They are respectively 17 and 22 years old, and a checkpoint divides them. Only war, bleakness and grief surround them. They were born into this desolation, and have grown up and met one another in this setting. Their future is impossible to determine. They have been living under curfew for 89 days. Maysan lives with her parents in Nablus, while Sliman, ten kilometers away, lives in the village of Salem. Before the curfew, he was a taxi driver. Now, all he can do is wait and see what happens next. Despite the poverty, the danger, the curfew, and risk of terrorist attacks, the young couple has decided to get married, and the wedding did take place. What does it mean to marry in wartime? The atmosphere is troubled, the joy tarnished, darkened by desperation. There is no music, no electricity, very few yodels proffered by the women to encourage the newlywed’s future happiness. Israeli soldiers surround the village, and the ceremony is held during the day, for by night it would be too dangerous. About fifteen friends gather around the table, no more. All are dressed in ordinary clothing, and only a few car horns toot to express a smattering of symbolic joy. As if the wedding itself took place at that very instant, when the about to be wed husband came to get his wife to be at the other side of the check point... Not a single sound breaks the silence of members of the wedding as they troop along the gravel path. The soldiers don’t react when the young newlyweds, hand in hand, stroll by an Israeli tank. Love, a fragile tie, seems stronger than the conflict, if only for a moment. The young man’s frozen face seems to indicate that the most difficult moments will come later. The wedding represents a union, but also a split. By marrying Sliman, Maysam must break off from her own family, her parents and brothers. She does not know when she will be able to see them again. They are not allowed to leave their village. Between them stands an invisible wall of uncertainly which is ten km long. On one side there is celebration, on the other - nothing. Only one half of a party is nonetheless a celebration, and the protagonists pretend that everyone is there, that all is well. Even Sliman’s martyred brother (Chalid) is there,

his photographic portrait on the rear window of the decorated taxi cab. The newlyweds get into the car, and make a double lap of honor around the military zone and checkpoint. The scene seems unreal, even absurd. About fifty meters from the house, the car comes to a stop. The remainder of the trajectory is made on foot. The couple is greeted with “hurrays” from family, friends and neighbors. Most of them are women. Outside of the procession, the streets are deserted. The newlywed husband is immediately jacked up onto his cousin’s shoulders as the women sing and dance. On the threshold, Maysam tosses a handful of white flour paste towards the door. If the mixture sticks to the doorway, it means that the couple will be a happy one and will have children. If not, the worst is to come. Of course, the doughy substance sticks. The women pull Maysam upstairs to the first floor, where she discovers their new bedroom and quarters. The area reserved to the newlyweds measures 20 square meters, a double bed on a wooden bed base, a wardrobe containing all of the garments purchased for her by her new husband, as well as a mirror, a small television set and a washroom area. The group returns to the living room. The newlyweds are seated on a platform. A musician picks up his instrument, a darbouka, and the traditional song he begins to sing soon fills the room. Everyone gathers around the newlyweds with wishes for peace, proffering congratulations and “many children”, “a good life” “a life in peace”. A woman walks around the room, showing off the Sliman’s gift to his new wife. Delicately set on a cushion of white satin lays a gold plated necklace. There is no display of wealth at this wedding, no opulence. No sheep has been slaughtered for the festive meal, and only a single course is served: rice with milk and chicken. The children eat their fill, as do the guests. At least the war cannot prevent them from enjoying this simple feast.