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I report on all things love and weddings at The New York Times. So when I came across a photo on Instagram last year of an elaborate wedding gown pinned to a mannequin in the Gaza Strip, surrounded by rubble and crumbling buildings, I wanted to find out more. What happens to weddings in an area overtaken by war?
I noticed an email in the photographer’s Instagram bio that belonged to an artist in New York, Stephanie H. Shih, who organizes mutual aid fund-raisers for Gazans. She told me about an engaged Palestinian couple with whom she had been working closely: Mayar Kabaja and Hatem Saadallah, two young software engineers who had gone on their first date 10 days before Oct. 7, 2023.
They fell in love during the Israel-Hamas war. But they haven’t seen each other since April 2024, when Mr. Saadallah managed to evacuate to Cairo just before the border between Gaza and Egypt closed. Ms. Kabaja remained in Gaza with her family.
I immediately knew I wanted to talk with them about their story. For the Vows column, which each week recounts a pair’s journey to marriage, I am always looking for interesting couples with profound, unique love stories: In the past, I’ve talked with a pole dancer and a pastor who fell in love in New York, and a Jewish Broadway director who helped secure the release of her Muslim humanitarian boyfriend after he was taken hostage by the Taliban.
I’m based in New York, and though I usually conduct interviews with couples on video, I like to attend weddings in the tristate area to capture the feeling during the ceremony. Covering this one would look a bit different.
What drew me to the young Palestinian couple was that their wedding would be a story of joy, and one that would humanize two people in love. So many news stories about Gaza have to do with death and destruction. My goal, always, is to tell a beautiful and in-depth story thoughtfully and sensitively.
Ms. Shih put me in touch with the couple on WhatsApp. We chatted over seven months. Their plan was to get married in person, when the border reopened and they would be able to reunite in Cairo. But after the cease-fire in October, it became clear that there was no telling when they would be reunited. They decided to get married remotely. Mr. Saadallah gave his uncle the power of attorney to sign the marriage contract in Gaza on his behalf. They were committed to making it work however they could — even if it meant getting married hundreds of miles apart.
I interviewed Mr. Saadallah and Ms. Kabaja over several video calls. Scheduling was difficult: The internet connection at Ms. Kabaja’s apartment in Nuseirat was stronger at certain hours of the day. Sometimes during our calls, her electricity went out. And one time, we needed to reschedule at the last minute because she had fallen ill from a stomach bug. Since the war started, Ms. Kabaja had become susceptible to medical ailments; she was also lacking nutrition, often feeling tired and still trying to survive the Israeli bombings, which had continued since the cease-fire.
But during these calls, Ms. Kabaja sounded a lot like most brides. She blushed while recalling the details of her story. She described her first date with Mr. Saadallah, when they walked to a table at a seaside restaurant and he looked at her and told her she was beautiful. I let out an “Aww,” and she got shy. “Stop, don’t say like this. I can’t,” she said.
They were not used to talking about themselves, and it took some prying to get their full story. They often glossed over remarkable details. But I approached this Vows column as I always do. I include the details that make a story complete, even when some of those details can feel gut-wrenching, and we independently fact-check everything we can about our subjects and the timeline of their relationships.
People can find love in the most trying times. That’s what makes it so beautiful, and inspiring. I spend my days listening to couples share their journeys with me, and I smile, laugh, gasp and nod my head vigorously every time. And I hope that readers feel the same way.
Hearing Mr. Saadallah and Ms. Kabaja’s story was emotional. They sent me photos from throughout their relationship, including a selfie from one of their meet-ups during the war. When she felt sad, he made silly faces to cheer her up.
But I was also relieved that they were safe. They told me that their bond made them feel safer. Their phone calls gave Ms. Kabaja hope and kept her going.
Since their story was published, the border crossing between Gaza and Egypt has reopened. But the flow of those leaving and returning to Gaza has been limited. Mr. Saadallah has moved to Milan, where he was accepted into a master’s program; Ms. Kabaja remains in Gaza. They are still looking for a way to reunite, possibly in Italy.
Their trials and tribulations have made their journey to saying “I do” far more complex than that of other couples I’ve interviewed. But when it came to their feelings for each other, it was just like any other Vows column and like any other story about young love. Crushes, slow burns, replying to Instagram stories and sending each other funny memes, first-date nerves, holding hands, bonding over career ambitions, falling in love and mustering the courage to say “I love you” for the first time — these feelings and experiences are universal.
Sadiba Hasan reports on love and culture for the Styles section of The Times.
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