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.