My Historic Summer Vacation: A Dogfight, the Lebanese Missile Crisis, and a Hope for Peace

Commentary

Situated in the hills above Sidon, Lebanon, my family’s home offered a spectacular view of the surrounding hills and valleys. It was July 14, 1981, and having been forced to remain indoors earlier that day due to recent events, we were now outside enjoying the warm afternoon—eating grapes and drinking either juice or Pepsi.

My uncle Camille and I were in a deep conversation—the original subject having been long forgotten. As we talked, my uncle’s intense gaze shifted over my left shoulder, and his eyes suddenly widened. “LOOK, LOOK, LOOK!” he yelled in Arabic. I quickly turned to see a Syrian MiG-21 fighter jet rapidly approaching at rooftop level. Before I could react, the MiG flew past us, banking at a steep 60-degree angle and barely clearing a neighbor’s house. Then came the deafening roar of its engines, followed by the rattle of anti-aircraft gunfire.

We couldn’t hear the women’s screams urging us to run inside over the roar of the jet, but we knew exactly what they were saying. Then, at that very moment, something else in the sky caught our attention—something that made us freeze in place and stare.

Rewind: the Start of the 1981 Lebanese Missile Crisis

In April 1981, Lebanon’s Christian militia clashed with the Syrian Army and the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), led by Yasser Arafat, for control of the strategic Mount Sannin ridge. This ridge overlooked the Bekaa Valley and much of the Christian strongholds in central and coastal Lebanon. During the campaign, the Christian city of Zahlé, nestled at the base of the mountains, was besieged by Syrian forces.

Israel intervened, sending combat aircraft into the area to assist their Christian allies and help lift the siege. On April 28, Israeli F-16 Fighting Falcons shot down two Syrian Mi-8 helicopters. In response, Syria deployed Soviet-made SA-6 Surface-to-Air Missiles (SAMs) in the Bekaa Valley, a move that significantly heightened tensions. Israel had previously suffered heavy losses to SAMs in Egypt and Syria during the Yom Kippur War eight years earlier, so this deployment was seen as a major provocation. Observers feared that the situation could spiral into a broader war involving both the United States and the Soviet Union.

Egypt’s President Anwar Sadat urged all involved parties to withdraw from Lebanon. U.S. Secretary of State Alexander Haig ordered the evacuation of American embassy dependents from Lebanon and advised U.S. citizens to leave the country as well. Within two days, fighting erupted in Beirut between the Syrian Army, the PLO, and various Christian and Muslim militias.

At the same time, U.S. President Ronald Reagan, still recovering from an assassination attempt in March, dispatched envoy Philip Habib to negotiate with leaders from Israel, Syria, and Saudi Arabia in a bid to defuse the escalating conflict.

Operation Opera

As if the Lebanese Missile Crisis wasn’t volatile enough, on June 7, eight Israeli Air Force F-16s embarked on a long-range bombing mission to Iraq’s Osirak nuclear facility near Baghdad, successfully destroying its reactor. Among the pilots on that difficult mission was a fighter ace named Lt. Col. Amir Nachumi.

The operation dealt a significant blow to Saddam Hussein’s nuclear weapons program. Surprisingly, the anticipated Iraqi retaliation never materialized.

1981: Summer Vacation

Although tensions remained high, the region began to quiet down by early July. Our family believed the lull in violence would last for several months, and decided a two-week visit was worth the risk. After landing at Beirut International Airport, our relatives picked us up and drove us 28 miles south along the Mediterranean coast to the ancient port city of Sidon.

It became immediately clear that Lebanon was an occupied war zone. Propaganda posters covered buildings scarred by years of conflict. Armed PLO militia and Syrian soldiers roamed the streets, mingling at restaurants and cafes, loitering near shops, and patrolling in “technicals” (trucks mounted with weapons). They also manned armored personnel carriers and vehicles equipped with anti-aircraft guns, most notably the ZU-23-2 and ZPU-4.

Military checkpoints located every few blocks were particularly intimidating. Drivers were required to stop, roll down their windows, and remove their sunglasses before being allowed to proceed. If the Syrian soldiers or PLO militiamen ordered you to exit your vehicle—which never ended well—you had no choice but to comply. We all breathed a sigh of relief once we arrived at our family’s home.

The first day was relatively uneventful. Families walked throughout the neighborhood or sat outside, smoking hookahs, sipping coffee, and chatting with neighbors. Everyone seemed content, but that peace was often broken by an eerie silence as people turned their eyes to the sky. That’s when I first noticed the distant rumble of jets. Confused by their reaction, I asked, “What’s the big deal?” My family explained: Those weren’t commercial planes—they were Israeli warplanes.

That night, Israeli jets flew overhead, dropping parachute flares that floated slowly to the ground, illuminating the entire area. Within seconds, tracer rounds fired from anti-aircraft guns lit up the sky to destroy the flares.

Soon after, we saw flashes on the horizon, followed by the sounds of Katyusha rockets and artillery as the PLO shelled northern Israel. Israel and its ally, the South Lebanon Army (SLA), responded with artillery of their own. The SLA controlled southern Lebanon, a region along the Israeli border known as “The Good Fence.” The sights and sounds of these artillery exchanges were like violent thunderstorms.

With each day, the sound of jets grew louder and more frequent, followed by bursts of anti-aircraft fire that shook windows and rattled nerves across the city.