Zion's leaders are silent. They just sit on the ground, tossing dust on their heads and wearing sackcloth. Her young women can do nothing but stare at the ground.
In place of perfume, there will be a stink; in place of belts, there will be ropes; in place of fancy hair styles, they will have bald heads. Instead of expensive clothes, they will wear sackcloth; instead of beauty, they will have ugly scars.
The people of Judah say to each other, “What are we waiting for? Let's run to a town with walls and die there. We rebelled against the LORD, and we were sentenced to die by drinking poison.
Jerusalem, once so crowded, lies deserted and lonely. This city that was known all over the world is now like a widow. This queen of the nations has been made a slave.
The roads to Zion mourn because no one travels there to celebrate the festivals. The city gates are deserted; priests are weeping. Young women are raped; Zion is in sorrow!
You will put on sackcloth to show your sorrow, but terror will overpower you. Shame will be written all over your faces, and you will shave your heads in despair.
Joshua and the leaders of Israel tore their clothes and put dust on their heads to show their sorrow. They lay face down on the ground in front of the sacred chest until sunset.
They cried loudly, and in their sorrow they threw dust on their heads, as they said, “Pity the great city of Babylon! Everyone who sailed the seas became rich from her treasures. But in a single hour the city was destroyed.