Gaza’s Musicians Reopen Bomb-Shattered Conservatory – in Tents
Gaza s musicians reopen bomb shattered – Amid the stark backdrop of Gaza’s summer heat, a patchwork of makeshift tents now serves as the temporary home for the Palestine National Conservatory’s Gaza branch. These structures, tethered to a stretch of wind-swept sand, offer a fragile haven for music lovers. Inside, the echoes of singing, strummed guitars, and the melodic hum of a violin and flute create a contrast to the chaos outside. Rows of crowded shelters, sweltering under the sun, stand alongside battered cars and broken carts on a road pockmarked by war. Above, the low drone of Israeli military aircraft hangs over the scene, a constant reminder of the destruction that has reshaped the landscape.
Once a symbol of cultural vibrancy, the conservatory’s original premises in Gaza City were a hub of creativity, housing three pianos and store rooms brimming with instruments and musical scores. Alumni of the institution had once performed on global stages, their talents celebrated across continents. But that era has been replaced by the remnants of a shattered dream. The classrooms, practice rooms, and auditoriums—once alive with the sounds of learning—were reduced to rubble during the Israeli offensive that ravaged Gaza between October 2023 and October 2025. Alongside the physical devastation, the conservatory’s extensive archives were lost, severing a vital link to its history.
Amid this wreckage, Ahmed Abu Amsha, a musician and former teacher, strives to restore the conservatory’s legacy. Originally from Beit Hanoun in northern Gaza, he now operates from central Gaza, where he teaches guitar and guides choirs. For Amsha, music has transcended its role as mere entertainment, becoming a lifeline for those grappling with trauma. “Before the war, music was a way to relax and grow,” he said. “Now, it’s a tool for psychological healing. We work with children who carry the weight of fear and loss, helping them find solace in sound.”
The war’s toll extends far beyond the conservatory. Over 72,000 Palestinians, predominantly women and children, perished during the Israeli offensive, while an additional 1,000 have been killed in subsequent strikes since a ceasefire was declared nine months ago. The conflict began with a surprise Hamas attack on Israel, which claimed 1,200 lives—mostly civilians—and captured 250 individuals. Despite the ceasefire, the territory remains fractured, with 2.3 million Palestinians living under the governance of Hamas in the 40% of Gaza now outside Israeli control. For many, the concept of home has faded into memory, replaced by the uncertainty of displacement.
Among the displaced are nearly all the conservatory’s teachers and students. Some were injured, others lost their lives, and many have moved between shelters multiple times. Abu Amsha recounted the devastation of losing one of his most dedicated students, Yusuf Salman, who was killed when a café in Gaza City was bombed. “He was disciplined, polite, and a true artist,” Amsha said. “His death was a profound loss, as if the very spirit of music had been extinguished.”
Yet, the conservatory’s legacy endures. Its name honors Edward Said, the Palestinian-US scholar and classical pianist whose work on culture and politics inspired generations. The institution’s headquarters are in the West Bank, but its Gaza branch has long been a cornerstone of the region’s artistic identity. Before the war, students like Mohammad Khader, a 17-year-old who began learning the oud—a traditional Arabic string instrument—here a decade ago, had access to comprehensive education. “We studied books, notation, and both theory and practice,” Khader recalled. “It was a structured world, a place where music was more than a hobby.”
Today, Khader lives in a tent near Deir-al-Balah with his family, having been displaced from his northern home. He now teaches younger students, a role thrust upon him due to the shortage of instructors. “Music calms my nerves and gives me peace, especially when life feels overwhelming,” he said. “It’s like a bridge between what we’ve lost and what we still hope to rebuild.”
Reconstruction efforts have been slow, hindered by Israeli restrictions on the flow of goods into Gaza and stalled negotiations for a second phase of the ceasefire. The lack of resources has forced the conservatory to adapt. Classes are held in tents, with limited access to instruments and teaching materials. “We’ve had to simplify our approach,” Abu Amsha noted. “Choirs and practical instrument training are our focus now, but the depth of learning is harder to maintain.”
Despite these challenges, the conservatory remains a beacon of hope. Its presence in tents underscores the resilience of its community, where music continues to provide comfort and connection. For families who have lost everything, the sound of a guitar or the notes of a flute are more than just art—they are a form of resistance, a way to reclaim normalcy in a world upended by violence.
The conservatory’s journey mirrors Gaza’s broader struggle. Founded in 1993, it was a symbol of cultural aspiration in a region often overshadowed by conflict. Its destruction during the war has not erased its influence; rather, it has transformed its mission. “We’re not just teaching music anymore,” Abu Amsha explained. “We’re teaching survival. Every note we play is a step toward healing.”
As the sun sets over the tents, the music continues, a testament to the enduring human spirit. In the absence of permanent buildings, the conservatory has found a new form—a fragile, makeshift space where the legacy of a once-thriving cultural institution lives on. For those who call it home, the sound of music is a promise that even in the harshest of times, art and education will persist, if only in the most unexpected of places.
“Whenever I feel stressed or upset, I turn to music because it calms my nerves and gives me a sense of peace. I feel that I belong to music, just as music belongs to me, especially during this difficult period of our lives,” said Mohammad Khader, a 17-year-old who began learning the oud at the conservatory a decade ago.
The conservatory’s efforts also highlight the broader need for cultural preservation in conflict zones. With few teachers and limited supplies, the institution has become a microcosm of Gaza’s educational challenges. Yet, its adaptability reflects a community determined to keep its traditions alive. As Abu Amsha and others work tirelessly to rebuild, the tents stand as both a symbol of loss and a reminder of the power of creativity to endure.
In the shadow of war, the Palestine National Conservatory’s Gaza branch has become a unique blend of history and hope. Its makeshift classrooms, though temporary, carry the weight of generations. The absence of physical infrastructure has not silenced the passion for music; instead, it has ignited a new form of resilience. As the Mediterranean waves crash against the shores, the music within the tents offers a stark yet poignant counterpoint to the destruction outside, proving that even in the most dire circumstances, the human spirit finds ways to thrive.
