Fragments of Memory Falling is a dialogue between presence and absence, between what once stood and what remains. Written for cello and piano, the piece weaves fragments of melody and silence, evoking the echoes of spaces lost to time. Though inspired by personal recollections of family and place, it extends beyond a single story inviting the listener to reflect on the fragile nature of memory, home, and the voices that linger even after walls have fallen.

At times tender, at others restless, the music shifts between structure and dissolution, much like memory itself — fading, resurfacing, reshaping. The cello and piano converse across distances, not only as instruments but as echoes of lives, places, and histories that refuse to be forgotten.

Another dimension of the dialogue between absence and presence is found in the kind of interaction and support that shaped my composition, particularly during the challenging years of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. It is in this context that I wish to dedicate this work to the Italian pianist, philosopher, and historian of music, Alberto Nones, whose generosity and friendship accompanied me throughout this journey.

Indeed, different places and different stories can engage in dialogue—as Alberto and I have done throughout the process of bringing this piece to life and preparing it for its premiere recording—and they can resonate together. To belong to humanity is, in essence, to participate in this kind of exchange: one of support, understanding, and cooperation across distances and differences.

Through this dedication, I wish to express my gratitude to Alberto Nones, not only for his unwavering support and sincere friendship towards me, but also for the solidarity he has extended to my fellow conationals during these extremely hard times. We met at The Edward Said National Conservatory of Music, in Palestine, an institution where I once served as faculty and Academic Coordinator, and where he was later appointed Honorary Professor. These are the kinds of collegialities that endure.

“Memory is a house that never truly falls — its walls may crumble, but its echoes remain, drifting through time like whispers in the wind.”