Attending a performance by the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra at New York’s prestigious Carnegie Hall has become an experience far beyond mere musical appreciation.
Audiences arriving for their recent concerts found themselves navigating anti-Israel demonstrations, facing intensified security checks for coats and bags, and observing security personnel stationed discreetly around the stage. These external factors often led to noticeable delays in the concert’s commencement.
The orchestra’s latest residency, spanning from Wednesday to Saturday, unfolded under an exceptionally strained atmosphere, necessitating additional security measures. The initial performance occurred just days after Israel and Hamas had agreed to a cease-fire in Gaza. However, by the final concert, the fragile truce had already fractured, with renewed violence underscoring the precariousness of the situation.
Lahav Shani, the Israel Philharmonic’s esteemed music director, has consistently articulated his desire to separate the ensemble from the political landscape of Israel. He emphasized that the Philharmonic operates independently of any governmental faction or party, asserting, ‘As an orchestra, as an organization, we speak with a singular voice – the voice of music.’
While this vision is admirable, its practical application is far more intricate. The orchestra benefits from a significant government subsidy, reportedly around 15 percent of its funding. Furthermore, its official biography proudly labels it ‘Israel’s premier cultural ambassador,’ and historically, their Carnegie Hall performances frequently opened with ‘Hatikvah,’ the Israeli national anthem.
Notably, the national anthem was absent from last week’s concerts. Despite this omission, the pervasive external circumstances made it virtually impossible to experience the Israel Philharmonic’s music in a purely apolitical context, free from its national identity.
This entanglement is particularly frustrating as it risks overshadowing the orchestra’s genuine artistic achievements and the significant evolution occurring under Lahav Shani. Since taking the helm as music director in 2020, following Zubin Mehta’s remarkable fifty-year tenure, Shani has ushered in a new era for the ensemble.
At 36, Shani is already a recognized talent across Europe and is set to assume the role of chief conductor for the Munich Philharmonic next year. Beyond his conducting prowess, he is an exceptional pianist, renowned for his sensitive pedalwork and profound lyricism. In moments of particular brilliance, he has even conducted Prokofiev’s Third Piano Concerto directly from the keyboard.
A dedicated chamber concert at Zankel Hall on Friday provided a splendid showcase for Shani’s pianistic artistry and his collaborative synergy with the Israel Philharmonic musicians. Alongside Ron Selka, whose clarinet soared with pure, expressive tones, Shani beautifully sculpted Paul Ben-Haim’s “Songs Without Words.” Later, he delivered a compelling and impassioned rendition of Shostakovich’s Piano Quintet, joined by four string players.
In performances with the full orchestra, however, Shani’s results were more varied. Leonard Bernstein’s “Halil,” featuring principal flutist Guy Eshed, captivated with its haunting, desolate beauty. Yet, Shani’s interpretation of Tchaikovsky’s final three symphonies, a familiar and frequently performed repertoire, lacked a certain conviction.
Tackling such well-known works is inherently challenging, and for Shani, it regrettably didn’t yield the desired impact. Neither he nor the orchestra demonstrated the precise discipline and insightful perspective recently evidenced by the Cleveland Orchestra under Franz Welser-Möst in their powerful advocacy for Tchaikovsky’s Fourth Symphony, revealing its profound layers of meaning and intricate craftsmanship. Similarly, Kirill Petrenko and the Berlin Philharmonic delivered comparable depth in their renditions of the Fifth and Sixth Symphonies.
In contrast, the Israel Philharmonic’s approach to these symphonies often felt like a series of emphatic, almost blunt statements. Shani’s conducting gestures were intensely fervent and dramatic, conveying the intended sonic shape even without sound. Unfortunately, this often resulted in a performance where sheer volume seemed to be the primary mode of expression, and intricate musical details were frequently obscured amidst the fervent excitement.
During climactic moments and rapid passages, Shani appeared to lose his firm grip on the ensemble. The passionate Romantic swells of the Sixth Symphony, for instance, were delivered with a somewhat muddled execution, and the intended sprightly lightness of its third movement came across as an ill-defined blur. Moments of rubato, where he attempted to stretch the tempo, often felt like a struggle, a ‘tug of war’ between the conductor and his musicians.
However, the orchestra truly shone in its other programming: a compelling exploration of works by Paul Ben-Haim, a pivotal figure in Israeli symphonic music. Shani and his musicians championed Ben-Haim’s compositions with an undeniably infectious commitment.
Born Paul Frankenburger in Bavaria, Ben-Haim received his training and composed within a steadfast Germanic tradition. After relocating to Tel Aviv in 1933, he famously recounted that in the Israel Philharmonic’s nascent years, it conspicuously avoided playing three categories of works: those by Richard Wagner, Richard Strauss, and ironically, Israeli composers.
Ben-Haim’s Symphony No. 1 holds the distinction of being considered the first symphony composed in Israel, having premiered in 1941 with the Palestine Symphony Orchestra, the direct forerunner of the Israel Philharmonic. While the work features subtle nods to local sounds, such as a syncopated hora dance in its spirited finale, Ben-Haim’s European classical roots remained evident. His Violin Concerto, presented with amiable skill by Pinchas Zukerman at Carnegie, might carry an Israeli inflection, yet its musical idiom firmly resides within a lyrical post-Romantic framework.
It is his Second Symphony that perhaps most clearly embodies a unique stylistic identity. The Israel Philharmonic, led with undeniable enthusiasm and eloquence, guided the audience through the work’s expansive journey: from serene pastoral bliss to vibrant dancing playfulness, plumbing depths of profound despair, and ultimately, ascending to an apotheosis of folk-inflected joy and grandeur.
In that exhilarating culmination, the music almost, but not entirely, succeeded in eclipsing the tumultuous geopolitical realities that lingered just beyond the concert stage.