Paul Ben-Haim’s war symphonies get just deserts

In Israel, Ben-Haim occupies a cultural position parallel to that of the poet Chaim Nachman Bialik or the painter Reuven Rubin.

Much like the contemporaneous works of composers Dmitri Shostakovich or Sergei Prokofiev, these pieces were forged against the backdrop of global conflict and rising regional tensions.

In the program notes for the January 1941 premiere of Symphony No. 1, Ben-Haim reflects on the gravity of its composition: “It is self-evident that this work... is not free from the influence of contemporary events: the horrible terror of the forces of evil has certainly left its mark on my work.”

While not strictly programmatic, the symphony captures the composer’s abstract reflections on a world in upheaval. These anxieties were literalized shortly after the premiere, when Italian bombings of Tel Aviv and Haifa claimed over 200 lives.

Similarly, the 1945 premiere of his second symphony was punctuated by gunfire from battles in Jaffa during the lead-up to Israel’s 1948 War of Independence.

Today, as a different conflict looms, these works offer a renewed opportunity to revisit Ben-Haim’s synthesis of heroic resolve and musical innovation.

The Munich-born Ben-Haim (Paul Frankenburger) abandoned a prestigious European career and emigrated to British Mandate Palestine in 1933 following the Nazi rise to power. After a period of acclimatization, he emerged as a leading voice in the nascent Hebrew-speaking society. He was met with a specific aesthetic zeitgeist: a call for “local” Jewish-Israeli music that mirrored the Middle Eastern topography and the heritage of diverse Jewish communities.

While Ben-Haim had begun studying the musical traditions of the Middle Eastern Jewish communities in Germany, his immigration accelerated this immersion.

In 1939, Prof. Leo Kestenberg, the musical director of the newly formed Palestine Philharmonic, commissioned an important work from Ben-Haim.

As the composer later recounted in an interview, Kestenberg’s challenge was direct and transformative: “It is all very well what you have written in Germany, but what we need is something local, Israeli.”

The resulting Symphony No. 1 was not only the first symphony composed in the Land of Israel but also the herald of “Mediterraneanism” – the integration of Middle Eastern modalities and rhythms into Western art and music.

From the opening bars of Symphony No. 1, Ben-Haim’s originality is striking. It is a composition that owes much to composers Gustav Mahler, Richard Strauss, and Paul Hindemith. It was also inspired by other Jewish European composers such as Ernest Bloch. An important role is assigned to dotted march rhythms, which resonate with both the geopolitical crisis and the Hebrew folk song of the era.

But it is the second movement of the symphony that is of particular interest, considered one of the earliest examples of Israeli art music. The movement is constructed upon a Persian folk theme, “I will lift mine eyes to the mountains,” which Ben-Haim arranged for Bracha Zsefira in 1940.

Zefira was a prominent singer of Yemenite descent; she gained substantial popularity in Mandatory Palestine by performing the diverse traditional repertoires of Middle Eastern Jewish communities.

From 1939, Ben-Haim closely collaborated with Zefira, arranging well over 30 different folk music themes for their joint concerts in Israel and neighboring Arab countries.

These arrangements catalyzed a transformative shift in his compositional language, discernible through various aspects. On the one hand, this can be discerned through orchestration – notably his burgeoning preference for the harp, oboe, and other woodwind instruments.

Additionally, the arrangements exhibit a notable, growing tendency toward ornamental melodies placed over archaic harmonies, all to effectively evoke the aesthetic world of regional folk traditions.

The final movement returns to a more tumultuous character, culminating in a triumphant hora.

The hora dance, which had become a salient symbol of Israeli identity, was now presented in a full-blown symphonic composition.

By elevating a simple folk dance to a sophisticated contrapuntal structure, Ben-Haim provided the early Yishuv (Jewish community in the Land of Israel, 1880s to 1948) with a symbol of heroic collective identity.

Ben-Haim’s symphony was widely well-received. Writing in the daily Davar on November 22, 1946, Moshe Bronzfat observed that the work “contains the essence of the experiences of a person from Israel during the stormy and terrible period of the Second World War.”

He further noted that “Eastern instrumentation is utilized, and in its rhythmic progressions, the vital rhythms of the hora are prominent.”

International critics similarly recognized this unique synthesis.

In reference to the second movement performed during a 1951 IPO US tour, Virgil Thomson wrote in the Herald Tribune that “it is a lyrical work, Eastern in its melodic connections to chants from the Jewish liturgy, yet entirely Western European in its form.”

Completed in October 1945, the second symphony serves as a bridge toward a consolidated Israeli aesthetic. It stands in lyrical contrast to its predecessor: Where the first is fraught, the second is a work of light and pastoral optimism.

To the work, Ben-Haim appended a motto by the poet Shin Shalom: “Wake up with the dawn, O my soul, on the peak of a mountain above the sea.”

It is characterized by “Mediterranean” ornamental figurations, archaic textures of fourths and fifths, and the use of the oriental hand drum and dance-like rhythmic figurations.

The scherzo (second movement) utilizes another Persian folk song, transformed into a haunting, sardonic dance, while the third movement draws on the Sephardi romance “Montanas Altas,” a lament of rare beauty.

As for the finale, it relies on a motto theme, subtly employing various compositional techniques drawn from Middle Eastern music. Notably, the outer movements create an “original folk” feel without direct quotation, demonstrating Ben-Haim’s mastery of the idiom.

Historical reactions to the symphonies reflect a society searching for its voice.

Following the 1948 premiere of the second symphony, Israeli writer and composer Max Brod wrote that the event left a “deep imprint.”

He further noted that “the work’s classical form ‘completely satisfies our ambition to reach a Jewish character in our music.’”

Other critics were more measured.

The Palestine Post acknowledged Ben-Haim as a “great musician,” while suggesting the “Eretz-Israeli style” was still an evolving journey, though one where the composer was “treading the right way.”

In retrospect, Ben-Haim’s musical achievements are no less than extraordinary.

Recent recordings by Shani and the IPO for Deutsche Grammophon are remarkable in their clarity and restraint. Shani avoids a hurried pace, allowing the intricate woodwind ornamentations – so central to Ben-Haim’s language – to breathe.

Writing for Bachtrack in 2025, Edward Sava-Segal praised the “whirling motion” of the first symphony, highlighting the seamless integration of the tarantella and the hora.

The recording of the second symphony is equally precise. As Joshua Barone of The New York Times observed, following a 2025 concert, the work moves masterfully from “pastoral bliss” to “profound despair,” ultimately reaching an apotheosis of “folk-inflected joy.”

Even 80 years after their inception, these symphonies continue to offer the same solace and resilience they provided in the 1940s, demonstrating that Ben-Haim’s synthesis of heroic resolve and musical innovation remains as vital as ever.