"Today my children weep and wail." This Tisha B'ab (fast day commemorating destruction of Jerusalem) we Jews shall weep for the one thousand eight hundred and forty-sixth time. If all do not weep, it is because some deviate from the regular procedure. In accordance with the "covenant", everybody must weep. If one fails to weep today, one breaks the Jewish tradition of weeping on Tisha B'ab.

Last year, at this time, we knew that we were going to weep today. And today we know likewise that on Tisha B'ab of next year--should God grant us life and well-being--we shall weep again. Today we already know that next year, if it is the will of God, we will recite the same lamentations in the same tone and at the same time we will weep. However, we will not weep because something ails us or because we feel the want of something. We will merely pretend that we are crying.

The decree is this: "The entire House of Israel shall cry." Doesn't this seem to be somewhat like a tragedy in a theatrical production? The actor often cries on the stage to the extent that his whole body is convulsed, and from a distance one is apt to think that he is shedding genuine tears. Does something ail him when he weeps so bitterly? No. But in his script it says, "Cry here." So he cries. And the greater the talent of the actor, the more natural his tears will appear. Tears made to order!

It is said that we are a people of an artistic temperament. We have produced great actors and musicians. We have distinguished ourselves on the stage the world over. The two greatest tragedians, to whom the civilized world so frequently refer, are the two Jewish actresses Rachel and Sarah Bernhardt. Why then are we such amateurs, such cripples, when we begin to play our own tragedy?

An actor who can neither interpret nor enter into the spirit of the words that the playwright puts into his mouth, is either an amateur or a cripple.

His inadequacy shows that he does not understand his role, that he does not feel his role, and therefore cannot act it.

The Lamentations were, in the first place, arranged by the mourners as a symbol of our great tragedy. It is our history in the Diaspora portrayed artistically by poets. They have perpetuated our tragedy in order that we should not forget it. We must live through it in order to revive the spirit of our downfall in Jerusalem. This is its importance. George Eliot said, "If a nation is highly praised for enduring a few tragedies, then how highly shall we praise the Jewish people whose whole history is a tragedy?" When we sit on a footstool [Translator's note: a footstool or some other object which is not high above the floor is used in the synagogue when the Lamentations of Jeremiah on Tisha B'ab are read] reciting the Lamentations, we are giving a verbal repetition of the tragedy. We should cry. Our tears should flow from our hearts as they flow from the great actor who enters into the spirit of his part, thereby producing an impression. As Shakespeare said, "Suit the action to the word, the word to the action." But if the Lamentations 4are uttered unconscientiously, without any feeling or thought, in short, if they are recited only mechanically, out of mere custom, then it no longer represents a tragedy. It then becomes a comedy and a poor one at that.

It is a custom of the Chinese, whenever they mourn, to drop their tears into an urn and store it away as a remembrance. This is the nature of that custom. We poke fun at such a custom. We look upon tears that come from the heart and flow through the eyes as a symbol of affliction, of sorrow. Tears, whether they are in an earthen jug or a silver cup, are no more than impure, salt water.

Tears made to order, or shedding tears as a mere matter of tradition, is very similar to the Chinese tradition of shedding tears into an urn. Only the affection embodied in the role makes it worthy of mention.

In repeating the tragedy for so many hundreds of years we have not sought to refresh the anguish [of it] but, on the contrary, we have sought to choke it.

A certain satisfaction is felt when we shed a tear. Jews gather at the Wailing Wall in Palestine to shed tears. Many of them shed genuine tears. They feel the destruction. Others cry as a mere matter of custom, or for some other reason make a wry face. Such behavior evokes nausea. It is neither sincere nor beautiful.

Recently Tisha B'ab and the Lamentations of Jeremiah and the whole oral repetition of that tragedy have gained considerably in significance. Tears no longer satisfy the Zionists. They delve into the deeper aspect of the destruction, deriving therefrom inspiration to carry on constructive work, which tears asunder the ground for Jewish tears. This year real tears are being shed, not on account of the destruction of Jerusalem but because of the present-day destruction. A person who can comprehend the Jewish national destruction can easily see this connection.