Two Hours from War: My Almost-Trip to Israel

“Be safe. Look [forward] to hearing about your trip/seeing posts. Be safe”.

This was the message I received from a friend right before heading to Toronto’s Pearson Airport and boarding my Etihad flight to Israel, with a two-day layover in Abu Dhabi. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the bookended “be safe”. This was a friend who has been to Israel, who travels often, but this concern made me feel like I was texting with my mother.

True, Israel’s war with Hamas has dragged on for nearly 2 years. But my trip was taking me to Tel Aviv, Jerusalem and the south to witness the sites of the October 7 massacre as part of an organized mission with guides and security. The danger seemed to have subsided since Hezbollah’s decimation in an action-movie style covert operation, where the Iran-backed terrorists were killed and disabled by exploding pagers, courtesy of Israel’s Mossad. And in any event, we wouldn’t be heading to the north. There was no need for such paranoia.

Visiting Israel has been a life-long dream for me. It is the cradle of Judaism and Christianity, with countless sites throughout Israel in the Old and New Testament. As a Christian, to literally walk in the steps of Jesus is of deep and unfathomable spiritual significance. I am currently about halfway through listening to the Bible in a Year Podcast, and was about to start the Gospel of Mark right when I arrived in Israel. It felt like this was meant to be. The trip would be a once in a lifetime opportunity to learn about my own faith, about my husband’s Jewish faith, about Israeli culture and life, and to learn about the current conflict.

I have views on Israel’s war with Hamas, but these views are informed from afar. I was looking forward to visiting Israel and meeting the people directly affected by the war and hearing their perspectives, to better inform my own. I have been told by friends and colleagues that my first visit to Israel will be universally astonishing experience and there is no way to truly anticipate it.

That certainly turned out to be the case.

When I first made plans to visit Israel, I was relieved that Air Canada had resumed direct flights between Toronto and Tel Aviv. I eagerly booked one, only to have it quickly scuttled as a Houthi missile landed at the perimeter of Ben Gurion airport on May 4th. Undeterred, I rebooked my flight through Abu Dhabi on Etihad, with a two-day layover. I planned to explore the glittering Emirati city and the nearby desert as I adjusted to my jetlag, before departing to Tel Aviv (I’ll have a separate post about that experience).

That extended layover is what stopped me from being trapped in the Israel-Iran war by just 2 hours.

I woke up on the morning of June 13 for my flight to Tel Aviv at 5:30 a.m., as I needed to arrive at the airport by 6:30 a.m. to catch the plane. My standard routine is to allow my mind to wake up before looking at my phone. So I packed up the last of my belongings, snapped a mirror selfie as I went to the lobby, and hopped in a cab for the 20-minute ride to the airport. Then I looked at my phone.

I had about 100 unread messages. From my husband, my parents, my friends, and most of all, in the group chat for the mission to Israel. The messages were frantic.

“If you have not yet left Canada, do not come”.

“For those of you already in Israel, the government is aware of your presence”.

“The airport is closed.”

I jumped to my messages from my husband. Photos of our television at home with headlines of “Israel launches ‘preemptive strikes’ against Iran, defense minister says”. Texts begging me to stay where I am. Similar messages from my father. Desperate messages between my girlfriends in Toronto asking if I was in Israel yet, if anyone had heard from me. I saw an email from Etihad alerting me that my flight was delayed. I did not think it would ever take off.

I was torn between telling the cab to turn around and head back to the hotel or keep heading to the airport to sort things out there. I’d already checked out of my room, so I kept going.

I arrived at the airport and headed straight to Etihad guest services to ask what to do. They told me flights were cancelled. An Israeli family from Tel Aviv was at the same desk, convinced that the flights would resume within 3 hours. I told them even if that was the case, I wouldn’t be going to Israel anymore. “Why?” they asked, somewhat perplexed. “Well I don’t live there.” Then they agreed, “yes, it would not be fun now.”

I stayed at the airport for about two hours sorting out what to do. I wanted to get out of the region as soon as possible. I was concerned that large parts of air space would be closed, that flights would become difficult to get, and it was unclear how the war might progress. Abu Dhabi is not in the line of fire, but it is directly across the Persian Gulf from Iran. I did not want to be stuck in the UAE for an extended time if flights became hard to come by.

My husband managed to secure me a seat on an Etihad flight at 2 am that same night. The airline refunded all my other flights. I slept through most of the 13 hour flight home.

I didn’t fully process how close I came to being trapped in a very dangerous situation for an extended and unknown time until the wheels of my plane touched down Saturday morning in Toronto. I was two hours away from being in Tel Aviv when the war broke out.

I have a friend who arrived in Tel Aviv early who has been spending nights in a bomb shelter in her hotel. I can’t imagine how worried her family is, or how frightened she must be. She has been updating me when the sirens go off, from the bomb shelter, and as she hears the sounds of Iran’s ballistic missiles launched indiscriminately at civilian areas. I think of the people who live in Israel, for whom this is a part of daily life, albeit worse than normal now. I think of all the innocent people who are concerned for their safety and future and whose lives are in danger, but have no place to go. I am grateful for the Iron Dome, a miraculous piece of defensive technology which protects Israeli civilians, but which is still fallible.

I feel incredibly grateful that I evaded this danger by mere hours, and that I am now back home in Toronto. I am so grateful to live in a safe country, and to be surrounded by friends and family who love me. When I arrived in Toronto and walked out the doors of arrivals in terminal 3, my husband and my 6-year-old son were waiting for me. When I saw them I wept, and fell on the ground holding my son. It feels trite to talk about my experience, since I was never in any danger. But this experience has made me have an even deeper understanding of the daily danger that the people of Israel live with. I cannot stop thinking about them, and my friends who are still there, without any way out.

I am struck by how thin the line can be between ordinary life and catastrophe. I came close enough to feel the fear, to see the chaos through the eyes of others, and to grasp a small taste of the reality that so many Israelis live with daily. This surreal experience has deepened my gratitude, my empathy, and my sense of urgency to understand a place that continues to shape the world . I still hope to walk those ancient streets one day. But for now, I carry with me the sobering gift of perspective, and a heart turned toward those who couldn’t just fly home.