“There we sat down and yes, we wept, as we remembered Zion.” (137:1)

When I am not in Jerusalem and I think about the city, I don’t weep. In my lifetime, Zion only grows more magnificent from visit to visit. But I get a sense of the crushing sadness of the Psalmist when I fly into New York past the 1776 foot spire of One World Trade center. It is a beautifully designed building, but I see the ghosts of the two blocky towers that preceded it. I see the planes crashing and the bodies falling and the glass and metal disintegrating and the and paper showering lower Manhattan. And I cry.