PROLOGUE
The tears that no one wanted to hear
Jerusalem did not fall in a single day.
First came the muffled noise of injustice, imperceptible to those who had learned to
live with it. Then came the stench: corruption mingled with incense, prayer without
repentance, sacrifices offered with stained hands. Finally, thetears… but it was too
late.
From the top of a hill, a man watched the city.
Her eyes were red, not from the smoke beginning to rise from the slums, but from
years of pent-up tears. The wind stirred her worn cloak, and in her trembling
hands she held a scroll of parchment. Words written in pain. Warnings no one
wanted to hear.
"Jerusalem..." he whispered, as if the city could answer him.
The sun was beginning to set behind the walls, tinging the towers of
thetemple. For many, that color was beautiful. For him, it was an omen.
Jeremiah, son of Hilkiah, was not born with the heart of a warrior nor with the
ambition ofA king. He never wished to be seen, heard, or feared. Yet he had been
chosen to bear an impossible task: to love a people who would hate him, to warn a
nation determined not to change.
He had shouted in public squares, spoken in palaces, wept in solitude. He had been
called a traitor, a blasphemer, an exaggerator. Priests despised him, kings feared
him, and the people mocked him.
Translated from Spanish to English - www.onlinedoctranslator.com"Peace, peace," other prophets said, with fake smiles and soft words.
But Jeremiah could not lie.
Because when he spoke, he did not speak of his own free will.
The words burned in his chest like fire trapped in fragile bones. Each message was
an open wound. Each prophecy, a new tear.
"Why did you choose me?" he had asked God more than once. "Why not someone
stronger? Someone who doesn't feel so much?"
But the sky had always responded with the same profound silence.
In the distance, the metallic clang of Babylonian armor began to echo from the
future. They were not yet at the gates, but they were already walking in the
shadow of destiny. Jeremiah knew it. He had always known it.
His knees buckled, and he fell to his knees on the dry ground.
"I spoke..." she said, her voice breaking. "I warned them. I cried for them.
You are a witness."A tear fell onto the dust, darkening it.
She wasn't crying for her own pain, but for what was about to be lost: homes,
children, the elderly, the temple, hope. An entire nation convinced that GodI would
never allow its downfall.
But God had already
spoken.And nobody
listened.
The prophet closed his eyes.
The story of Jeremiah is not the story of a victorious man, but of a faithful one. It is
notIt is not a tale of spectacular miracles, but of persistent tears. It is the story of
someone who stood firm when everyone else knelt before lies.
And it all began…
long before he could understand it.CHAPTER 1
The child known before birth
Anathoth was a small town, forgotten even by those who lived near Jerusalem.A place
of dusty streets, humble houses, and long silences. There, among ordinary priests
and simple families, a child was born who would change the destiny of a nation.
The night was calm when Hilkiah held his son for the first time.
The newborn wasn't crying as loudly as usual. His dark eyes darted about restlessly,
as if searching for something he couldn't name. His mother, exhausted but
attentive, brought him close to her breast.
"What shall we call it?" she asked in a low voice.
Hilcías hesitated for a moment. He didn't know why, but he felt a strange
weight in his heart.
—Jeremiah —he finally replied—. May the Lord raise him
up.The child made a soft sound, almost a sigh.
No one in the room knew it, but at that moment, long before the child learned to
speak, he had already been taken away. Not by human decision, but by a will older
than time.
The years passed with the slowness typical of small towns. Jeremiah grew up
surrounded by scrolls, repeated prayers, and the constant scent of incense. He
learned to read before many his age and listened attentively to ancient stories:
Moses, David, the judges, the covenant.
But something about him was different.
While other children ran and shouted, Jeremiah remained silent, observing.She
asked uncomfortable questions. Questions that didn't always have easy answers.
—Father —he said one day, when he was barely ten years old—, why do people
offer sacrifices if they then live as if God did not exist?
Hilcias looked up, surprised.
—Not everyone obeys with their heart, son.—So… does God hear the same way?
The question hung in the air.
From a young age, Jeremiah felt the weight of the world as if it didn't belong to
him. He would weep at the sight of simple injustices: a poor person ignored, a
widow scorned, a hungry child. That wasn't normal for someone so young.
At night, I had strange dreams.
They weren't nightmares, but visions difficult to explain. Dry fields, ruined cities, a
voice she couldn't see but felt deeply. She would wake up sweating, her heart
racing.
"Just dreams," his mother would say, stroking his hair. "Nothing more."
But Jeremiah knew that wasn't true.
At the age of thirteen, while walking alone on the outskirts of the village, something
happened thatIt would mark his life forever.
The wind stopped.
The silence was absolute, as if the world held its breath. Jeremiah felt aPressure in
the chest, an invisible but real presence.
Then the voice spoke.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't scary. It was clear.
—Before I formed you in the womb, I knew
you.Before you were born, I set you apart.
I appointed you as a prophet to the
nations. Jeremiah fell to his knees,
trembling.
"Who... who's speaking?" he stammered.
—I am the Lord.
Fear completely overwhelmed him.
"Ah! Lord God," he replied desperately. "I don't know how to speak... I'm just a
child."
There was a pause. Then the answer came as a firm whisper.—Don't say: "I am a
child."You will go where
I send you. You will say
what I command you.
Do not be afraid… for I am with you.
Jeremiah felt something touch his lips. It wasn't physical, but it was real.
—I have put my words in your mouth— said the voice. —Today I appoint you over
nations and kingdoms: to uproot and tear down, to destroy and ruin, to build and
to plant.
When it was all over, the wind started blowing
again. Jeremiah was left alone, breathing
heavily.Nothing in her life would ever be the
same again.
He didn't sleep that night. He stared at the ceiling, aware of a truth that terrified
him:His life no longer belonged to him.
He had not chosen to be a
prophet.He had been elected.
And with that calling, he had also been condemned to walk a path of
solitude,rejection and tears.
Without knowing it yet, the boy from Anathoth would become the prophet who would
weep for a
nation…
until the end.