{"id":1521,"date":"2026-04-17T07:47:59","date_gmt":"2026-04-17T07:47:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/the-secularist.com\/?p=1521"},"modified":"2026-04-17T10:21:31","modified_gmt":"2026-04-17T10:21:31","slug":"weddings-return-to-a-broken-gaza","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/the-secularist.com\/index.php\/2026\/04\/17\/weddings-return-to-a-broken-gaza\/","title":{"rendered":"Weddings return to a broken Gaza"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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This story was originally published by The New Humanitarian<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n \n

On 31 December last year, my family gathered with our closest friends and relatives in a former clothing store in Gaza City. The space had been repurposed into an event hall. We were there not just to bring in the New Year but to celebrate my sister Noor\u2019s wedding.<\/p>

The clothing store had been given an elegant makeover. There were clear glass tables decorated with small floral centrepieces. The light-coloured walls had accents of dark marble, and long white curtains hung from gold rods.<\/p>

We invited around 100 guests, but not all were able to attend. Some could not find transportation, while others did not have cash to pay for a ride. A simple act like reaching a place for a celebration has become a challenge in the Gaza Strip.<\/p>

Noor is 26 \u2013 older than me by almost five years. She wore a white dress, although she struggled to find one she liked. The options were limited, and the prices high.<\/p>

My grandmother always wanted to see Noor as a bride, because she is the oldest of my three siblings. Unfortunately, she didn\u2019t live to see her wish fulfilled. My grandparents were killed earlier in the war when Israel bombed their house in the al-Shuja\u2019iya neighbourhood of Gaza City.<\/p>

When my mother and my aunts stepped onto the stage to dance with Noor on her wedding night, their eyes welled up with tears. They didn\u2019t want to ruin the moment, but everyone knew the picture was incomplete without my grandmother. We loved her so much.<\/p>

Still, we served kunafeh<\/em>, a Palestinian dessert, and danced. There is no wedding without music and dancing. Even with grief, life continues. But Israel\u2019s destruction and suffocation of Gaza following 7 October 2023 has reshaped everything, including people\u2019s traditions and happiness.<\/p>

Weddings before the war<\/b><\/h2>

Before 7 October 2023, life in Gaza was never perfect. The Israeli occupation\u2019s restrictions were present in all aspects of life, from control over border crossings to repeated attacks. We felt constantly watched<\/a>, limited, and powerless, as if every simple decision, every breath required permission.<\/p>

Despite the difficult conditions, weddings were large, joyous affairs where families, friends, and neighbours gathered to sing, dance, and share happiness. Palestinian folk songs and dabke<\/em> music were played loudly, accompanied by drums, clapping, and ululation. Groups of men or women would line up and dance, stamping the ground in rhythm with the music.<\/p>

Tables were set up with different kinds of sweets. Some families would serve savoury pastries. People were constantly in motion between meals, greetings, and dancing. The atmosphere was alive and filled with warmth and laughter.<\/p>

Despite the restrictions the Israeli occupation imposed on our lives, almost everything a couple needed to get married used to be available.<\/p>

Wedding dresses came in many styles, and catering services offered a range of options. There were wedding halls of different sizes on Al-Rashid Street, which runs along Gaza\u2019s seafront. The road was lined with cafes and restaurants. In the evenings, the area filled with visitors and passersby. Loud music drifted out from the wedding halls, especially in the summertime, when most people got married.<\/p>

These halls were elegant. Their walls were painted soft colours, golden chandeliers hung from the ceilings, and large, red drapes framed their windows. In some halls, the windows looked directly onto the sea, and there were open terraces where people could go to enjoy the fresh breeze.<\/p>

Today, those halls are rubble, their lights and music replaced by darkness and silence.<\/p>

Planning amid rubble and scarcity<\/b><\/h2>

Many couples who were engaged before the genocide began had no choice but to cancel their celebrations. The halls they had reserved were destroyed or closed, savings meant for weddings vanished or were spent on trying to survive, and the future became entirely unpredictable.<\/p>

Some people still chose to get married during the war, believing that life, in some sense, must go on. But they were unable to hold even the smallest celebrations due to incessant bombardment, displacement, and economic collapse.<\/p>

Since the so-called ceasefire, people have gradually begun to revive their celebrations, but in simpler, more modest forms. Life has to go on. It is a way of asserting our strength and resilience.<\/p>

My sister got engaged to her fianc\u00e9, Ramzi, a month before the so-called ceasefire on 10 October 2025, but she refused to get married during the war. She said she wouldn\u2019t be able to feel joy while others were being killed and bombs continued to fall.<\/p>

Since the so-called ceasefire, people have gradually begun to revive their celebrations, but in simpler, more modest forms. Life has to go on. It is a way of asserting our strength and resilience.<\/p>

Some people are now offering their homes or businesses \u2013 ones that haven\u2019t also been reduced to rubble \u2013 as event venues to make money amid the near-total collapse of Gaza\u2019s economy. Finding one for Noor and Ramzi\u2019s wedding close to where we are living now in Gaza City, and that was affordable, was difficult.<\/p>

The modest clothing store was one of the few available options. It cost double or even triple what the price would have been before 7 October \u2013 and a huge sum in Gaza today. But the price also covered photography, decorations, and electricity, which has become extremely expensive due to fuel shortages caused by Israeli restrictions.<\/p>

The owner of the hall required part of the payment in cash, which was an added challenge. Cash has become difficult to obtain<\/a> in Gaza. When it is available, the banknotes are worn and old because Israel is not allowing new ones to enter. Ramzi had to rely on money brokers who charge high commission fees to withdraw cash.<\/p>

Gaza has become an expensive place for almost everything. Even basic food, once affordable for all classes, is now sold at prices many people cannot afford.<\/p>

Ultimately, while preparations for my sister\u2019s wedding took about two months, the celebration lasted only a few <\/em>hours. It was a special, joyful day that brought families together after two years of separation and pain. And despite the difficulties, my sister and her fianc\u00e9 were grateful to be together.<\/p>

\u201cI forgot the exhaustion and the hard moments when I saw Noor in white,\u201d Ramzi said.<\/p>

How to start a life?<\/b> <\/h2>

My sister\u2019s story is not unique.<\/p>

My friend, Hala al-Khatib, 20, got engaged to Muhanad Alwar, 21, on 9 September last year. They were married on 26 December in a small, modest ceremony at Hala\u2019s home in Nuseirat, central Gaza.<\/p>

They chose not to celebrate in a hall since, during the genocide, Muhanad lost three of his siblings in Israeli airstrikes. \u201cThere is no taste of joy without them,\u201d he said.<\/p>

Beyond grief, the financial burden was overwhelming. \u201cThe hardest thing beside the absence of Muhanad\u2019s siblings was the high cost of preparations even when the wedding is modest,\u201d said Hala.<\/p>

Four months later, on 9 January, amid the so-called ceasefire, the Israeli military called Muhanad and warned him he had five minutes to leave the house where he and Hala were living. Outside, Muhanad watched as the Israeli missile struck.<\/p>

Now, Hala and Muhanad live in a tent. They managed to be together, but they are uncertain about their future.<\/p>

\u201cWe bought everything new \u2013 carpets, curtains, mattresses, tables. It cost over $3,000. Now it is rubble,\u201d Hala said.<\/p>

Now, Hala and Muhanad live in a tent. They managed to be together, but they are uncertain about their future. Hala wants a big family, but \u201cI won\u2019t bring a child into a life that still lacks the basics they need,\u201d she said. \u201cMilk, nappies, and vaccines are all essentials that are unavailable most of the time in Gaza.\u201d<\/p>

Another friend, Dima Hatab, got engaged during the ceasefire that lasted from mid-January to mid-March last year. Dima and her fianc\u00e9, Mohammed Abu Sharekh, believed the war had ended. But when fighting resumed, they were forced to postpone their wedding multiple times.<\/p>

\u201cIf we got married, we would have nowhere to live,\u201d Dima said. \u201cRental prices went up after the war returned.\u201d<\/p>

Eventually, after the second ceasefire in October, they managed to find a small apartment in Deir al-Balah and held a simple wedding at her family home.<\/p>

\u201cI didn\u2019t want to make it extravagant, out of respect for those who lost their loved ones,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd the cost of the halls was too high. It was better to spend that money on more essential needs.\u201d<\/p>

The right to fall in love<\/b><\/h2>

Weddings have resumed in Gaza, but the restrictions that existed before have only tightened. Many loved ones are gone. Homes have been destroyed. Livelihoods have disappeared. Joy, while still present, feels incomplete.<\/p>

Yet people continue to marry. Not because they are free from grief, but because marriage is sunnat al-hayyah<\/em>, as we say in Arabic \u2013 the natural course of life. They have the right to fall in love, to marry, and to build a family.<\/p>

Even in these hard conditions, people hold on to this tradition. They resumed weddings in an attempt to create happiness in a reality filled with pain and loss. Marriage remains a beautiful part of life. But in Gaza, it is no longer a simple step. It is a decision weighed against loss, risk, and an unpredictable future.<\/p>

<\/p>\n

The New Humanitarian puts quality, independent journalism at the service of the millions of people affected by humanitarian crises around the world. Find out more at www.thenewhumanitarian.org<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n \n \n\n