Isaiah wrote to a people who had just watched their safest place fall, and his answer wasn’t comfort, it was correction: the city was never the Rock. It was only ever a picture of one. This post traces bitchu and Tzur Olamim back through their roots, into Corrie ten Boom’s hidden room and Ravensbrück, and asks the question underneath all of it. What have you quietly built your safety on, and what happens to your trust when it shakes?