Over four hundred guests, a party that has been planned for a long time with the rites that precede the wedding already started days ago. Everything was ready for the wedding of Rivka and Michael, two Israeli boys who were supposed to say 'I do' on Sunday 8 October in front of many friends and relatives. Then the news of the Hamas assault, the incessant sirens, the massive mobilization of reservists and Michael's call upset the plans. The two young people decided, at first, to postpone everything, warning the guests of the cancellation of the wedding. But immediately afterwards they changed their minds and rescheduled the ceremony, in a very strict way, to make that long-awaited promise but also to send a message of confidence towards the future: "We thought it was important to celebrate the wedding at the scheduled time, which could offer a kind of encouragement to the nation, especially now that Israel suffers so much", Rivka told The Times of Israel after the wedding at a new location, a small town hall in Nofei Prat, a West Bank settlement just outside Ma'ale Adumim.
"We celebrated a lot more than we would have at the ceremony we had planned, we hugged each other, trying to be strong despite the pain." A pain that is also a concern for the young Rivka, who only the next day had to say goodbye to her Micheal, who had left to join her unit, and return to her family's home. But their story is not the only one.
The same decision to get married despite the war was also made by Aaron and Tamar Greene, 23 and 21 years old, who last Monday pronounced the fateful yes, canceling the party of 300 people - many arriving from abroad - and bringing forward by two days the ceremony, transformed into a last-minute, after he was called back for backup duty. They got married on Aaron's parents' balcony, improvising a hastily arranged toast catering by the bride's brother and sister. "It was special: there were so many different emotions," Tamar said, "not to mention the sirens that sounded during the ceremony, making the guests run into the Mamad, the safe rooms used by Israelis to protect themselves from attacks. "Hopefully we can spread some light and happiness," he added.
And Maor and Gal Peretz did the same thing, reorganizing a ceremony in the neighbor's courtyard on the fly, giving up the big party they had been preparing for months. Small, great stories of love that resists and looks beyond war.
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