Tel Aviv Met Tehran and Everything Caught Fire

I woke up this morning thinking, well, that’s it— Israel is bombing Iran. No gentle father-of-two incursion, but a full‑blown “Rising Lion” assault, and not in some vague desert somewhere, but across Tehran: uranium‑enrichment sites, missile bunkers, even neighborhoods where generals live. Explosions rattled the city, airspace is grounded, and Israelis are under emergency sirens  .

Prime Minister Netanyahu—probably pacing in his suit—declared this was about survival (which, let’s be honest, basically means “we got bored with diplomacy”). The Defense Ministry slapped the label “preemptive strike” on the chaos, so morally it’s okay, right? .

Meanwhile, Trump—because of course—waded in. He told reporters an Israeli strike “could very well happen,” but he’s wary of wrecking the nuclear-talk vibe. He’s advising against it, praying maybe for shawarma diplomacy  . The U.S. insists it’s not party to the explosion party, though they’re quietly pulling personnel out of Iraq and warning families in the region: “Don’t wander around near rockets”  .

Iran, predictably, shrugged off diplomatic carrots and said “Bring it.” They’re doubling down on military drills and spinning up another enrichment plant  . The whole region is teetering on a tightrope: escalate now, and it all comes crashing down.

And me? I’m here with my coffee, watching the news like it’s an apocalyptic soap opera while wondering if the next episode will come with missiles.