Although I knew the political atmosphere was heating up between Iran, Israel, and the United States in early 2026, it did not deter me from going forward in February with a trip to Israel with my church, Clairemont Emmanuel Baptist Church in San Diego. “Oh, we’ll be just fine,” was my reply when people expressed concern. Six days into our trip, however, I would find myself in a bomb shelter and praying, “Lord, just keep us safe.”
This trip was actually meant to take place in Feb. 2024. But then on Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas attacked Israel. With the ensuing war that took place, we postponed our trip until Feb. 2026. My brother is a travel coordinator for various biblical-themed trips, and Israel is the main one that he focuses on. He organized this tour with my church, which included my pastor and his wife and several missionaries who were home from the field. This was to be his nineteenth tour to Israel. My sister-in-law was also going to join us.
Postponing the trip meant we had more time to learn about the land we were about to visit. Although nothing was mandatory, it was highly suggested we listen to 36 college-level lectures on the Holy Land, read the many articles sent our way, and listen to videos that highlighted the sites we were going to visit. My brother’s friend, Joel Kramer, an archeologist living in Jordan, was set to show us several archeological sites for three days on our tour, including hiking up to one of the Qumran caves where the Dead Sea scrolls were found. It felt like I had gone through a crash course master’s degree program on the Holy Land, and I felt armed with my knowledge. There was excitement amongst the whole group to see the places we read about in the Bible and to make sense geographically of where everything took place. We were pilgrims out to seek God.
We left LAX on Feb. 23 and arrived in Israel late on Feb. 24. Our guided tour started on the next day, and the first three days were nothing short of magical. To visit the first century synagogue in Magdala, the only first century synagogue along the Sea of Galilee, and to know that Jesus most certainly visited this place gave a sense of awe that these places really exist. Seeing where Apostle Paul was imprisoned at Caesarea Maritima or where Saul and his sons were hung in Beit She’an brought Bible history to life.
Mid-afternoon on the third tour day, Feb. 27, we started seeing news on our phones that the U.S. government was telling non-essential embassy workers in Israel that they could leave if they wanted. Since there was nothing said about tourists or people other than embassy workers, we were advised to continue on until further notice although we were given the option that we would receive help if we wanted to go home at that time. Everyone opted to stay with the group, which turned out to be one of the first wise decisions that was made. Shabbat (Sabbath) was happening that evening, and the party-like atmosphere with the Israelis staying at our hotel gave a false sense of calm that everyone was fine and no impending doom would be coming our way.
The next morning, Feb. 28, we boarded the bus to head south from Galilee to the desert to visit Ein Gedi, Masada, and then eventually our hotel at the Dead Sea. At 8:15 a.m., every phone on the bus started screaming the loud pitch of the emergency alert system. Although the text of the emergency alert was in Hebrew, I think we all instantly knew it had to do with the embassy announcement from the day before. After everyone had frantically pushed whatever button it took to stop the shrieking noise, there was a silence that permeated the bus. As we came up to our first visit of the day, Ein Gedi, we encountered barricades. At that moment, our guide, Andre, knew that all national parks would be closed. He directed the bus to take us to our hotel on the Dead Sea.
We arrived at the hotel shortly before noon. Within 15 minutes of arriving, the sirens went off. I remember the urgency on the face of one of the hotel staff to “quickly, quickly” head to the nearest stairwell, which turned out to be the hotel’s bomb shelter. We all dutifully filed in and climbed the stairs until there was enough room for all and then waited, not really knowing what to do or expect. The heat from the hotel’s sauna in the basement permeated the entire stairwell. Searching for any news on our phones, we learned that Israel and the U.S. had bombed targets in Iran and high ranking people had been killed. Iran, in retaliation, had started sending missiles into Israel. We also saw news that Israel’s airport had been closed as had the airport in neighboring Jordan. We were very thankful that no one from our group had opted to try to fly out this day as they would have been separated from us and alone trying to navigate their way home.
My mind immediately went to the devotional I had read that morning. In Psalm 5, I had read: “Give ear to my words, oh Lord, consider my sighing. Listen to my cry for help, my King and my God, for to you I pray. In the morning, oh Lord, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait in expectation.” I started praying as I knew others in the stairwell were as well. “Lord, this isn’t what we expected, but you knew this was going to happen all along. You are in control, and I submit everything to you. Please keep us safe.”
After about 15 minutes, we were given the all-clear to leave the stairwell. About 15 minutes after that, the siren sounded again. This happened several times. I cannot imagine my life revolving around sirens as I know many people throughout the world do, including Israelis. In the early afternoon, the sirens seemed to diminish, and we were told we could go swimming in the Dead Sea if we wished. It was a moment of relief to escape for a minute the situation we were experiencing. There was talk that maybe we could still drive to Jerusalem the next day and perhaps we could still see some of the sites we were so looking forward to visiting.
That turned out to be wishful thinking. The next morning, March 1, we were again awakened by the sirens. Once inside the stairwell, I noticed a small group of Israelis looking intently at an app. I later learned it was an app that will warn of incoming missiles or hostile aircraft. I glanced over, and I could read what it said in English: “Incoming missile to Dead Sea hotels. One minute to reach the shelter.”
Dead Sea hotels? Isn’t that us? I thought. As if on cue, approximately a minute later a whistling sound was heard overhead followed by a loud boom. The hotel shook like an earthquake had gone off. Two more whistling sounds, two more booms, two more earthquake-like experiences. I noticed one person in our group covering her ears to block out the sounds. “This can’t be good,” I thought. We later learned the missiles hit nearby Beersheba.
After 45 minutes this time, we were allowed to leave the stairwell. As my roommate and I reached the dining room shortly thereafter, my pastor approached us and said, “Eat breakfast. Then go get your bags packed and ready. We will be driving to Cairo by 9.” I immediately thought of Mary and Joseph fleeing to Egypt with Jesus when Herod decreed all male infants be killed. David’s Psalm 27 also had new meaning for me: “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom should I fear?…though a war breaks out against me, still I am confident.”
It was a three-hour ride to get to the border. As we got closer, we stopped at a touristy town called Eilat to go to the bathroom and get a quick bite to eat if we were hungry. It was on the Red Sea, and it looked as if it could have been La Jolla. Talking to some Israelis soaking up the sun, we learned they had come south as soon as the missiles started to wait it out in a nice area. “They never bomb this far south,” they said. That’s reassuring, I thought.
We pulled away and not more than four minutes later, my newly acquired app, which tracked my location, alerted me that I had 30 seconds to reach a safe area as an incoming missile was heading to Eilat. No town was spared, apparently, from Iran’s wrath.
At 1 p.m., we reached the border. We paid our exit visa fees and then were all escorted to the Egyptian side and building.
Travel guides note that the Taba border crossing is typically one of the more straightforward land crossings in the region, often taking under two hours. Unfortunately, that was not our experience. With air travel disrupted, large numbers of travelers were using land exits. The surge led to long waits, confusion, and increased costs.
The first thing that struck all of us was the cacophony of bewildering sounds that permeated the whole building. The amount of people in this smallish room combined with yelling from all corners surrounded us. My body had bruises the next morning from people pushing their way through with their luggage to get ahead in line. The noise was deafening, and confusion ruled. The bathrooms had no water or toilet paper. I desperately just wanted to leave this place.
It wasn’t long before my brother, the de facto leader of our group since we had no guides with us, was approached by so-called travel agents who promised to help us all for a fee of $50 per person. They said they would take all our passports and our money to the bank, and we could be on our way. However, not trusting this setup, my brother quickly called our Egyptian guide just outside the border crossing building to ask if this was legit. She quickly informed him, “They’re scamming you. You do not need to pay anyone, and you can do it yourself.”
My brother and a few people from our group began collecting the money and our passports for the Egyptian visa. My brother, now holding a large wad of cash and a stack of passports, made his way to the crowded bank inside this no-man’s land. Unfortunately, half of the bills that had been collected were rejected as they needed crisp, new bills. He came back to our group desperately asking for newer bills to trade out for the older bills. Armed with now cleaner and crisper American bills, he made his way back to the bank. Several men from our group acted as defensive guards to prevent people from cutting in front as my brother once again attempted to purchase the visas.
He was met with success this time! However, our troubles did not end. The visas were stickers that we carefully placed in our passports, but they then needed to be stamped with ink at one of the booths. The “travel agents” never left my brother’s side, and when he approached the window to get our passports stamped, the travel agent stuck his head in as well. The men in the booth refused to help my brother unless he paid the travel agent.
A lightbulb went off, and my brother finally figured out that if we went through the line individually instead of as a group, we might have better odds of getting through. He quickly told everyone, “Just go up to the window and get your passport stamped.” This worked, and we now had stamped visas.
But, again, it wasn’t over. We had to make our way to yet another booth to stand in line to receive a receipt. Once we received the receipt, we moved outside for another line to leave and more money to hand over. My overall memory of that place is noise and lines. Finally, we were out. The whole process of leaving Israel took almost four and a half hours.
It was too late to cross the Sinai Peninsula at this point. Our agency got us a hotel at a resort just across the street from the border. Who knew that such paradise was just feet away from one of the most stress-induced and chaos-driven places I have ever encountered! It was right on the Red Sea, and I’m sure in the right circumstances it would be a relaxing place to vacation. We were just interested in sleeping at that moment.
The next morning, March 2, we started out caravan-style with another bus. We were told we would have to take the long way around instead of crossing directly, where the route was considered safer. Military personnel with UZIs accompanied our buses — part of a precautionary security escort sometimes used on Sinai routes — as we drove through the middle of nowhere.
The next nine hours were spent with the scenery never changing from desert to more desert. It was pointed out that this was the route of the Jewish exodus from Egypt, only we were doing it in reverse. Several members from our group had prepared devotionals to give at various sites that we were supposed to visit in Israel. The decision was made to have these people come to the front of the bus and give the devotions they had prepared. The nine hours went quickly as we alternated between listening to devotionals and then singing worship songs. We could all praise God that we were safe, and He was our refuge. It was indeed a time of celebration.
The morning of March 3, we were in our Cairo hotel, and the agency had secured a tour for us to see the pyramids of Giza and the Egypt Museum. As we all got our seats on the bus, we were told that, although the agency had been working nonstop since the bombing started on Saturday, they could not secure flights for us until Sunday, and nothing was confirmed yet. Cairo was the only airport open at that time in the entire surrounding Middle East, so travelers from many countries were converging on Cairo. Egypt had also just been placed on the danger zone that could possibly get bombed by Iran. There was a real concern that Cairo Airport would be shut down as well, and we would be stuck. We were advised if we wanted to find our own flights out, to do so.
In between camel rides and marveling over King Tut’s displays of 50 pairs of shoes, we started searching out flights on our phones with spotty internet. The prices inched up from a starting point of $900 up to $8,000 a few hours later for one-way tickets. I had friends in the States looking up airfare, and my roommate’s son eventually found two seats for us on a flight that had been originally $2,700 but went down to $1,074. Eight others from our group got the same flight. Two days later, I was home.
The disappointment is real to not have been able to finish our trip. I had studied so much that it seemed a little unfair. God had other lessons for me to learn though. God was felt every second of this adventure, from the awe I felt being in Capernaum to the peace I felt in a bomb shelter. No one in our group panicked. No one grumbled. We were all calm even in the bedlam at the Egyptian border. Proverbs 3:5-6 comes to mind: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.” I may not understand why this happened, but I did get a first-hand lesson in God’s faithfulness. The lifelong friendships with people you shared a bomb shelter with is something that will never dissipate as well.
Would I go back? You bet! There is a saying the Israelis have that conveys hope: “Next year in Jerusalem!” Until then, join me in praying for peace in the area and for the people who live here whose lives continue to be threatened and disrupted.
Heidi Johnson (92) graduated from PLNU with degrees in business administration and literature with an emphasis in business writing. She also earned an AS in court reporting in 2002 from Kelsey-Jenney College.
