One of the strangest sights of Jerusalem is the Jews’ wailing place, where every Friday afternoon and Saturday morning certain sects meet on the outside of the walls of the Mosque of Omar and with their heads bent against the stones sorrow over the loss of Jerusalem and pray God to give the land back to His chosen people. This custom has been observed since the days of the Middle Ages and it is one of the saddest of sights. I visited it last week. In a narrow alley surrounded by miserable houses—on stone flags which have been worn with the bare feet of thousands of Jews—against a wall of great blocks of marble which reached for fifty or more feet about them, a line of men in long gowns and of women with head shawls stood with their heads bowed, praying and weeping. Many of the men had white beards and the long curly locks which fell down in front of their ears were silver. Others were just in their prime. There were also young men and young girls. Not a few of the male mourners wore European clothes, and I saw one woman wailing in a hat and gown of Parisian design. Most of the women, however, were dressed in Jewish costume with shawls wrapped around their heads.
Each of the mourners had a book in his hand and read the Lamentations of Jeremiah, swaying back and forth as he did so. Now and then the whole party broke out into a chant, a gray-haired rabbi acting as leader and the rest coming in on the refrain. The substance of one of the chants was as follows:
O Lord, we pray thee have mercy on Zion,
Gather the children of Jerusalem together!
May the kingdom soon return to Zion!
Comfort those who mourn over Jerusalem,
And let the branch of Jesse spring up in Zion!
Still more affecting was this one:
Leader—For the palace that lies desolate.
Response—We sit in solitude and mourn.