Something Called Terrorism

Such thoughts accompanied me unremittingly through to the end of our Israel Jubilee tour, which ended in glory in the world’s most beautiful city, Jerusalem, where for three days I meditated on the nature of “The Enemy.” The next day I was in Vienna, to rehearse, perform, record, and film a difficult new program, with a whole new orchestra, my Vienna Philharmonic. Tough; rough schedule; but that’s my problem. On the one hand I breathed a sigh of relief; security was off; I could take a walk without a cop, or fierce dogs, no chorus line of Carabinieri. On the other hand, I was after all in Vienna, the capital of a country which only a short time before had elected a certain Kurt Waldheim to the presidency, I had been barraged by mail protesting my return there, implying that an abrupt and highly publicized cancellation would have some far-reaching political effect. Nonsense. Who am I to have political effect? I just work here, don’t push me; I’m a simple, hard-working maestro. Well—maybe some little political effect, but certainly not from the negative action of canceling a visit; how passive, what a non-action. Far better to go and face the situation—which is not such a bad one, given that unbelievable orchestra which plays like one hundred angel-fingers growing out of my hands, and which not long ago made me an honorary member (and I’m the only living conductor to have that honor), so I’m proud of them and close to them and spiritually somehow akin, whether we play Mozart or my own Kaddish Symphony (the best performance of Kaddish I’ve ever heard, by the way)—so, like I’m saying, its like not so tough, this Vienna situation, know what I mean, not so tough, Okay?

Reverting now to the English language (forgive me, I can’t imagine what possessed me) we are now in Vienna, free to walk, but not free of that haunting concept: The Enemy. Especially here in Vienna, after that gruesome election last May, there is universal enmity; it is a city divided against itself, or else as some think, it is a city at loggerheads with the whole rest of Austria. Whichever is true, everyone is someone’s enemy—although you’d never really notice it. The streets are full of happy young people, the sun is shining, the museums are thriving, and there’s music, music everywhere. Still, the present chancellor of Austria, a vigorous, personable, youngish man named Franz Vranitzky has called new elections in November. This is very brave for a popular chancellor and the current leader of the Socialist government to do, but he must, because there is an enemy in the air, and it must be confronted: if it is real, and strong, it will be recognized and fought with democratic debate; if it is not, then it must be dispelled for the ghost it is, whatever its name.

Now I will move swiftly along, since this is all a bit more than you care to hear so late in the evening. I arrived in Vienna on Monday, and found an invitation to dine alone with Chancellor Vranitzky on Friday. Now that very Friday night was going to be Rosh Hashanah, the start of the Jewish New Year. Roth Hashanah ushers in not only a hopeful new year, but also a special 10-day period of penitence, re-evaluation of self and others, prayer and meditation on one’s relationship to God, and a lot of forgiveness, culminating 10 days later in the holiest of holidays, Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.

And so, upon arrival, my moral computer began whirring away, and I conceived what I regard as the champ idea I’ve ever had, namely to invite Vranitzky to my hotel suite for a real Jewish New Year feast (catered, of course) and to invite as well the great ex-Chancellor Bruno Kreisky, now old and out of power, but my dear old friend whom I’ve always regarded as a major statesman of the world, as opposed to just a splendid politician. Now Vranitzky is not Jewish, but Kreisky is, although he has been incredibly misunderstood by his fellow Jews and has taken a lot of drubbing at their hands. In short, they both accepted, and arrived punctually at 8:30 on New Year’s Eve. What they did not know was the really tricky part of my plan, that is, to invite for coffee and liqueurs at 10:30 two political enemies, bitter enemies, the bitterer for having been former close allies, now not on speaking terms for three years, who are also close friends of mine in Vienna. And their ladies.

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Now, being a hostess is not exactly my forte, and here I was trying to conduct a social symphony, if you will, of amazing complexity, especially when it would get to that tricky scherzo at 10:30; but I was possessed, and inspired with the notion of exposing this concept, this Begriff [idea], that we call “enemy,” and returning it for good, for constructive action. I will spare you the details; suffice it to say that it worked. Not mere politeness by any means; we got down to all the toughest problems, but without a harsh word, nor a melodramatic exit. Of course the talk quickly turned to the Waldheimer syndrome, and to Kreisky’s possible involvement with him (he had proposed him in 1970 for secretary-general of the UN)—which led us inevitably to the banality of evil (for Waldheim himself is so wormy a figure that he is beneath discussion)—which led us in turn to the adagio, slow movement of our New Year’s symphony—socialist ideology, which had for 13 years, under Kreisky, made Austria a model of neutral democracy—in one of the toughest spots on earth, the easternmost outpost of the Western world. We spoke of the morality of socialism, working so well with capitalism both domestic and foreign, the ideology of equality—a word one hears a lot but doesn’t yet quite comprehend. Which of course led us to Moses and Plato and Christ, to say nothing of Kant, Hegel, Marx, and Freud—all of whom have been institutionally corrupted by greed and power. But especially we talked of Jesus (Austria is a fiercely Roman Catholic land)—and only naturally, because it was Rosh Hashanah, the time of re-assessment, repentance, and forgiveness. Love thy neighbor. Turn that other cheek—Kingdom of God, Prince of Peace—love, God, peace: words which have gotten so overused they sound like Muzak, easy listenin’, nice wallpaper.

So there we were, a roomful of putative enemies, engaged in warm debate, deep rapprochement, and even some pretty funny stories, some witty rejoinders. In short, it was a smash hit. Kreisky, being the oldest, left first, surrounded by his security; as I walked him to the lift he said, “Lenny, this was the best evening I’ve had in two years.” My heart leapt up; Hope! Happy New Year! Perhaps a re-united front for socialist ideals! After all, that’s the only way to combat the neo-Nazi disease that produced Alzheimer—I mean, you know; and the disunity of that once-united front is certainly what elected him, or gave him the disgraceful impulse to run, in the first place, as candidate for president of Austria. Enough of this Rosh Hashanah story; I think I may have done my bit, without a press conference or a single interview.