When I think of Yirmiyahu, I wonder if anyone was glad to see him arrive. For most of his life he was a prophet of doom, first in Yisroel, then Yehuda, then Yerushalayim, each time begging the Jews to repent and foretelling terrible things if they did not. His voice rang out across Israel, but it was not heeded.
While I have experienced the pain of a student ignoring advice, I can’t imagine Jeremiah’s feeling as an entire nation made the wrong choice.
I think of others in history like Mordechai, begging the Jews to skip Achashverosh’s feast, or the Rebbe, advising Israeli leaders time and again on how to bring peace to the land, only to see them bend to pressure.
Today, 2,500 years later, Yirmiyahu is welcomed in our happiest moments, as we sing: Od Yishama, his song of Yerushalayim.
Ad Mosai to the day when we all dance through that city, in safety and security when all our prophecies will come to pass, in celebration forever.
