I have been lucky enough to say that I spend almost every summer in my favorite vacation spot, Lebanon. Lebanon is not only where my parents were born and all my relatives live, but it is also my second home.

I grew up listening to adults bantering about politics and not really understanding where all the ethno-religious divides stemmed from. After all, I never lived through the hellish 20-year civil war that my parents did. The only Lebanon I was familiar with was the one I called my summer utopia — full of worry-free days spent by the beach, falling asleep in the car while driving through the mountains and savoring the flavors of Mediterranean cuisine, all the while blanketed in unparalleled hospitality and friendliness.

It was around 9 a.m. on July 13, 2006 when that idyllic view was disrupted. My family and I were woken up by a phone call from my uncle back in the United States asking if we were all right. We turned on CNN and learned that the Rafik Hariri International Airport had been bombed by the Israeli military.

After Hezbollah militants had shot missiles at Israeli soldiers, Israel retaliated against Lebanon with massive air strikes, artillery fire, and air and naval blockades. My family and I were closed off from the world — escape was virtually impossible.

Although the region we were in was not Israel’s main target, Lebanon is such a small country that if anything spun out of control, our lives would be in severe danger. There was nothing we could do for 10 fear-ridden days and nights but listen to fighter jets, sonic booms and distant bomb explosions.

My family, like many other tourists that summer, contacted the United States embassy for support and insight as to when a ceasefire might occur. After several days, rumors surfaced that United Nations countries were in the process of negotiating a temporary ceasefire so that their respective citizens could be evacuated safely.

We received a phone call at midnight informing us of a naval evacuation later that morning. If we wanted to be evacuated, we were to arrive at the port by 4 a.m. with only one suitcase for all of us. With bittersweet excitement, we fit what we could into our family suitcase and drove down the ghostly mountain to find thousands of Lebanese Americans waiting to be herded to safety.

After several hours, Lebanese soldiers began to lead people closer to the port in organized lines so that American forces could properly check us into customs. We stood in the same spot for over 12 hours, baking in excruciating heat while watching helicopters hover along the coast. I tried to relax, but the scene of Israeli battle ships blocking the horizon and the intense shouts of Lebanese and Americans were impossible to ignore. At that moment, I truly felt like a refugee.

But when I finally spotted my reprieve — a group of three U.S. military ships waiting for us to board — I began to feel a sense of pride and excitement. I felt like I was placed in a war film with fearless U.S. intelligence coming in to save the day. But my own relief was starkly contrasted with my concern for the Lebanese I had to leave behind.

The Lebanese did not have any hope of being salvaged by a foreign super power. To them, the 34-day strike was a haunting reminder of the Lebanese Civil War that the nation was still recovering from. As I heard one Lebanese say on national television, “Where is the International Community? Where is the Security Council? Where is the U.N.? Where is the whole world? We are under fire!”

I was embarking on an exciting adventure with the U.S. Marines, but my friends and family were still at the mercy of a foreign power. They were hiding in their homes, hoping their neighborhoods were not targeted, preparing bomb shelters that hadn’t been used in about 20 years and watching the death toll rise by the minute.

After we were finally admitted onto the U.S.S. Trenton, my siblings and I excitedly began to explore every crevasse of the huge vessel. We ran to the cafeteria, the navigation rooms, the bedrooms and bathrooms. During our avid explorations, U.S Navy personnel freely and willingly explained the uses of any technology we came across. They served us in their cafeteria and ensured every refugee had a cot, mattress or bedroom.

About 6 p.m. on the day we boarded, we watched a helicopter lower onto a landing pad and release several disabled U.S. citizens. It was an amazing experience to see how well we were treated and how accommodating our country was to all citizens regardless of age, religion or physical abilities. It was an all or nothing evacuation.

On day two of the evacuation, we arrived in Cyprus, where we were to be transported to a refugee camp two hours away. I imagined a dirt patch covered with tents, hungry children and distressed parents.