In war-ravaged Gaza, a lone concert grand piano at the Edward Said National Conservatory of Music has emerged as a symbol of resilience and hope. Amid the ruins of over 400 shattered instruments, this Yamaha grand piano, miraculously intact, stands as a testament to the endurance of Gaza’s cultural spirit. For musician Khamis Abu Shaban, its survival offers a rare moment of solace, a reminder that music and hope persist despite devastation.
When Khamis Abu Shaban returned to the Edward Said National Conservatory of Music in Gaza, where he once taught, he braced himself for the worst. It had been months since he’d last seen the place, and the continuing conflict had ravaged much of the city. What he found was even more devastating than he’d anticipated: instruments lay in ruins, broken and abandoned on the streets around the conservatory. Violins, cellos, and the remains of traditional Arabic instruments like the oud, qanun, and nay were scattered everywhere, reduced to splinters.
“The sight was a catastrophe,” Khamis said. “More than half of the conservatory was burned. All the instruments were broken, smashed, thrown outside. It was like a graveyard for music.”
But amid the destruction, one symbol of hope remained. There, untouched by the devastation, stood Gaza’s only concert grand piano—a Yamaha that had survived bombing before, back in 2014. Repaired in 2015 by a French technician, the piano had become a symbol of resilience for the conservatory and the wider community, embodying the aspiration that music could thrive even in times of war.
Khamis, nearly overwhelmed, couldn’t help but smile. “The only…instrument that I saw standing was the grand piano. Honestly, I smiled when I saw it. I smiled and I laughed,” he said. “I started talking to the piano. I asked: ‘Are you the only survivor of all the instruments? You don’t want to die?’”
For many in Gaza, that piano is more than just an instrument; it’s a testament to the enduring spirit of music and culture, a beacon for those who dream of a life beyond survival. Khamis and others hold on to the hope that one day, the piano might play again for a room filled with people, in a place where peace has found its way back.
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