to a woman who had three guests: one she saw when she was successful; the other when she was failing; and, the third, following her downfall. According to the Midrash, the three eichah’s represent a timeline of Jewish history. Moshe’s complaint addresses the nation’s refusal to accept the judgment the bais din issued, and the machinations they resorted to in an attempt to subvert the judicial system. The later Neviim, Yeshayahu and Yirmiyahu, also rendered their complaints with the word, eichah. The obvious question is how three distinct complaints, which addresses three distinct periods of the continuum of Jewish history, all begin with the same word. Words are significant, and the Hebrew lexicon is exact; nothing is arbitrary. Imagine if a speaker would render the same speech at three different venues: a wedding; a school function; and a funeral. Unless a common thread winds through them, he will appear inappropriate.
Horav Tzvi Kushelevsky, Shlita, observes that the Jewish People possess a middah, character trait, that can work to their benefit and elevate them to unparalleled greatness. This middah, if misapplied, can also lead to their detriment and plummeting to serious impairment. He quotes Maharal, who posits that the neshamah, soul, is the dominant factor in the nature of a Jew. He uses the example of am k’shei oref, a stiff-necked people, which is not one of our finer qualities. From a practical point of view, we refuse to accept criticism and reproof. We are always right. Here our spiritual side comes into play. Something material can be altered and manipulated. Something spiritual defies alteration. Thus, the Jew is change-resistant. We will do what we want, regardless of the opinion and advice of others. Furthermore, when one is stubborn and unbending, he must have his way, regardless of who stands in his way. He will just aggressively push his way through.
The Rosh Yeshivah explains that the Jewish People are all bnei melachim, royalty, princes. The spiritual royalty from which we descend has imbued us with a profound regality, which manifests itself in our disdain of being subjugated in any manner, to the point that it is not unnatural for us to resist authority or be bound by someone’s views. They do what they feel is correct and proper. (Truthfully, the Torah decides this for us. We follow its dictates, regardless whether or not it conforms to popular opinion).
The Maharal had a Christian acquaintance who asked why Jews have strong opinions – often not agreeing even with their own co-religionists. The fact that ideological differences exist which give voice to varied approaches to religious service did not elude him. This fellow, who was a pastor, boasted, “My congregants accept anything I say. The mere fact that they fall in line whenever I issue an injunction is proof positive that the Christian faith is the emblem of Divine truth.”
The Maharal countered with an analogy. A flock of sheep will obsequiously accept a leader and adhere to his instructions with blind faith. This is due to their being simple-minded animals with no hint of a regal bearing. Not so the lion. A pack of lions will superficially appear to be in disarray, its members each independent of one another. They roam where they want, staking out their own individual territory at will. To the casual observer, they appear to be weak, but what resembles weakness actually bespeaks their strength.
Am Yisrael may be compared to a pack of lions, with their differences and obstinacy against bending to authority (with which they do not agree) finding its roots in our regal lineage – bnei Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov. Our Patriarchs did not bend, neither will we. This is but one of our strengths.
This, explains the Rosh Yeshivah, is the underlying message of the word eichah that weaves its way through the three prophecies. They each focused on Klal Yisrael’s regal-centered strength which they demonstrated in three disparate venues. Moshe underscored the nation’s stubbornness with regard to acquiescing to the judgment issued by the bais din. Here the refusal to be swayed by another person (albeit greater in knowledge and wisdom) can be both beneficial and detrimental. On the one hand, it motivates one to plumb the depths of the halachic question to see what his own cognitive ability can unfold. Nonetheless, if this obstinacy is overused, it can be self-destructive. Even the most logical argument requires the correct time for its presentation. In other words, one must know when to agree and when to dissent. This demands seichel, common sense, which is at a premium. When the Neviim Yeshayahu and Yirmiyahu admonished the people, pointing out their faults and issuing warning concerning the impending punishment which would be visited upon them if they did not alter their ways, they stubbornly refused to listen. Hence eichah – bemoaned by Yeshayahu and later by Yirmiyahu – expressed the Jewish People’s obstinacy. There is a time and place for everything. If one is unable – or refuses – to accept and decipher this reality, he will be forced to accept eichah.
The regal nature of the yehudi is derived from a Divinely implanted spiritual power source called the neshamah. The Yiddishe neshamah, soul, is an infinitesimal component of the Divine which transforms us from mere flesh and blood into a creation with unimaginable spiritual potential. The neshamah is our essence; sadly, some of us cover it with so much dross that it is difficult for it to shine through. But it exists, and wherever a “break” in the murky clouds that conceal it occurs, it springs forth and empowers the person, so that he finds it hard to believe it is the same person that previously had been acting in the most spiritually contemptible manner. Apparently, a spark breaks through the dross, and the intrinsic regality of the neshamah bursts forth.
Consider the following incident. In Auschwitz, in 1944, “dinnertime” consisted of non-kosher meat. The Nazi fiends not only wanted to destroy our bodies, but also whatever semblance of spiritual dignity we might possess. One Jew emphatically refused to eat dinner. He would not touch the treif meat. It was not as if the Nazi commandant cared if the Jew starved to death; he just could not tolerate him practicing his religious beliefs. He immediately walked over, lifted his truncheon, and said, “Eat!” The Jew said, “No!” This was too much for the Nazi to swallow. No observant Jew was going to refuse his direct order. He was, however, mistaken. This Jew was as secular as could be. His entire life he had eaten non-kosher meat as part of his anti-religious lifestyle. Yet now he would not budge. He knew that he was relinquishing his life to die a painful death by refusing to do now what had been natural for him. The Nazi took his truncheon and beat the Jew within an inch of his life – but he did not eat the meat. When asked later what prompted him to act in complete opposite of his past life, he said, “I just realized the severity of eating non-kosher food.” What transpired within this man? His royal essence burst forth. A spark of inspiration penetrated years of apathy and self-loathing. In one spiritual moment, he had returned home – to the palace of the King.
