Armed with bags of fireworks and only a rudimentary knowledge of how to use them, Muhammad Sheeb directed a group of fellow revelers to set up pyrotechnics along a darkened street in preparation for the wedding convoy.
“They’re coming!” he yelled as a line of vehicles arrived, led by the bride and groom’s white SUV adorned with red roses. The sky above the town of Binnish in northwestern Syria erupted in explosions of color, and well-wishers waved flares and sparklers.
Syrian weddings are loud affairs. Music blares, drum beats are deafening, women break out into choruses of ululations. The wedding procession is a convoy of vehicles honking through the streets.
For as long as people can remember, the crack of celebratory gunfire has filled the sky above the festivities — even though falling bullets would occasionally wound or even kill people.
Shooting in the air was also an expression of joy at the birth of a child, a graduation, the homecoming of exiles. It commemorated sad occasions, too, such as funerals.
The new government, formed by the rebels who ousted the Assad dictatorship in December, is trying to change the practice as part of efforts to bolster security and reduce the spread of weapons.
The tradition, which may have its roots in how military victories were celebrated, is not unique to Syria.
It was illegal under the Assad regime, too, but Syrians say that payoffs to the police kept the ban from being enforced. During the nearly 14-year civil war, the problem worsened as every caliber of weapons spread.
And sometimes, partygoers took it to another level.
At a wedding in 2014 in Aleppo Province, an attendee fired a rocket-propelled grenade, said Muhammad Dandar, head of information for a police district in the provincial capital. That same year, Mr. Dandar said, he attended a wedding where a celebrant threw a hand grenade.
A number of Syrians say they welcome the change as an overdue crackdown on a dangerous custom. After years of war, they are ready for the guns — even in celebration — to fall silent.
Now, if a weapon is fired at a wedding, the authorities can seize it and levy a $100 fine. If the gun is not handed over, a relative of the groom — his father or an uncle, perhaps — can be detained until the firearm is turned in.
“We don’t take the groom,” Mr. Dandar said, offering up a concession.
He recalled a recent wedding where a young girl was hit in the leg by a bullet fired in the air by an attendee. The shooter was arrested.
Fireworks, banned under the Assad regime for safety reasons, are now more available. Even in inexperienced hands, they are usually a safer alternative.
“This is my first time using fireworks,” Mr. Sheeb, 30, said as he fiddled with some flares. “We used to shoot in the air with the rifle and fill the sky with bullets, and every time, a few people would be injured,” he added.
“These don’t injure anyone,” he said, pointing to a box filled with fireworks, “unless we’ve set them up incorrectly.”
In an small store on a street in Aleppo, Ahmad Zubaeda was stocking shelves with fireworks recently. By week’s end, he said, they would all be sold out.
In addition to selling fireworks, he offers pyrotechnic shows. This summer, he was booked nearly every night, he said.
At one wedding this summer in Ariha, a town in northwestern Idlib Province, the groom’s father asked anyone who had a gun to stow it.
“The appearance of fireworks is much nicer than just shooting into the air,” he said. “And we’ve moved from a time of gunfire to a time of celebrations.”
Safa Jahjah and her fiancé, Yahya Ziwani, made a similar request before their August wedding in Binnish.
“We didn’t want any shooting,” Ms. Jahjah said, “because we’ve just come out of 14 years of war.”
Changing tradition is not easy, though.
As Ms. Jahjah got ready inside her house, the festivities had already begun outside. Men congratulated the groom, danced and nibbled on sweets. Drumming reverberated across the neighborhood.
To accompany the couple’s wedding convoy, friends ignited fireworks, filling the sky with dazzling colors.
A few guests ignored the couple’s request. A young man fired a rifle in the air, and another let off several shots from a handgun.
Inside their flower-adorned vehicle, Ms. Jahjah and Mr. Ziwani fretted about breaking the rules.
The groom’s cousin, Mustafa Ziwani, who had been directing the wedding events, seemed unconcerned.
“We’re not afraid,” he said, with a slightly maniacal grin. “Here in Binnish, we’re men!”
Not long after, at the reception hall, the police turned up. The groom’s brothers negotiated and no one from the party was detained.
The next day, when the groom was supposed to begin his honeymoon, he had to report to the police station. He was fined $100 and ordered to turn in a rifle. But Mr. Ziwani, a 25-year-old farmer, didn’t own one.
“I had to buy one for $500,” he said, “and hand it over.”
Muhammad Haj Kadour contributed reporting.
Raja Abdulrahim reports on the Middle East and is based in Jerusalem.
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