On days when the news carries stories of those killed for staying at their posts, villages destroyed, the displaced made doubly vulnerable, and institutions that should protect the weak instead threatening harm, the ancient voice of lament speaks with particular force. The writer of Lamentations does not rush to explanation or comfort but calls out to those passing by—asking them truly to see the suffering before them, to let it pierce the ordinary busyness of life. Today’s headlines ask something similar: whether we are willing to look at the cost borne by the vulnerable, the conservationist who would not flee, the trafficking victim cast back onto the streets, the disabled person watching protections erode. Lament is not despair; it is the refusal to let suffering be invisible or footnoted.