Air-raid sirens wailed inside my head. Jolted awake, I stumbled around trying to find my phone. Arabic reverberated unclearly, a Jordanian official’s voice booming from, from somewhere, saying something, I couldn’t make it out. Can’t think in the noise. Where am I, kitchen? Phone is on the sofa. Siren stops.
Throughout my studies in Jordan this year, I always used to joke about my morning routine. First, as soon as I wake up, I check BBC News. I would feel a bit stupid drinking my coffee calmly, while nuclear war unfurls. But on Friday I didn’t have a chance to, as I was woken by the sounds of Jordanian air-raid sirens amidst rising regional instability at the start of the ongoing Israel-Iran war. Adrenaline still shaking my body, and reading through news alerts, I tried to process what was going on. On Thursday evening, the political situation seemed unchanged—dire, considering the world now, but unchanged. Now sirens, which stayed quiet even when Iran launched 200 ballistic missiles in October 2024, were a sign of Jordanian concerns about a rapidly unravelling regional conflict.
Retrospect is enlightening. On Friday, Israel launched large-scale strikes on Iran, targeting multiple military targets and killing top Iranian commanders, nuclear scientists, as well as civilians. Ali Khamenei, the Iranian Supreme Leader, responded with waves of missiles and drones. Knowing this now, the outbreak of violence seems almost inevitable. The clues are there, openly in the news: On Thursday, the IAEA declared that Iran had breached its nuclear non-proliferation agreement for the first time in twenty years; the U.S. partially evacuated the American embassy in Tehran that same day. The bombing of Lebanon in October 2024, military presence in south Syria after Assad’s fall in December, strikes in Yemen, the ongoing war in Gaza, and the accelerating illegal expansion of Israeli settlements in the West Bank all clearly show that Israel has little reservations about severe international military action in the region. Iran’s nuclear programme has been creeping dangerously close to the IAEA’s limit for years.
Yet, the speed at which events spiralled on Friday took many by surprise. In a continually changing situation, what will happen in the next hour is equally unclear as the next week. Jordan, where I am, is not in direct threat. Geographically positioned between Iran and Israel, the main problem is the use of Jordanian airspace for missiles and drones passing over. This is mainly a problem coming from Iran, as Israel has redirected their flightpath over Syria and Iraq. Jordan and Israel have had a cooperative peace deal since 1994, and share intelligence in certain matters. The air-raid sirens on Sunday evening were late for both Jordan and Israel, with Iranian initiative taking them by surprise. King Abdullah II has condemned Israel’s attack on Iran but stressed that Jordan will not become a battleground for either side. Here, there is a quietly stressed atmosphere of observance.
When missiles fly over streets of the capital Amman, you can hear people shouting and cars honking. The undulating siren announcing the start of a warning period brings people inside, but draws them to the windows to watch the glowing missile paths and blue-smoke explosions above—safe in the knowledge that Jordan is no target. But as with any parabola, there are two contact points with the ground. It feels disjointed experiencing the violence passively, when ballistic missiles are slamming through buildings in Tehran and Tel Aviv. For me, the missiles above interact with the question of when I can leave the region, not if. Before the land-border King Hussein Bridge shut between Israel and Jordan, international workers moved from the West Bank and Gaza to Jordan, this country being a place of relative safety. Passport inequalities make themselves even more clear in times of crisis, as foreign citizens who have chosen to be in those targeted regions can move over borders. Without the same choice, others must stay in constant threat of death, displacement, and societal collapse under governments who have chosen violence and watch reports of civilian deaths from protected bunkers.
If I feel this tense watching from under the missile flight path, the inescapable pressurised fear of those at each end is incomprehensible to me. Right now, the main reason for air-raid sirens in Jordan is falling debris from intercepted missiles. The airspace is opening and closing with unpredictable attacks. Dual information streams from local news outlet “Roya” and texts from a friend in Israel gives me up to 20 minutes notice before an air-raid siren might go off, and the routine is regular and fixed. I had never noticed the air raid siren at the end of the street before, but as my view of the country changes, I spot their silhouette more quickly on the horizon.
There are signs that the conflict will end soon. While Trump and Putin are pressuring Iran and Israel to de-escalate, the surge in oil prices will attract government attention where, horrifically, the loss of actual lives fails to incentivise policy change. If the region changed so quickly between Thursday evening and Friday morning, it is difficult to predict the future with such unpredictable players. Retrospect is enlightening. And while no longer new, still, the sirens are startling.