This is a masterly twentieth century work for flute and orchestra by one of music's most distinctive fine composers. Leonard Bernstein almost always had an extra-musical association at the heart of his works, even those couched in abstract forms such as his three symphonies.

He never applied the term "concerto" to any work of his, but in fact wrote two concertos, both with string orchestra and percussion for their accompanying forces. One of them was the well-known Serenade for violin, based on Plato's great dialogue Symposium, a free-form musing on the nature of love.

Among the many interests of American composers Leonard Bernstein (1918 - 1990) was his deep commitment to the State of Israel, and particularly his devotion to musical life in that embattled country. He was not a founder of the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra, but he was virtually its godfather, and he took an interest in all phases of the development and training of musicians in the country.

One young musician of whom he took note was a highly promising flutist named Yadin Tanenbaum. Like all Israeli males he had his role to play in the country's armed forces, and was called up to serve in the Sinai War of 1973, where he was killed in his tank at the age of 19.

After composing his major American Bicentennial commemorative musical 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Bernstein was able to turn to some more personal composition projects, especially some works celebrating musical friends such as Mstislav Rostropovich and the Boston Symphony Orchestra. When his thoughts turned to Israel he composed this work, dedicated "To the Spirit of Yadin and his Fallen Brothers."

The title of the work is the Hebrew word for flute, halil. As is true of many of Bernstein's music, especially after the 1950s, the basic melodic material of the composition flows from a twelve-tone row and, as is, again, often the case this tone series appears in a statement at the beginning of the piece.

However, this heralds not an atonal work but a composition pitting atonality against tonality—again a typical Bernstein dichotomy. This is not a struggle where atonality represents chaos or, necessarily, inimical forces. Sometimes the certainty of the note row has its elements of stability, where tonality takes one into unsettled territory. Both versions of this dichotomy are present in Halil.

Bernstein said that "In this case, I sense that struggle as involving wars and the threat of wars, the overwhelming desire to live, and the consolations of art, love, and the hope for peace." Typical Bernstein elements are present: The unexpected nervousness of American rhythms, a (minimum in this case) reference to Jewish elements in his music, bright orchestration and use of percussion, and his special way of expanding out of tortured music into the richest, most consoling sort of melody.

In the end there is a hanging uncertainty: Though consolation has been gained for past losses, the music does not let the listener forget that hostility is ever ready to return.

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