The gates of Jerusalem stood imposingly, as if observing each visitor with silent
judgment. Jeremiah paused for a moment before crossing them. The air seemed
heavier than usual, laden with tension and foreboding.
It wasn't fear that stopped
him.It was consciousness.
I knew that once inside, there would be no turning back.He
took a deep breath and moved forward.
The streets were crowded, as always. Merchants, pilgrims, priests. The city teemed
with life, oblivious to the conflict brewing within its heart. Jeremiah walked
toward the temple, following the order he had received. Each step echoed within
him like a sharp blow.
"Are you the one who speaks out against this place?" a guard asked as he saw him
approaching.
"It's me," Jeremiah replied calmly.
The guard looked him up and down, with contempt.
—I thought you'd be… older.
Jeremiah did not answer.
He was led to a side courtyard, where several priests and scribes were
gathered.They were gathered together. Their faces were hard, closed off. There
was no curiosity, only annoyance.
"This is him," said one of them. "The son of
Hilkiah." A murmur ran through the group.
"He talks too much for his age," another commented. "And he says dangerous
things."
Jeremiah stood with his hands at his sides. He felt the fire within him, but also
a strange peace. Not because he trusted the men who had taken
himsurrounded, but because he knew he wasn't there by mistake.
"You have spoken against the temple," said the high priest. "You have announced
its destruction. Explain yourself."Jeremiah looked up.
"I have not spoken against the temple," he replied. "I have spoken against the lie
of believing that God dwells in stones while ignoring justice."
Some shifted uncomfortably. Others frowned.
—Are you implying that we are ignorant of justice? —replied a scribe.
"I'm suggesting that God requires her," Jeremiah said. "And that He's not
finding her."There was a tense silence.
"Who sent you?" another asked. "Which prophet backed you?"
Jeremiah swallowed.
-The Lord.
Laughter erupted.
"Always the same argument!" one of them mocked. "They all claim to speak for
God." Jeremiah felt a slight tremor in his legs, but he did not back down.
"The difference," he said, "is that I don't promise peace when
there isn't any." That ignited the fury.
"Enough!" shouted the high priest. "Your words discourage the people. They
provoke..."Fear. That's betrayal.
Jeremiah felt the word pierce through him.
"It's not treason to warn," he replied. "Treason is to lie."
"Silence!" the priest ordered. "Do you know what you're saying? Do you know the
punishment for speaking like this?"
Jeremiah knew it. And yet, he spoke.
"If they kill me, my words will not die."
The courtyard fell into complete
silence.
For a moment, Jeremiah thought he would be arrested right there. But the priestThe
principal raised his hand."Go away," he said. "For now."
Jeremiah bowed his head and turned away. As he walked away, he heard
murmurs.filled with hatred.
—This doesn't end
here. They were
right.
By the time he left the temple, the news had already spread. Some people looked at
him with curiosity.Others, with open hostility.
"There he goes," they whispered. "The one who
speaks against Jerusalem." A man spat at his feet.
-Traitor!
Jeremiah continued walking.
Near the market, a group gathered around him.
"Why do you hate us so much?" a woman shouted at him. "What do we gain by
listening to you?" Jeremiah looked at her sadly.
"I don't hate them," he replied. "That's why I speak."
"Liar!" shouted another. "If you loved this city, you wouldn't announce its
ruin." The fire spoke.
—Precisely because I love her… I can't lie to her.
The crowd began to get agitated. Some pushed him. Others shouted.
-Out!
—Get out!
—What a street!
A blow knocked him off his balance. He fell to the ground, dust filling his mouth. For
aFor a moment, fear paralyzed him. He thought that would be the end of him.
But then, someone shouted:
—Leave him alone!An old man made his way through the crowd.
"Don't hit him," he said. "Listen to him... even if you don't like it."
The crowd hesitated. Jeremiah seized the moment to stand up and walk away. He
didn't look back.
He returned to Anathot at nightfall, bruised and exhausted. His mother
greeted him with tears.
—They hurt you…
Jeremiah shook his head.
—Not as you think.
That night, he sat alone under the starry sky. His body ached, but his soul was
awake.
"Now I know," she said softly. "They don't reject me for who I am... but for what I
say."
Silence enveloped him.
And in that silence, Jeremiah understood a truth that would mark the rest of his
life:The rejection would not be an isolated incident.
It would be their daily bread.
His constant
companion. His cross
to bear.
And yet…
I would speak again tomorrow.