“A Temporary Eternity” reflects a state of memory that returns without warning —brief in time, yet endless in weight. It is the kind of remembrance that does not simply revisit the past, but inhabits the present, tearing gently and relentlessly at the soul.

The piece is rooted in personal memory shaped in Gaza—a place remembered not as it is now, but as it once lived: before exile, before separation, before destruction. These memories arrive in fragments: streets, voices, silences, and ordinary moments that gained meaning only after they were lost.

The solo bassoon speaks from its deepest register, carrying a voice that is human, fragile, and burdened. Its sound breathes slowly, often resisting forward motion, as if memory itself hesitates—caught between the urge to surface and the fear of breaking apart. Lines stretch, collapse, and return, creating a sense of suspended time where seconds feel in.nite and eternity lasts only a moment.

This music does not seek resolution. It dwells instead in the painful beauty of remembering—where the past survives not as history, but as an inner landscape that resurfaces again and again. Each return is brief, yet absolute.

An eternity— temporary, but devastatingly complete.