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On Nov. 8, the Boston Symphony Orchestra presented a thoughtfully curated program featuring Toru Takemitsu’s “Requiem for Strings” and Antonín Dvořák’s “Violin Concerto in A minor, Op. 53” and “Symphony No.7 in D minor, Op. 70.” The concert carried a powerful commemorative significance: Japanese conductor Nodoka Okisawa, a protege of Seiji Ozawa, led the orchestra, while Midori, the Japan-born American violinist and one of Ozawa’s former collaborators, appeared as soloist. The pairing of Takemitsu, whose repertoire Ozawa introduced to BSO, and Dvořák, one of his most beloved repertory choices, formed a deeply personal tribute to the late maestro, who died last February after six decades of shaping the BSO.

The evening opened with Takemitsu’s “Requiem for Strings,” a work of suspended breath and quiet sincerity. The piece can be seen as either a dedication to Takemitsu’s teacher Fumio Hayasaka or as a eulogy for himself, since he was ill when he composed the piece.

The composition is a syncretism of the spiritual transience of Japanese aesthetics and the qualities of the Second Viennese School. Okisawa’s precise conducting drew an intimate and translucent sound from the orchestra, existing somewhere between silence and utterance. The soliloquy of the viola emerged like unspoken memories rising to the surface. The textures were sorrowful yet exquisite — shaped with patience and depth. The piece’s mysticism set a tone of reverence for the evening.

Midori made a graceful entrance for Dvořák’s violin concerto. The first movement carried weight and urgency, propelled by a dramatic orchestra, with Midori’s notes sometimes blending in with the orchestra. Midori’s playing was both lyrical and boldly electrifying: Sudden ascending lines, shimmering high arpeggios, and bold rhythmic clarity sharpened the concerto’s folk spirit. Her interpretive approach balanced precision with vulnerability.

The second movement shifted into introspection. A sense of melancholy permeated the music — meditative, contemplative, and with a tinge of tragic feeling. Midori’s tone glowed with quiet intensity, the phrases unfolding like a personal confession. At times, the orchestra felt misty, with horn calls with fog-like softness and flute lines drifting from the distance. Midori leaned into the violin, bending as though listening to the music’s source rather than producing it. Her performance was vivid and full of engaged emotions.

The rondo finale lifted the atmosphere into joy — spirited, energetic, and reminiscent of the spirit of Czech folk dance. Dvořák’s folk rhythms surged forward with youthful exuberance, and Midori navigated the rapid passages with luminous clarity. Underlying the brightness, brief shadows of sorrow returned, reminding listeners of the concerto’s emotional range. The final cadence was triumphant and almost ceremonial.

Midori responded to a standing ovation with an encore: Bach’s “Prelude in E major from Partita No. 3.” Her performance was radiant, with precise articulation, flawless pacing, and a sense of timeless movement.

After intermission, Okisawa returned with Dvořák’s “Symphony No. 7,” infused with Czech patriotism and influence from Brahms. Her conducting was more dramatic and relaxed compared to the first half of the concert. The theme opened with a dark, restless intensity. Okisawa drew sharp contrasts between dramatic surges followed by quiet, brooding passages. Woodwinds offered moments of warmth, while the brass glowed through the texture with restrained power.

The “Poco adagio” unfolded softly and lyrically. The tender flute solo felt almost confessional, supported by warm layers of brass and cello. The movement carried the atmosphere of a distant narrative, cinematic in its pacing and emotional clarity. The “Scherzo” shifted into playful furiant, an energetic Czech folk dance with shifting accents. The movement had distinct rhythmic textures and overlapping voices. Plucked strings, dancing woodwinds, and dark-hued viola lines created a lively yet slightly dusky scene.

The finale returned to the darkness of the symphony’s first movement, charged with urgency and brooding passion. The tone was foreboding yet resolute, growing toward a monumental climax. As the music transformed from minor turbulence into triumphant major harmonies, there grew a sense of witnessing a threshold, something breaking open, grief turning into the concluding notes of majestic affirmation.

Like a ritual of remembrance, the evening felt imbued with the presence of Ozawa: His repertoire, his artistic lineage, and his spirit echoed powerfully throughout the Symphony Hall of today with the splendid performance of Midori and steady conducting of Okisawa.

—Staff writer Dailan Xu can be reached at dailan.xu@thecrimson.com. Follow her on X at @Dailansusie.