1 In the month of Nisan, in Artaxerxes’ twentieth year as king, after some wine was brought for the king, I picked up the cup of wine and gave it to the king. I had never been sad in his presence before.
2 The king asked me, “Why do you look so sad? You aren’t sick, are you? You must be troubled about something.” (I was really afraid).
3 “May the king live forever!” I said to the king. “Why shouldn’t I look sad when the city, the place where my ancestors are buried, is in ruins and its gates are burned down?”
4 “What do you want?” the king asked me.So I prayed to the God of heaven,