Israeli artist David Broza’s performance, “Concert for Peace,” was on March 22 at the Kennedy School. His musical selections, which included songs in Spanish, Hebrew, and English, reflected the influence of many cultures.

The Forum at the Kennedy School seems an unlikely site for a rock concert. Nonetheless, the venue welcomed renowned Israeli musician David Broza to its stage March 22 for a night of trilingual folk music called “Concert for Peace.”

The newly-formed Israel Caucus, a student group at the Kennedy School dedicated to promoting awareness of Israel and its culture on campus, was responsible for bringing Broza to Harvard. His presence at the Forum—which rarely, if ever, hosts artistic performances—suggested the culturally sophisticated vision of the fledgling Caucus.

With a pair of conspicuous flags—one American, the other Israeli—at the back of the small round stage and masses of plastic chairs arranged in the auditorium, Broza’s concert of Hebrew, Spanish, and English folk music threatened to swallow itself in maudlin tokenism. The Caucus gave Broza an ominously exoticizing introduction: “We want to give you a taste of what Israel is all about.” Fortunately, Broza, a disarmingly charismatic performer, proved that he and his acoustic guitar have universal appeal—although a little knowledge of Spanish and Hebrew couldn’t hurt.

This, of course, would hardly surprise his army of fans. With 19 records to his name, Broza is a veritable legend in some places. During many of his most popular songs, the audience’s collective voice overwhelmed Broza’s, joining in with music that seems to have become as much theirs as his.

It’s easy to classify Broza as a folk singer, but that label is ultimately too restrictive. He sees the guitar not as a piece of machinery, but as a living body that can produce music in varied and frequently surprising ways. Broza opened the set with a hailstorm of frenzied flamenco-like sequences that rose and fell in intensity and speed. His musical relationship with flamenco is complex and profound (Broza spent much of his childhood in Spain), with even his gravelly voice bearing a striking resemblance to that of Gipsy Kings front man Nicolas Reyes.

In fact, a proper homage to Broza’s guitar virtuosity would require a much lengthier discussion. His understanding of the possibilities of the guitar was often admirable at the Forum—as when he abandoned the strings altogether and re-envisioned it as a percussion instrument. At other times, Broza’s technical mastery of the instrument was nothing less than unbelievable. For instance, he would sometimes hold down the strings on the fretboard and strum with the same hand.

Given Broza’s prowess with the guitar, it’s no wonder that he cast a spell with his music. Yet Broza is also a born performer, from the endearing gap between his teeth to his relaxed sense of humor, from his low, soothing voice to his obvious comfort in front of an audience. Haphazardly stopping between songs to tell long stories about himself, Broza demonstrated a kind of insouciance that contributed to his strength as an entertainer.

In an interlude between songs, Broza explained that his lyrics come from poetry written by others because he doesn’t have as much faith in his writing skills as in his musicianship. Of course, good poetry doesn’t always make good lyrics, and the lyrics he chooses (at least in Spanish and English—I can’t speak to his selection of Hebrew lyrics) often show the kind of over-wrought balladeering that is endemic to folk music. To try to give you an idea, a sizeable chunk of his songs are in alternating quatrains; the hook to one song is, “Somebody make me laugh, / Somebody make me cry, / Somebody tell me something / That my heart can’t deny.”

The last piece of the set was the song that launched Broza’s career, titled “Yiyeh Tov,” or “Things Will Get Better.” An apt finale for the iconic musician, the song is celebrating its 30th anniversary this year. Broza has often revisited this staple of his repertoire since it first came out, adding several new verses.

“I didn’t know I would get stuck with it,” he joked.

The song, written when the Prime Minister of Egypt visited Israeli soil for the first time, has become an emblem in Israel for hope of the real possibility of peace. It was also a fitting—and touching—end to a concert organized by a student group dedicated to open-mindedness and intercultural dialogue.