Two Paintings, Reunited by an Iranian Missile

Art in Tel Aviv

A couple of days ago, I spent a lovely evening at the Tel Aviv Museum of Art. My friend and I attended a gallery talk about the new Reuven Rubin show—an exhibition that owes its existence to an Iranian missile.

During the Iranian attack in June, a missile landed close to Bialik Square. The Rubin House, his former home and now a small museum dedicated to his works, was severely damaged by the missile. Luckily none of the paintings suffered. Carmela Rubin, who is the painter’s daughter-in-law, and the director of his museum, rushed to the Tel Aviv Museum for help and safety.

The staff agreed immediately to safeguard the paintings—but then they had an idea. What if we hold a show? They had had their eye on those works for years. Getting them under these circumstances felt like the perfect chance to turn lemons into lemonade.

Here's what you need to know: the museum's upper gallery walls are half-empty. The major international artworks that usually hang there—Picasso, Monet, and others—had been moved to underground bomb shelters, since otherwise they couldn't be insured. But Reuven Rubin isn't Picasso or Monet. He's a lot cheaper to insure.

Normally, preparing such an exhibition would take at least a year. Here, they had only three weeks. The team kept it simple—less than ten works by other Israeli artists, intuitively paired with Rubin’s paintings, and all the rest - by the artist himself.

Along with Nahum Gutman, Rubin is one of the quintessential Tel Avivian artists, depicting the city in its early, hopeful years.

The Zeppelin Over Tel Aviv, 1929

One highlight on loan is this faux self-portrait: Rubin painted his bronze bust, created by his friend from Paris, sculptress Chana Orloff. In the background floats a zeppelin, which really did pass above Tel Aviv in 1929, showering confetti on crowds celebrating Purim. The ra'ashan, a noisemaker, lays on the table and hints at the holiday.

When it comes to Israeli art, no museum rivals Tel Aviv’s—not even the national museum in Jerusalem. Yet there was one Rubin painting from the Rubin House they’d coveted for years, eager to finally hang it beside the one already in their collection.

The painting on the right had always hung in the main museum—it shows Rubin reuniting with his family who immigrated from Romania.The background features olive trees symbolizing Eretz Israel. Rubin, as always, paints himself holding a palette and brushes. The painting on the left is from Rubin House, on loan, and portrays the artist, same pose, same red house slippers, with his son David and his wife Esther. His hair is grayer, the only sign that many years separate the two portraits.

The artist with his family

The two paintings clearly speak to each other. For decades, they hung on opposite sides of the city.

It took an Iranian missile to reunite them.