By Christina Ikhbeis | Social Media Assistant
This past summer, I traveled to Jordan for the first time since I was a child. I was brimming with excitement in the months leading up to the trip, wrapping up my second semester of college while daydreaming about seeing family for the first time in over a decade and walking the streets I only remembered through faded memories and old photos. But what was supposed to be a trip about roots and reconnection became a reminder of the fragility of peace.
Tensions between Iran and Israel were already high when I arrived. News reports buzzed with warnings and speculation, but life in Jordan felt calm. My family and I decided to spend a few days at a resort by the Dead Sea — a peaceful escape from the hustle and bustle of Amman, Jordan, with nothing but the short stretch of the still blue water separating us from Israel just across the horizon.
That evening, we sat together laughing as a belly dancer performed to our favorite songs, when the sudden wail of sirens cut through the music, making my heart race. Next thing I knew, missiles, heading straight for Israel, lit up the night sky. I could hear the distant thud of explosions echoing from across the sea.
Later that night, I woke to the room trembling from the reverberation of nearby strikes. Even though the danger wasn’t directed at Jordan, the unease was inescapable. I lay awake, trying to process the reality that destruction was unfolding just miles away.
In the days that followed, sirens became routine across Amman. Missiles continued to fly overhead, and although Jordan remained neutral and untouched, the sense of uncertainty never left. The airports shut down. My plan to visit Lebanon was canceled. For a while, I didn’t know when or how I’d be able to leave.
I was surrounded by family who had lived through decades of regional tension. They carried on with daily life, remaining calm amid alarms and missiles. My aunt went about her daily routine, sitting on her porch swing in her garden patio, as the mingling scents of cigarettes and Turkish coffee filled the morning air, while my cousins played soccer in the streets and a constant stream of neighbors stopped by for mint tea and a chat.
Their quiet resilience — refusing to let conflict strip away their humanity — stood in stark contrast to my own restlessness. I was a visitor unaccustomed to living with danger so close, hyperaware of the fragile line between normalcy and chaos.
Being in Jordan during this tense time reminded me how easy it is to take stability for granted. I came home grateful for safety, but also with a new sense of empathy for those who navigate daily life under the shadow of conflict that so many of us cannot begin to comprehend.
As students at Baylor, it’s easy to view global crises as distant headlines, something happening “over there” while we live here, comfortable in our daily routines, often out of touch with the realities others wake up to every day. A day we grumble through, complaining about an exam or the food at the dining halls, might be the kind of ordinary peace someone else longs for.
But behind every alert and every breaking news banner are people. Allowing that simple fact — really acknowledging the human stakes — can pull you out of the self-absorbed ease of blissful ignorance. Don’t underestimate the power of staying informed. Letting that awareness shape your perspective can be the most meaningful way to connect to the world around us.
