The last time I picked up a survey of Israeli art it nearly made me miss my flight. The book, Ronald Fuhrer’s Israeli Painting: From Post-Impressionism to Post-Zionism, was intriguing, but not exactly scintillating. My mistake was admitting to a security guard at Israel’s Ben Gurion Airport that it was a gift from a friend. This flourish of candour set off a chain of whispers, furrowed brows and exhaustive luggage searches. Who was this ‘friend’? Was this book even mine? What did it say? Finally content that the book was probably not a weapon of mass destruction, I received it back with a grunt of disapproval that let me know I should be a bit more careful with such contraband in the future.