Now the whole world knows how tragically wrong they were. For the last five weeks, their home in central Israel has been a virtual prison. Jamil does not leave the apartment for fear of being arrested by authorities. He no longer works, answers the phone or opens the door. Ella’s family and friends rarely visit. (Her father claims he can’t talk to her anymore because “[she] has become a Palestinian.”) “I thought we could live in both worlds,” says Ella, a successful interior designer. “Today, I don’t think we can live in either.” According to attorney Irit Rosenblum, who runs New Family, a family-rights group that takes cases like Ella and Jamil’s, as many as 100 couples find themselves in the same predicament. “These people were born of the peace process. Today, they are its prisoners.”

Ella, also in her 30s, grew up in a secular Jewish home in central Israel. She never even met an Arab until her teens (other than workers). Then she was introduced to a neighbor’s guest from Gaza. “Having been raised on the idea that Arabs are the enemy, I was shocked that he was so respectable, so normal,” she recalls. Encouraged by the euphoric atmosphere after the 1993 Oslo accords, Ella felt increasingly optimistic about the peace process. She joined one of a number of peace initiatives bringing together Israelis and Palestinians in discussion groups and social events. (Since the riots broke out, they have all been shelved indefinitely.)

That’s where she met Jamil. “The moment I set eyes on him, I knew I had met my twin soul,” Ella says. Jamil was similarly drawn to the shy woman who sat with him late into that first night in Gaza, impressed by her candor. Dating was no simple matter. As a Palestinian, Jamil needs a work permit to enter Israel. Staying overnight is strictly illegal. Bringing his Jewish girlfriend to the strait-laced West Bank town of his birth was impossible. Much of their courtship was conducted via e-mail, interspersed with furtive meetings at the homes of sympathetic friends. After months of secrecy, they decided to tell Ella’s parents. They were less than happy, and hoped it was a passing phase. When Jamil began extending his visits to Israel, Ella’s father constantly reminded Jamil that he was breaking the law by being on Israeli soil. In an attempt to legalize their impossible situation, Ella and Jamil decided to get married.

A big wedding in Israel or the West Bank was out of the question. Jamil’s mother had welcomed the petite Israeli woman into the family as a friend, not as a future daughter-in-law. Jamil’s mother still doesn’t know that her son broke so radically with tradition. Ella’s family, horrified by her decision to marry Jamil, greeted the announcement with stony silence. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” was all her mother would say. A ceremony in Israel was also impossible because the country permits only religious ceremonies and mixed marriages are not allowed. Jamil and Ella finally married in a brief ceremony in Cyprus. No celebration, no telegrams, no flowers–“but the strongest love in the world,” says Jamil.

Since the outbreak of violence last month, the vows that Jamil and Ella made are being put to the ultimate test. As well as their own safety, they are worried about Jamil’s family, who have long been criticized by their neighbors for having a son who socializes with Israelis. Last week rumors circulated that the Israeli military was shelling the West Bank. Residents were told to leave their homes and take refuge in shelters. But locals made it clear that Jamil’s family was not welcome there. “You have your peace process to protect you and your son,” they told his mother. “That will keep you safe.” Now Jamil has become a target, both for the Arabs, who regard him as a renegade, and for Jews, whose laws he breaks. (To legally reside in Israel, he must await an Interior Ministry decision that could take as long as five years.) “The peace process has backfired on us,” Jamil says, anxiously lighting a Marlboro. “We’ve shot ourselves in the heart.”

In a desperate move, Jamil and Ella have petitioned U.S. officials for political asylum. “Jamil is the love of my life,” says Ella. “I don’t want to lose him.” The odds of getting permission to immigrate to America are slim. But for now, it is the only hope they have.