One could look at Mohammed and May's story as a romantic tale, in which two lovers overcame all the odds to be together. In reality, this is the sad story of a young couple who suffer under circumstances that are unlikely to change. (SPIEGEL ONLINE)

He lived in the Gaza Strip, she in the West Bank. It seemed as though the Israeli blockade would prevent their marriage. Then May risked her life to crawl through a smugglers' tunnel into Gaza and join Mohammed. Now they face an uncertain future together.

When Mohammed Warda first took his bride in his arms she looked "as if she had just stepped out of a grave that was filled with earth." He had spent an hour sitting nervously by a big hole in the ground in the Gaza Strip, while May crawled backwards through the tunnel, keeping her eyes closed because of the sand that trickled from the roof. Her groom had to pay $1,500 (1,021 Euros) for her to be smuggled through a tunnel from the Egyptian side of the border to the Gaza Strip. And 23-year-old May knew the whole time that the risky undertaking could cost her her life.

Mohammed had been honest with her when he phoned her, telling her of the dangers she faced. First of all there were the Egyptians who were trying to cut off the tunnels, sometimes by throwing gas grenades down the shafts. Dozens of people working on the tunnels had been killed in recent months by these methods. Furthermore there were the Israeli air strikes to contend with: Ever since Israel failed to halt the smuggling during the Gaza war they launched at the beginning of the year, its air force had taken to sporadically striking the border with Egypt.

And then there was the danger that the tunnel could simply collapse. "I knew that I could be buried alive at any moment," May says. After almost an hour underground she staggered into Mohammed's waiting arms. "I was shocked," the 26-year-old says. "I felt so bad that she had gone through this ordeal for me."

Internet Engagement

May and Mohammed's story began one evening three months earlier. The entire clan had gathered in the Warda family's humble apartment in the Nuseirat refugee camp in the Gaza Strip. Ten family members were sitting in front of their most prized possession: a computer with a webcam that kept them in touch with their relatives in the West Bank. A red-faced Mohammed Warda was holding the mouse, and his cousin May appeared on the screen surrounded by her relatives. "Why are you so red?" was the first question May asked the man her family had agreed would be her future husband. Mohammed mumbled something before the fathers took over the conversation. "Are you agreed?" they asked. Mohammed and May smiled at each other via the webcam and nodded. The families cheered.

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An engagement contrived by one of the fathers, spouses who are already second cousins: So far, the story of Mohammed and May sounds like an everyday tale from the Arab world. However, their story differs from those of the many other couples who enter into arranged marriages in a few vital ways. First of all, the two fell in love in the weeks following their online engagement. May and Mohammed got to know each other by phone, webcam and e-mail and a virtual romance blossomed. Secondly the barrier to their love and marriage was formed by politics of the highest order.

The Gaza Strip has been sealed off by an Israeli blockade ever since the radical Islamist group Hamas had prevailed in a violent power struggle there in 2007. One and a half million people are trapped in one of the most densely populated areas on Earth, according to the United Nations. The fact that the Palestinians living there are forbidden from leaving the Gaza Strip or moving to the West Bank has been described by the UN as "collective punishment."

To read the full article please visit Spiegel Online.