Jerusalem glows golden on the mountain tops as the sun sets into the Mediterranean. Her city walls as well as her every building are faced with Jerusalem stone, a creamy golden limestone required by law to maintain the unique ancient golden hue. One might even be excused for mistaking it for sweet halvah candy.
There is simply no place or city on the planet like Jerusalem. Her geographical borders are small, but stretch between time and eternity, between Heaven and Hell, balanced precariously between the two. It is more a phenomenon than a place, uncapturable by mere words.
Jerusalem is the Golden City, her gold no mere reflection, but rather the glow of a rich ore emanating from her depths. In that deep heart torn by conflict for millennia of human generations rests the hidden treasure where treason and tribulation have left her heart broken, within which lies the golden key to unlock every heart. She is a lady long abused by strangers and foreigners, by suitors to whom she remains unyielding and who can bring her no progeny, but only leave her barren. She is surrounded by legions of salivating wolves and jackals, barbaric enemies pursuing her with toothy grins, but her true caretakers guard well her shrines of memory with sharpened sword and shield, beautifying her as for the wedding feast.
Time is the engine by which God spins his timeless tales. Jerusalem is the timeless city that when slain yet sleeps in her dreams as generations pass away around her, undisturbed until her resurrection. She is a waiting lady of the broken heart and yet her eyes remain aglow with the virginity of her youth, awaiting in expectation her coming Prince. In her tears there is an ancient song of joy unfeigned and undefeated, unsullied and satisfied in hope of sure promise bequeathed by her Prince alone. It is a sacred oath planted in her from the loins of creation, patiently awaiting its destiny.