In the harshest moments of my exile, when the distance from my homeland weighed heavily on me, my family was facing even greater tragedies in the heart of Gaza City. Our three houses had been reduced to rubble under relentless bombardment, and they were forcibly displaced, living each day under the threat of starvation and death.

I tried with all my strength to save them, to find a way out of that inferno, but every path was closed. The costs were impossibly high, far beyond my reach, and I had nothing more to give. For two years, I had been sending what little I could, just to help them survive in a place without work, without prospects, where prices rose uncontrollably under siege and war.

Amid this crushing burden, I found myself living a moment completely different. The Italian pianist Alberto Nones organized a concert in Porto Recanati devoted to performing some of my works and sharing my story. Through the generous fundraising efforts of Porto Recanati Solidale, together with a most generous personal donation from Alberto and his in-law, essential support for my family in Gaza was gathered.

Among the many hands that contributed, one gesture struck me deeply. It came from Marzia Zacchia, a gentle woman I had never met, an admirer of Alberto and a devoted lover of Chopin’s music. Her heartfelt donation—sent from Switzerland, since she could not attend the concert—added to those raised by Porto Recanati Solidale, and left me speechless. I decided to honor Marzia by dedicating one of my musical works to her: Nocturne No. 4 — “The Ones Who Believed.” I wanted this piece to reflect her delicacy and grace, the transparency of her spirit, and the sincerity of her compassion, while also connecting it, through its title, to all those who, amid silence and indifference, have done something for the Palestinian cause.

Harsh fate intervened once again. While I was composing the second section of the Nocturne, my father called me from Gaza. His voice was broken, heavy with grief. He told me that the place where they had taken refuge had been bombed, and that he had lost his brother together with his entire family. His words struck me like lightning. I felt compelled to translate my anger, intertwined with sorrow, into music—music that carries the torment of loss, yet remains tender, like Marzia. Like all Those who believed.