During the festival seasons, the pathways leading to Jerusalem were once vibrant and overflowing with life. In the wake of destruction, however, the joyous clamor of pilgrimage was replaced by a chilling silence. A vivid portrait emerges of concentric circles of grief slowly closing in on the city, moving inward from the approaching highways, through the city gates, touching the inhabitants within, and finally settling upon the isolated city itself.
The initial layer of sorrow begins with the desolate roads, mourning the absence of the festival travelers [רש״י, ביאור שטיינזלץ], or perhaps mourning the loss of the Temple itself, the ultimate destination where all were meant to gather [אבן עזרא]. This grief manifests physically; untouched by human footsteps, the pathways became overgrown with wild weeds, resembling a human mourner who lets their hair grow wild [לחם דמעה, צאינה וראינה]. Yet, the mourning is profoundly spiritual as well. Every creation desires to fulfill its divine purpose, and these roads weep for the lost privilege of serving as a holy conduit for pilgrims ascending to the mountain of God [תורה תמימה]. Some perspectives suggest that the true mourners are the angels born from the very footsteps of the Israelites as they traveled to fulfill a Commandment [אלשיך], while others propose that the stones and trees themselves possess a spiritual sensitivity that compels them to weep [לחם דמעה]. Ultimately, this desolation is a direct, measure-for-measure consequence brought upon the Israelites for neglecting and abandoning the Commandment of pilgrimage [פלגי מים].
Following the silence of the roads, the city gates stand ruined and abandoned. In times past, these structures were so magnificent that arriving pilgrims would pause at the thresholds simply to marvel at their architectural beauty [לחם דמעה]. From a legal standpoint, the cessation of mass movement meant the streets no longer met the criteria of a public domain, rendering the protective gates entirely obsolete [אלון בכות].
The circle of grief then tightens inward to the holy servants. The priests groan over the end of the sacrificial service. This profound loss stripped them not only of the priestly portions that provided their livelihood [תורה תמימה], but also of the elevated state of holiness that would rest upon them while working in the sanctuary [פלגי מים].
The sorrow extends to the young women of the city. The primary approach among commentators is that they mourn the loss of the traditional days of joy, such as the fifteenth of Av and the Day of Atonement, when they would dance in the vineyards [לחם דמעה, צאינה וראינה]. Historically, these joyous days were a reward to the women for refusing to participate in the sin of the Golden Calf, but once they too succumbed to idolatry, their celebrations were revoked [אלון בכות]. Furthermore, without the massive festival gatherings, these young women lost the opportunity to find suitable matches, leaving them in loneliness [לחם דמעה]. A much darker reality suggests their deep anguish stems from falling victim to cruel abuse and assault at the hands of the conquering enemy [תורה תמימה, לחם דמעה]. Symbolically, these young women may also represent the broader masses who had lost their inherent holiness [פלגי מים], or the esteemed Torah scholars whose once bright and radiant faces turned pale and yellow like wax from the overwhelming hardships [תורה תמימה].
Taking a broader view, this progression of sorrow mirrors the collapse of the three foundational pillars upon which the world stands. The desolate gates, places of legal rulings, represent the cessation of Torah study; the groaning priests signify the end of the Temple service; and the absence of pilgrims reflects the loss of the acts of loving-kindness that characterized the festival gatherings [לחם דמעה].
Finally, after detailing the anguish of the roads, gates, priests, and young women, the focus rests on the profound isolation of the city itself. Zion is consumed by bitterness, having been burned and razed to its very foundations [אלשיך, ביאור שטיינזלץ]. While human nature often finds partial comfort in shared suffering, Zion remains entrenched in her bitterness as though she endures the agony entirely alone [לחם דמעה]. The tragedy reaches its peak in a heartbreaking imbalance: Zion weeps endlessly for the suffering of the entire nation, yet no one weeps for her. The exiled Judeans have settled among foreign nations and no longer share in her pain, leaving the ruined city to suffer her immense bitterness in absolute solitude [לחם דמעה, ראשון לציון].