Soleimani’s assassination
Soleimani’s assassination means danger on my trip to Israel
My dad and I turn toward each other, stunned, sitting in the middle of a 50-person tour bus.
We immediately pull our iPhones out of our pockets, turn on our hot spots, open Safari – and a quick search confirms the truth.
The U.S. has assassinated Iranian General Qasem Soleimani during the night, while we were sleeping in our rooms at the David Citadel Hotel.
I scroll hurriedly through the first article I can find, realize we’re in danger – real danger.
Because we’re in Jerusalem.
Jerusalem – just a mere 500 miles away from Iran. Easily within missile range. A country everyone knows wants to – and will – strike back.
I’m in the middle of putting the toppings on my third taco when my dad clears his throat the way he does when he has a big announcement.
Sitting around our kitchen island, my siblings and I look up expectantly. Here it comes . . .
“So your mom and I have been talking, and we’ve decided we’re going to take a family trip to Israel during Christmas break.”
I almost drop my taco.
Israel? Isn’t that in the Middle East?
No one says anything. Only my little brother munching on his taco can be heard in the silence.
I set my taco down and just sit, sit thinking – I can’t be in Israel and Colorado at the same time, so that rules out skiing.
And I can’t be in Israel and Dallas at the same time, so that rules out playing Madden and watching the Cowboys with my friends.
And worst of all, Israel is in the Middle East. The Middle East!
I’ve never been to the Middle East, but I’ve watched the news, and anyone who’s watched the news knows about the Middle East.
Oil. Sand. Camels. Pyramids. One war after another. It’s sort of dangerous, it seems.
But truth be told, I’m actually looking forward to the trip. It’s two days past Halloween, and I’m already sick of way too early Jingle Bells and O Come All Ye Faithful.
Besides, I don’t get that many chances to immerse myself in a different culture, to experience the Bible in a new and dynamic way, to walk in Jesus’ footsteps.
We land in Tel-Aviv, and the next eight days fly by in a whirlwind.
We ride a boat across the Sea of Galilee, dip our hands in the same water Jesus walked on 2,000 years earlier.
We walk down the narrow, winding paths of the Garden of Gethsemane, touching the gnarled, crooked trunks of 2,000-year-old olive trees as we go.
In Jerusalem, we scribble down prayer requests on slips of paper and stuff them into the cracks between the stones of the Wailing Wall, the last remnant of the great Jewish temple that stood there centuries before even Jesus’s time.
We eat shawarma and falafel, float in the Dead Sea, and I even wake up at 2:30 one morning to watch my beloved Texas Longhorns whip the 11th-ranked Utah Utes 38-10 in the Valero Alamo Bowl – a satisfying end to a not-so-satisfying season.
Before I know it, it’s time to hop back on a plane, refuse another round of soupy, scrambled airline eggs and head home.
A couple weeks later and I’m sitting in my friend’s game room. Halftime of the LSU-Clemson National Championship is on, but no one’s watching.
My friends are asking me questions about my trip to Israel.
The first questions they ask – about the Iran missile strike. Of course.
Where was I when it happened? Was I safe? Had I seen any WWIII memes yet?
I tell them about the conversation I had with my dad. I tell them about Israeli citizens who celebrated when they heard the news of the drone strike that killed Soleimani, who honked their car horns and waved American flags.
I tell them, “Yes. I was afraid. I didn’t want to die at the hands of an Iranian missile.”
Then, I ask myself, “What do I really think about the Iran missile strike? Was I right about the Middle East all along?
Is it just a hotbed for violence, for killings, for killings in retribution of killings, for endless war?”
I wondered what had been my big takeaway from the experience: hope or fear? To be honest, I’m still asking that question.
Perhaps the Middle East lived up to my preconceptions. It is dangerous. There is hate. There is war.
But I also saw that people there live their lives not that much differently than I do. There is beauty, friendship and hope.
That means, there’s a chance for peace. It may be only a small chance, but what were the chances three wise men gazing into a manger would be looking at a child who would transform the world through his message of love?
I don’t mean to sound naive, but I’m an optimist. My eight days strolling through the same cobblestone streets and garden paths that my savior did changed me for the better.
I hope that I might one day have an opportunity to return the favor.