“Get down from your throne and sit in the dust, O Miss Babylon! Sit on the ground where you belong, not on a throne, O Miss Chaldea! For you will never be described again as ‘delicate and dainty.’
The elders of beloved Zion sit mute on the ground. They have thrown dust on their heads and put on sackcloth. The young virgins of Jerusalem bow their heads in sorrow to the ground.
(Among the exiles were King Jeconiah, Nehushta the queen mother, the high-ranking officials, the leading men of Judah and Jerusalem, and the craftsmen and metalworkers.)
All the splendor has departed from the fair daughter of Zion. Her princes are like deer that find no pasture. Weak and weary they stumble, unable to flee from those who pursue them.
Her filth stains her skirts— she never pictured this outcome. Therefore, her fall is terrible with no one to comfort her. Jerusalem groans, “Yahweh, look how miserable I am; all the while my enemy gloats!”
Let no one hear your sobbing; don’t show that you are grieving. Wrap a turban around your head, put sandals on your feet, and dress normally. Don’t cover your face, and don’t eat the customary food of mourners.”
You will keep turbans on your heads and your sandals on your feet. You will not mourn nor weep but will waste away for your sins and groan among yourselves.
But when his heart was inflated with pride and his spirit hardened into stubbornness, God deposed him from his royal throne and stripped him of his glory.
Yahweh declares, “As surely as I am the living God, listen, O King Jehoiachin son of Jehoiakim, king of Judah. Even if you were the royal signet ring I wear on my right hand, I would still pull you from my finger.