One Friday in Jerusalem puts you in the sandals of Jesus as He bore His cross the brutal half mile to Calvary. Contemplate the sweat, the smells, the swelling crowds, the bark of soldiers, and the agonizing realities of crucifixion. And hear why each station of the cross is so meaningful for Andre, a minority among minorities in an ethnically sundered land.
Providing unique Middle Eastern glimpses into the Bible, One Friday in Jerusalem is a tour book packed with historical, cultural, geographical, archaeological, and spiritual insights. It is a gripping reflection on the passion of Jesus. And it is the remarkable, true stories of a man who knows intimately the sorrows and struggle of the Via Dolorosa—and the joy, hope, and life-changing power of the risen Christ.
Genre: HISTORY / Middle East / IsraelIt is selling good in English language, every week i am selling few copies
The voice came suddenly, no more than an urgent whisper.
“Andre, move. Right now!”
For a moment I thought my friend who was with me had spoken to me. But he hadn’t, nor had anyone one else out on bustling Ben Yehuda Street in West Jerusalem.
It was December 1, 2001, and a beautiful evening for wandering the central city. The time was shortly before midnight, but Kikar Tzion, Zion Square, is always busy, especially on a Saturday night, when it is full of young people hanging out after the Sabbath ends. Countless times I had been among them, enjoying the fun and excitement. Yet tonight I felt inexplicably tense. Something was wrong—I knew it in my gut.
Was I just being hypersensitive? Maybe. But the feeling wouldn’t go away. In fact, it was getting stronger. . . .
“Andre, MOVE! NOW!”
The voice was louder—but whose was it? People were everywhere, but other than my friend, there was no one I knew. Was I hearing things?
Must be my imagination. Just ignore it.
Seconds later, I felt someone pushing me, shoving me across Zion Square toward Jaffa Street. But it wasn’t my friend—he was following several paces behind. No one was near me. Yet something that felt like a gust of wind was holding my arms, legs, and body and propelling me forward.
Now I really was freaked out. I must be drunk—but I hadn’t had even a sip of beer.
The Café Aroma on Jaffa Street was just ahead of me. Shaken, I went inside and sat down.
BOOM!
The windows shattered and my body felt the jolt of a tremendous explosion. I could see debris flying and blood splattering, hear people screaming in pain and horror. And immediately I knew. Bomb attack!
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French
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Alex M.
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Portuguese
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Gustavo Guimarães
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Spanish
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Ruth Marco
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