The cacophony of Iran in Shostakovich’s fourth movement

Violincello Concerto No. 1. For the past 13 years, on my visits to Israel, and most recently four weeks ago, I buy my eyeglasses from a wonderful optician off Derech Beit Lechem in Yerushalyim. I stopped purchasing glasses in my home town of Bala Cynwyd, Pennsylvania for two reasons: first is design and second is metaphorical. I often tell my family and friends that the lens on my face ensures an Israeli perspective.

Recently, with glasses in place, an Israeli lens influenced my hearing when I attended the Philadelphia Orchestra’s performance of Shostakovich’s Cello Concerto No. 1. As the music began to fill the concert hall, the haunting music was a serious foreboding, scary notes signifying the onslaught of October 7. And then a riotous shout of notes. I felt as though I was witnessing the invasion again. My eyes filled with tears. I could not get the images of Hamas invading the Gaza envelope out of my head as the cello’s melody became increasingly jagged. I was riveted and motionless in my seat. Where was this musical journey going to take me?

The second movement entered slowly and evocatively. My Israeli perspective continued. Now I felt the second movement’s restrained and mournful introduction set a tragic tone, representing the brave men of Zaka as they attempt to give gentle dignity to our people. I thought perhaps I’m being overly dramatic. How can I ascribe such meaning to this musical piece and October 7? And then in the midst of this second movement, a Jewish-sounding melody, almost like a lullaby soothes my mind and soul. Apparently, Shostakovich was enamored of Jewish klezmer music and would incorporate its rhythm to achieve certain emotions.

Quickly, we are onto the third movement where the cello is showcased with a 20-minute solo highlighting the cellist’s virtuosity with a super-charged pulsating rhythm. Israel is fighting. I watch as the rest of the orchestra, like the world no longer assisting the cello, sits silently as the cello carries out its musical responsibility. My eyes and ears are focused on the cellist and his outstanding solo performance. Israel is solo, fighting this war on seven fronts, with amazing virtuosity neutralizing and eliminating its enemies. Suddenly, only one other instrument responds and helps the cello in musical dialogue, the French horn. At this point, it becomes clear to me that the French horn is the United States, Israel’s only friend, sending arms, aircraft carriers, and intelligence. But it is the cello that is prominent in the dialogue and it is still in a solo position,

Without a break, because that is what war is, the fourth movement comes charging in. It was stormy, and I was wondering what Shostakovich was trying to accomplish. Now, two weeks later, the fourth movement for me becomes clear: Israel’s pre-emptive attack on Iran. I waited anxiously for the decision of the French horn. Would the cello and French horn play a duet for the entire orchestra so that the audience will give an exuberant standing ovation? Or will the cello continue on alone? The concerto ends with seven timpani strokes. The United States strikes Iran in a cacophony of blasts to help end 46 years of terrorism and threat of annihilation. As this new chapter in Israel’s history begins, I pray that my eyeglasses from Derech Beit Lechem on the bridge of my nose will continue to give me clarity and hope.