4.2 Musical Case 2: Echoes from Bethlehem
In this case study, the laboratory of improvisation serves as a site for exploring identity through collaboration, situated in one of my field trips to Palestine during this research. It delves into my ongoing collaboration with Faris Ishaq, a Nay master and percussionist from Beit Sahur, a Palestinian town east of Bethlehem. Together, we navigate our Palestinian identity and cultural memory through improvisation.
This case study draws from our summer 2023 reunion, where Faris and I shared an extended conversation and a subsequent improvisational session. Founded in our long-standing artistic and personal connection, this gathering deepened our shared exploration of identity through sound. Our shared process of creating naturally ties into the broader themes of this research, which have continuously surfaced during our time together across diverse contexts, musical expressions, and settings. Over the past 11 years, improvisation has been the cornerstone of our connection and central to our shared musical language.
Faris and I first have always collaborated in Bethlehem, a city steeped in cultural, spiritual, and political significance. Bethlehem’s history as a site of continuity and disruption shaped our music, serving as both a geographical and symbolic anchor. As Palestinian artists, our shared experiences became the foundation of our artistic relationship. Faris’s profound connection to the Nay and my own lifelong relationship with the Qanun created a synergy that allowed us to engage with our heritage. Like Palestinian embroidery knits the blessings of the land and the wisdom and tenacity of ancestors into magical patterns and as Dabke dancing resembles the purest form of dancing to the nation, so it is the Palestinian music which serves as a conscious use of any music to the greater cause of Palestinian self-determination (McDonald, 2013).
Improvisation lies at the heart of our collaboration where music becomes an act of liberation. These improvisations allow us to reclaim agency, articulating the complexities of our existence and tackling the fact that simply being and creating becomes a profound act of defiance (El-Amyouni, 2024). The voices of the Nay and Qanun, central to Arabic music, carry the weight of Palestinian history, knitting centuries-old traditions into a living narrative that resists erasure and reimagines identity through sound. “Traditions created so much beauty,” Faris noted, “but they also come from stories, struggles, and hardships. Tradition is not static—it is a living, evolving force.” This duality—honoring the past while reimagining it—infused our session with a profound sense of purpose.
Yet, as our collaboration draws on the deep traditions of Arabic music while integrating global influences from our years of travel and cross-cultural collaborations. This dynamic aligns with McDonald’s observation that “Palestinian lifeways constitute the ideational and performative links between the self and the nation” (McDonald, 201, p.21). By allowing these influences to flow into the music, it becomes a living archive, shaped by the interplay of tradition and evolution. Bethlehem, both a physical and symbolic space, serves as a grounding force for this archive, with its sacred and cultural significance
This mirrors the broader theme of my thesis—exploring how artistic freedom allows for the survival and evolution of cultural memory in contexts of ongoing ethnic cleansing of Palestinians. Through this collaboration, we reaffirm our commitment to the freedom to innovate and connect. This work contributes to a broader conversation about what it means to create, resist, and belong in a world that often denies us these fundamental rights.
The reunion with Faris in Bethlehem was a significant moment in my research journey. After years of being apart, this encounter brought our connection into sharper focus, both as collaborators and as individuals navigating the layered complexities of being Palestinian artists. It became a living embodiment of the key questions driving this research. How can music navigate identity and conflict? How does it preserve cultural memory while opening space for innovation? And how can it connect us to ourselves, each other, and the infinite dimensions of being? Through this session, these questions found resonance—not in definitive answers, but in the act of playing, listening, and being present.—a bridge between past and present, self and other, and the visible and the unseen.
A core approach in this case study was a conversational dialogue between myself and Faris, centered around the core themes of this research. This method allowed us to explore, reflect, and deepen our connection to the present moment, feeling the pulse of the place we were in at that particular time. As part of this process, I transcribed our conversation and analyzed it, unpacking the layers that resonated with the journey we were navigating through our collaboration. This reflective practice serves as a means of understanding how our discussion shaped the improvisational outcome. Echoes from Bethlehem is rooted in a return to our origins—a reconnection with the land, people, and traditions that have shaped us. This also extended to more tangible, physical aspects of our collaboration, as we met during my field trips to Palestine for the purpose of this thesis.
Faris and I started talking about the artistic and personal struggles we have gone through over the years. He shared with me his processes of reconciliation with his instrument, the Nay, and the fears he felt being a largely self-taught musician entering formal music spaces like Berklee. He described to me a very important realization: "The character of the instrument says more than what Faris says. The universe is bigger than all of our thoughts about how music should be played." Our conversation unfolded into a reflection about our mutual journeys, both shaped by uncertainty and a continuous search for authenticity. The struggle to balance structure and spontaneity in our music paralleled the broader challenge of navigating fragmented identities. As I shared my reflections on improvisation, I noted its sacredness as a practice: “I cannot plan improvisation. It connects deeply with essence and invites others to take part.” This reciprocal sharing of ideas and experiences reestablished our connection, as musicians and as individuals exploring the vast dimensions of existence.
For Faris, improvisation is not about imposing oneself on the music but about listening deeply to what it wants to become and along with each musician, the music “melts together” into something greater than the sum of its parts. Faris also speaks of the importance of stillness and awareness in improvisation, and that the music is a mirror of self-reinforcement of our conversation and the music we created. Each note, each silence, became an expression of presence—a way to connect with ourselves, each other, and the broader pulse of existence. Our musical session was inspired by the concept of flow, which feels effortless. Improvisation became the natural extension of our conversation, embodying the themes we had just explored.
Faris’s approach in music as “effortless flow” influenced the direction of our session. He reflected, “Harmony wants to happen by itself. Music wants to happen by itself.”, highlighting the importance of letting go of control and allowing the moment to guide the process. This insight connected deeply to the nature of improvisation—how to remain fully in the moment while navigating the pressures to shape music into something structured and shareable.
Faris comments that improvisation requires trust—not only in one’s collaborators but in the process itself. One of the most powerful ideas Faris shared was his belief in the integrity of musical impulse. “Pulse cannot deceive you,” he said, reflecting on how the fundamental rhythm of music serves as a guide through even the most complex improvisations. As Krishnamurti, a renowned philosopher and spiritual teacher, suggests, true exploration requires freedom from preconceptions, allowing the mind to observe life as it is (Krishnamurti, J., 1976). This notion felt particularly relevant during our session, where the interplay between the Nay and qanun unfolded organically, guided not by preconceptions but by the pulse of the moment. This trust was evident in our session, where we navigated odd rhythmic patterns and unexpected harmonic shifts with mutual respect and curiosity. These moments mirrored the interconnectedness of our experiences as artists and fellow human beings.
The interconnectedness in our improvisations is palpable to the connection of the land, where the sounds of the qanun and Nay seemed to echo the landscape itself. Faris’s reflections on language further deepened this connection. He spoke of the Arabic term “سبحانية” (subhaniyyah), which contains the root meanings of “now” and “flow with God.” It is a concept that mirrors the improvisational act—a surrender to the present moment and the divine flow of creation.
As we played, my mind wandered back to the path that had brought us to this moment. Faris’s insight into the question “Why do we go through the dissolving of the ego?” is that the journey, with all its challenges, is fun. It is interactive. This recognition of both the struggle and the joy of self-discovery felt deeply personal to me, echoing my attempts to reconcile the fragments of my identity through music. This revelation is consistent with Krishnamurti’s perspective on examining life without distortion: allowing the mind to observe and interact truthfully. In this sense, improvisation becomes a meditation—a way of being fully present and open to the unknown. Our session concluded with a shared realization: music is not merely a tool for expression but a vehicle for transformation. As Faris observed, “It becomes a relationship of trust,” where each musician leads their truth, yet the music melts into a unified whole. This dynamic mirrors the broader themes of this inquiry, where music serves as both a personal refuge and a collective voice.
Looking back, this encounter with Faris was as much about reconnecting with myself as it was about reconnecting with him. The elements we discussed—presence, impulse, and the dissolution of ego—are fundamental not only to our music but to the broader exploration of identity and belonging that supports this theory. Through our conversation and improvisation, I was reminded of the power of music to hold space for reflection, to bridge the gaps between past and present, and to offer glimpses of a deeper truth. This encounter reaffirmed the importance of listening, not just to the music but to the silence between the sounds, to the pulse that guides us, and to the truths that emerge when we allow ourselves to be fully present in the now. Reflecting on *Echoes from Bethlehem*, I am left with questions that expand the scope of my research. How does the act of returning—to a place, to a collaborator, to oneself—shape the creative process? In what ways does improvisation serve as a bridge between the personal and the collective, the past and the present? And how can music continue to offer a space for Palestinians to assert their identities in a world that so often seeks to erase them?
To listen to a longer version of this session as audio, you can play it here on SoundCloud platform:
