Yitro's Blueprint for Justice

 

One of the themes of this week’s Parasha, Yitro, discusses the importance of establishing a properly structured judicial system. The subject is introduced by Yitro, the Priest of Midian and Moshe’s father-in-law. As the experienced and well-established leader of Midian, he is aware that the founding of a fair, accessible and just judicial system is one of the most important pillars of any society.

When Yitro observes Moshe judging the people alone, from morning to night (18:13), he identifies two problems. The first is his concern for Moshe’s well-being, He is worried that, eventually, Moshe “will surely wear” himself “out” (18:18). The second danger that Yitro sees is communal stagnation. It may cause restrictions or a delay of justice and weaken the people, "so the people that are here with you” (18:18). In other words, justice that depends on a single figure, no matter how heroic that figure is,is unsustainable. 

“Moshe,” explains Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, “must learn to delegate and share the burden of leadership.” (Covenant and Conversation, Justice or Peace)

Towards that end, Yitro proposes a model for a judicial structure. The court system which he introduces is decentralized, tiered and hierarchical. It includes the appointment of "chiefs of hundreds, chiefs of fifties and chiefs of tens” who will judge the people on a regular basis (18:22). It resembles the structure of a pyramid. Whereas routine and simple cases are handled locally, difficult cases are escalated upward by the chiefs at the bottom of the structure; difficult or precedent-setting cases reach Moshe.

As far as judges are concerned, Yitro does not ask for charisma or brilliance but moral reliability. According to him, they should possess four traits: competency, fear of G-d, commitment to truth, and display aversion to corruption.

This is the Torah’s first explicit institutional design - a blueprint for governance.

Though Yitro’s suggested system is not democratic in a modern sense, it is anti- tyrannical and is remarkably advanced for its time. In order to fully understand its novelty and unique nature, one must delve into the practices of the Ancient Near East, the backdrop against which Yitro formulated his scheme.

In most ancient Near Eastern societies, such as Egypt and Mesopotamia, the king was seen as the god-appointed source of law, and justice flowed downward from him. Yitro’s system takes a very different approach. Instead of placing all authority in one ruler, it spreads judicial power among local judges chosen for their moral integrity.

This change is not just about efficiency; it reflects a new understanding of law itself. Law is no longer tied to a single leader but stands above all leaders, grounded in ethical responsibility and covenantal duty. In this way, Yitro reshapes familiar ancient structures to create a system of justice that is limited, accountable, and attainable, quietly but decisively challenging the royal model of justice that dominated the ancient world.

In a way, Yitro’s proposed structure anticipates key principles of the modern judicial system, especially in terms of accessibility, appeals and distributed authority. It marks the Torah’s rejection of solitary, sacralized power and the birth of what Sacks refers to as a “covenantal society” in which authority is shared, law is institutionalized, and leadership is morally accountable rather than charismatic.

Shabbat Shalom

The Four Stages of Redemption

 

                                                   

Parashat Va’era, spanning chapters 6:2 through 9:35, in Shemot (Exodus), marks the turning point in the Exodus story. After Moshe’s first failed encounter with Pharaoh, G-d reassures him that redemption will now unfold through divine power. G-d reveals Himself to Moshe by His holy name, emphasizing faithfulness to His promises, and announces the beginning of the plagues that will break Egypt’s hold over Israel.

At the heart of the h stands G-d’s great promise of redemption, expressed in four stages (Shemot 6:6–7):

“I will bring you out” – God will ease the people’s suffering and remove them from the crushing burden of slavery.

“I will rescue you” – God will free Israel from Egyptian domination and bondage.

“I will redeem you”  – God will act as Israel’s Redeemer through miracles and judgment, restoring their dignity as a nation.

“I will take you to be My people” – Redemption reaches its highest point when Israel enters a covenant with God at Sinai.

Classic commentators understand these four expressions of redemption, and at the same time, each adds a different layer to what “redemption” really means.

Rash”i, for instance,  reads the verses very concretely and sequentially. Each act of G-d is a distinct stage: relief from the burden of labor, freedom from servitude,                                                              redemption through miracles and judgments and becoming G-d’s people at Sinai. For Rash"i, redemption moves from physical relief to political freedom to divine intervention to spiritual destiny.

Ramba”n differs in his commentary on the term “redemption.” For him, the Exodus from Egypt is not redemption. True redemption, he believes, happens when Yisrael becomes G-d’s People and G-d becomes their G-d. Whereas the first three stages are historical, he asserts,  the fourth is theological. Freedom without Covenant. is incomplete freedom. (Mikra’ot Gedolot, Shemot 6:6–7).

Sforno, another classical Jewish scholar, sees the four stages as a movement from existence to mission.  The first three stages ensure survival and freedom from oppression and the restoration of dignity. The final stage, “and I will take,” he believes, gives purpose. Am Yisrael is not just saved from something. It was saved for something, to become a moral nation dedicated to G-d’s service. (Sforno on Exodus 6:6-7). 

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch. Rav Hirsch reads these four stages as a pedagogical process. Slaves must learn firstly that suffering is not destiny. Then they have to learn that power does not define truth. Then they must learn that G-d redeems history. Finally, they must learn that Freedom is service to G-d, not independence from all authority. Each step trains them to understand what freedom really means (R. Samson Raphael Hirsch, Commentary on the Torah, Exod. 6:6–7).

Rav Joseph B. Soloveitchik interprets the four expressions as the transformation from a people of fate (victims of history) to a People of destiny(G-d’s partners in shaping history. The first three stages remove oppression. The fourth gives Am Yisrael identity and responsibility. Redemption is not merely being freed from Pharaoh; it also means being called to G-d (Reflections of the Rav, Vol. 2, pp. 88–114).

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks explains that the four expressions of freedom show that Redemption is not just liberation from tyranny, but transformation into a People of covenant and responsibility. Sacks emphasizes that the Torah defines redemption not as liberation alone, but as liberation plus law. Many nations escaped tyranny in history.  Yisrael escaped tyranny and entered a covenant and vowed to fulfill its moral code and its values. Freedom without values leads to chaos. The covenant turns freedom into responsibility. For Sacks, the four expressions trace the journey from slaves→ to citizens→ to a holy nation. (Sacks, Jonathan. Covenant & Conversation: Exodus – The Book of Redemption. Commentary to Exodus 6:6–7 Parashat Va’era).

These four stages of redemption are the basis for the four cups of wine at the Pesach Seder-each cup celebrating one stage of redemption.

However, immediately following the four phases in the parashah comes a fifth one, “I will bring you to the land” (Shemot 6:8). Why is it not counted among the four? 

Rash"i suggests that the promise of the land, as mentioned in the above verse, was not fulfilled for that generation. He bases his assertion on the Torah itself, where it shows that the Exodus generation was redeemed from slavery but not yet ready for life in the land, so the final stage of redemption had to wait for their children — turning the fifth expression into a promise of future completion, not immediate fulfillment. Some scholars explain that this is why we pour the fifth cup, Elijah's cup, at the Seder, - a symbol of the redemption still to come.

                                                              Elijah's Cup (inscribed on it, Shemot 6:8)

 
Ramba”n disagrees with Rash”i. For him, all five expressions form one unified process of redemption. Even if the Exodus generation did not physically enter the land, the promise of “and I shall bring you” was still genuinely part of their redemption. A promise made to Yisrael, according to Ramba”n, can be fulfilled across generations and still be considered the fulfillment of that original redemption.

Parashat Va’era opens at the darkest moment of Israel’s story. The people are crushed by slavery, Moshe is disheartened, and even Pharaoh seems more powerful than before. It is precisely here, in the depth of despair, that G-d introduces one of the Torah’s most enduring promises — the four expressions of redemption. These phrases do more than predict the Exodus; they define what redemption truly means in Jewish thought. Redemption is not a single dramatic escape, but a process — moving from relief from suffering, to freedom from oppression, to national restoration, and finally to covenantal purpose. Parashat Va’era teaches that true freedom is not merely leaving Egypt, but becoming a people who live with meaning, responsibility, and divine mission.

Angel, Man, or G-d, Who Was Yaakov’s Adversary at Yabbok?

 

"And Yaakov was left alone, and a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn" Bresheet 32: 25

The identity of the being Yaakov wrestles with, in Bresheet, 32:25-33 Parashat Vayishlach, is one of the most discussed passages in Torah literature. The account is haunted by ambiguity and has engaged the attention of many scholars.

According to Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks,"Yakkov, himself, had no doubt. It was G-d." Sacks bases his assertin on verse 32 where Yaakov says, "'I saw G-d face to face.'" Yaakov truly believes that he has seen G-d and names the place of the encounter Peniel (face of G-d).

A reader unacquainted with Jewish theology might erroneously conclude, from the verse above, that Yaakov has indeed wrestled with G-d. Yet, Judaism affirms that G-d possesses neither body nor form and rejects any notion of a physical struggle with G-d’s essence. Furthermore, Jewish belief poignatly states that no one can see G-d and live. The foundation of this belief can be found in Shemot (Exodus) 33:20 where G-d says to Moshe, "You cannot see My face, for no human can see Me and live." That also explains why Yaakov is grateful that, following what he believes he has just experienced, his "soul was preserved." (verse 32).  

How, then, have Jewish thinkers resolved the vagueness surrounding this episode?

Most classical commentators say Yaakov wrestled with an angelic being (Malach) which in the Jewish theology simply means “a messenger.” The “man,” many assert, is a Malach whose presence is an epiphany of G-d.

Rash”i (Mikraot Gedolot), Midrash Bresheet Rabbah (77:3) and Pirkei d’Rabbi Eliezer 37 say explicitly that it was the guardian angel of Esav (sar shel Esav). The struggle, as they see it, symbolizes Yaakov’s lifelong conflict with Esav and what the latter represents. They treat the fight as a manifestation of the metaphysical conflict between the descendants of Yaakov and Esav. 

Ramba”n (Ramba”n Al HaTorah- Mossad HaRav Kook Edition Volume 1 p. 409-412), like many other commentators, believes that the “man” was a Malach since angles can and do appear in physical, tangible forms. According to him, it was a real event, not a dream or vision. 

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, unlike other interpreters, focuses on the exhanges between Yaakov and his adversary, outlined in verse 30, where Yaakov asked, "Now tell me your name," and he [the man] said, "Why is it that you ask for my name?" For Hirsch, the unnamed opponent symbolizes every struggle a human faces, their every fear, every uncertainty and every moral confrontation. If the adversary had a name, Hirsch believes, the story would be about that opponent. By withholding a name, the story becomes universal: every Jew is Yaakov and every challenge is a nameless wrestler (Samson Raphael Hirsch, The Pentateuch: Translation and Commentary Bereishit, pp. ~563–567).

Modern commentators such as Nechama Leibowitz and Martin Buber, see the “man” as Yaakov’s inner self struggling with his guilt about Esav, his strife to shift from the position of Yaakov, the supplanter, who ousts his rival, to Yisrael, the one who ”wrestles with G-d and prevails” and his fear of the upcoming encounter with Esav. (Nehama Leibowitz, Studies in Bereshit (Jerusalem: World Zionist Organization / E. Feldheim), Parashat Vayishlaḥ, pp. 345–347, Martin Buber, On the Bible: Eighteen Studies, “Jacob and Esau,” pp. 58–70). These interpretations may support the contention that the Torah deliberately witholds the name of the wrestler. If Yaakov were told the name, the struggle would become external rather than internal and existential.

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks offers an interesting angle to the identity of Yaakov’s adversary. He notes that the ambiguity is by design. Yaakov’s opponent, he believes, may be a “man,” “angel,” “G-d” or a symbolic figure. What matters more than the identity is the meaning of the struggle, asserts Sacks, is what Yaakov becomes through it. Yaakov transforms into Yisrael and emerges as stronger, more confident, triumphant and, above all, one who holds the promise of eternity.

Am Yisrael Chai and the Eternity of Yisrael Shall Never Lie.

Shabbat Shalom

The Composition of Bresheet (Genesis), Chapter 22

 

In 1976, I was attending the University of California San Diego. One of the courses that I took part in was, "The Composition of the Torah.” The instructor was Professor Richard Elliot Friedman, the author of the best-seller, "Who Wrote the Bible?" It was then that I was exposed to what I am about to share with you, dear readers, in this article. Let me just add that, by sharing the information, it is not my intention to trivialize or disrespect what I consider a very sacred and revered Book. The purpose of writing it is merely to shed light on other views when approaching the study of the titular chapter.

The Torah, as many of us are raised to believe, is traditionally viewed as the word of G-d revealed to Moshe. However, as some may already know, according to some modern scholars,  such as Karl Heinrich Graf (1815-1869) and Martin Noth (1902-1968), and Richard Elliott Friedman, to name a few, it is a composite work, made up of different sources, woven together that were later combined into one book. Each voice contributes its own perspective on G-d, humanity, and Covenant thus creating a text that is both diverse and unified, ancient, yet timeless.

The first of these distinct sources, as identified by researchers, is commonly referred to as J (Yahwist) that uses YHWH for G-d’s name (which, out of respect for my Jewish tradition and my belief in G-d, I will use ONLY for academic reasons). The second one is the E (Elohist) which refers to G-d as Elohim. The other two are P (Priestly), and D (Deuteronomist). Each source tells the story of Yisrael in its own way using different variations of the Divine name and emphasizing different ideas. They reflect distinct patterns, theological perspectives and historical settings. These researchers suggest that a later redactor is thought to have woven the J and E traditions together to create a unified theological message.

Understanding these suggestions helps explain why parallel versions of certain stories such as, Bresheet 12:10-20, J source and Bresheet 20:1-8, E source, to name one, occasionally appear more than once or with slight differences.

Whereas in the Yawhist source, G-d is portrayed as anthropomorphic, a personal G-d that walks, speaks and interacts with humans, as he appears to Moshe in Shemot (Exodus) 3:14-15, and introduces Himself, “This is my proper name, but its pronunciation is to be concealed.” In the J source, He also, often, displays emotions such as love and anger.

In the Elohist source, G-d is transcendent and reveals Himself indirectly through dreams and messengers. It emphasizes fear of G-d and focuses on moral and prophetic themes.

The story of the binding of Isaac (Akedat Yitzchak) in Bresheet 22, one of the themes in this week's Parashah, “Vayera,” offers a striking example of the complexity of this composition. It is one of the most discussed chapters in terms of source criticism which led scholars to suggest that the text may combine E and J strands.

The chapter tells of G-d testing Avraham by commanding him to sacrifice Isaac. It also shares with us Avraham’s last minute rescue of his son when an angel intervenes.

Within this one chapter, the Divine name shifts from Elohim (G-d) to YHWH (The Lord) and the tone of the narrative changes from severe testing to merciful intervention. These features suggest that the account may combine two traditions, one emphasizing obedience and fear of G-d (E), the other, J highlights divine mercy and covenant faithfulness.

Throughout this Chapter, two divine names appear. In verses 1-10, Elohim (G-d) tests Avraham. Avraham Obeys, builds an altar and binds Isaac. Verses 1-14 shift to the J source where YHWH stops Avraham, a ram is substituted and the place is named “YHWH Yireh.” In verses 15-18, the J source of J redactor, offers a second Divine message, the Covenant is reaffirmed and the promise that Avraham’s descendants will be blessed is delivered. Verse 19 which concludes with a remark that Avraham returns to Beersheva is neutral.

Other, more traditional Jewish sages such as Rash”i, Nachmandis, Ibn Ezra and of course, my favourite Rabbi, Lord Jonathan Sacks, have addressed the account of the binding of Isaac and, as always, I highly recommend that the readers take the time to read them. I was  fortunate enough to personally discuss this story with Sacks. Here is his approach and interpretation of  this rather interesting and meaningful chapter.

https://rabbisacks.org/covenant-conversation/vayera/binding-of-isaac-new/

Shabbat Shalom

The Reciprocality of the Sinai Covenant

 

In this week’s Parashah, “Ekev,” Moshe reminds Am Yisrael that obedience to G-d’s commandments, adhering to the terms and the moral code of the Covenant, entered at Sinai,   will bring blessing, security, and prosperity. Disobedience, on the other hand, will lead to hardship and loss. He reminds Am Yisrael of the ordeals and miracles that transpired in the desert, the manna, the water and G-d’s coaching and preparing them to assume nationhood.  Moshe emphasizes gratitude and humility. He warns them against arrogance whereby they attribute their prosperity to their own strength and abilities, (“My power and the might of my hand have gotten me this wealth,” 8:17). This, he cautions, will come at the cost of losing their spirituality and faith in G-d. In other words, material abundance and depersonalization must not cause spiritual forgetfulness — Am Yisrael must remember its dependence on G-d even in times of plenty.

Moshe also reinforces the prohibition to follow the ways of other nations and the worship of foreign gods. He reproves them, again, for the sin of the “golden calf”

The name of this Parashah, “Ekev,” comes from its opening words, “Vehaya ekev tishme’un…..” “And it shall come to pass, because you will listen….” (Deuteronomy 7:12)

The word ekev, in this context, as the translation suggests, means “when it came to pass,” “because,” or “as a consequence.”  However, ekev  is derived from the Hebrew root ע,ק,ב, which, literally, means “heel.” It shares the same root as the name Ya’acov (Jacob), one of our forefathers. As many may know, in Hebrew, words that have the same root are almost always related in meaning since the root carries the core semantic idea. Who, among us, does not recall that Ya’acov was given that name when he came into the world holding onto the heel of his twin brother Esau? 

Jewish scholars, through the ages, pondered over the choice of the word “ekev” in the verse.

Rabbi Ari Kahn, for instance, asserts that “Had the Torah wished to state this wonderful result” of obeying the commandments,“in more straightforward terms, describing the ongoing relationship with G-d and the dynamic nature of His Covenant with the Jewish People, simpler words could have been employed.” Kahn further suggests that the use of the word “if” would be more appropriate since “it is the most straightforward word that connotes conditionality.”

Both Midrash Tanchuma, Parashat Ekev (section 1) and Rash”i believe that the word “ekev” was deliberately selected. They point to an additional message that is conveyed by it. According to them, it refers to commandments that people might treat lightly and thus tend to “trample them under their heels.” The “heel” metaphor, they suggest, is employed to remind us that even the simplest mitzvot, those that might be neglected or underestimated, bear significant reward. 

Or Hachaim (Chaim Ibn Attar 1696-1743) also dwells on this challenging choice of word after which the parashah is named. He believes that “ekev” hints at the end of days (“at the heels of history”) - that the ultimate blessing will come when the mitzvot are fully observed.

Rabbi Sacks highlights a different theme, a very significant one, in my view, of this parashah, one that is closely related to the titular name of this essay. His interpretation leads him to conclude that it teaches us about the “Spirituality of Listening,” principally when “the listening” is to an invisible G-d.  Sacks bases his assertion on the repetitive use of the word “shema” which appears in the opening verse of the parashah, as stated in its opening verse and which is reinforced later in the parashah (11:13).

“Shema,” tells us Sacks, “means so many things, to hear, to listen, to pay attention, to understand, to internalise, to respond, to obey.” Sacks notes that it is “ one of the motif-words of the book of Devarim [Deuteronomy] where it appears no less than 92 times.” Moshe keeps reminding Am Yisrael of the need to hear what G-d is telling us, to listen to what He wants and expects of us and what He will give us in return.

“Listening and speaking,” Sacks tells us, “are forms of engagement. They create a relationship,” and listening, remarks Sacks, is at “the heart of every relationship.” This is particularly important in Judaism, which Sacks defines as “the religion of listening” that is based on “faith in a G-d we cannot see, a G-d who cannot be represented visually.”

That is, precisely, the kind relationship G-d has with Am Yisrael, as is expressed in the Sinai Covenant. It is a Covenant of reciprocality because it is a two-way exchange where each side both gives and receives. It is reciprocal because it is built on mutual obligations and commitments between G-d and Am Yisrael, rather than being a one-sided decree. G-d’s role, in this relationship, is the promise of protection, provision, guidance, and making Am Yisrael a “kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Exodus 19:5-6). Am Yisrael’s part is the commitment to obey G-d’s commandments, including the “lightest” ones, live according to His Torah and adhere to what Sacks depicts as “life of love and love of life,” while fulfilling its role as a moral and spiritual example among the nations.

Judaism and Some Women's Rights

 

                          "Why should our father’s name be eliminated from his family because he had no son?" - Numbers 27:4

One of the themes of this week's Torah portion, Pinchas, concerns women's rights to inheritance and ownership of property in Jewish Law.

Modern - day Women's Rights movements, as we know, have argued, over time, for social, political, and economic equality of the sexes. Ancient Judaism, as history shows, arose, as a religion, in the cradle of the patriarchal world of the Ancient Near Eastern cultures and, similarly, did not set women’s rights as its mission.  

These patriarchal societies, as the name suggests, were highly male dominated where men held primary power, with authority in political leadership, moral authority, social privilege and ownership of property. It meant that male heads of households controlled family structures, inheritance law and religious life, among other spheres of influence. 

Though in some cultures (notably Mesopotamia), women had legal rights to own property, manage businesses, initiate divorce or even hold spiritual roles, these were exceptions and reserved mostly to the elite class.  Even the Hammurabi Code (a legal code dating back to Babylonia, circa 1754 BCE), which provided wives and widows with some protective regulations, considered progressive for the time, still treated women as some form of possession.

Despite the restrictions on women in ancient Jewish law, Judaism specified some rights and valued roles that stood out when set side by side with other contemporaneous ancient societies. It is safe to argue that Judaism contains some proto - feminist elements in comparison to other archaic Near Eastern religions.

One can spot such elements already in the story of creation, recounted in the book of Bre’esheet. There, Torah tells us that “G-d created humankind in His image, male and female He created them” (1:27). In a world such as the Ancient Near East, where myths demean women, the notion that a woman is created in G-d’s image was considered radical.

Another example pointing at some egalitarian overtones in the Eden setting, can be found in Bre’esheet 2:24 where it states, “Therefore, a man shall leave his father and his mother, and cleave to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.” This decree which goes counter to the practice of patrilocality, exercised in other societies, at that time, where wives moved to their husbands' family home suggesting deep union, was revolutionary.

This week’s Parashah takes the titular theme one step further. It is a landmark Torah episode that addresses inheritance rights and highlights women’s role in shaping Jewish law.

The Parashah informs us that prior to entering the Promised Land, G-d instructs Moshe to partition the Land according to tribes, more precisely to the males in each tribe. In the case of death, only the sons will receive their father’s inheritance, thus ensuring that it remains in the family.

One family in the tribe of Menashe, the Zelophehad family, had only daughters. Their father died in the desert. The five daughters are concerned that they will not be entitled to land. They turn to Moshe to request their share.

Since patrilineality, the practice whereby descent and inheritance pass through the male line was the convention, at that time, it was an eventuality unexpected by Moshe. He, therefore, turns to G-d. G-d sides with the daughters, upholds their righteous claim and orders Moshe to grant them their request. This, naturally, is remarkable, especially in a tribal society where land was passed only through males. What is even more momentous is that the Torah adjusts the inheritance law in response to women’s advocacy, challenging existing norms.

There was, however, one condition to granting their request. They must marry men from their own tribe.  Rabbi Sacks sums this episode very succinctly, “The daughters did not lose their rights to the land,” he states, “but they did lose some freedom in choosing their marriage partner.”

Many Jewish scholars claim that it is the wisdom of Zelophehad’s daughters which brought about that outstanding achievement. Here is an overview of what some Jewish sources consider wise about them.

Midrash Sifrei (Numbers 133) states, “The daughters of Zelphehad were wise, they were interpreters of the Torah.” They understood that the purpose of the inheritance laws was to preserve each family’s stake in the land. By requesting an inheritance, they upheld the underlying value of the law, not just its letter.

Rash”i believes that it was their right approach which was respectful and sound that convinced G-d to respond favourably. “The daughters of Zelophehad speak rightly,” says G-d (Numbers 27:7). “Fortunate is the person,” claims Rash”i, in his commentary on this verse, “whose words the Holy One, blessed be He, agrees with.”

Midrash Tanchuma (Pinchas 9) asserts that their wisdom is reflected in their love for the Land which signals their deep faith in the promise of the Land of Yisrael.

The Babylonian Talmud (Baba Batra 119b) praises them for bringing a question whose answer was included in the Torah but had not yet been explicated. “They saw what Moshe did not see,” it states. Their question created a new legal precedent.

Zelophehad’s daughters have become an enduring model of righteous, intelligent and effective contributors to women’s rights within the Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern context. They turned their personal grievances into a lasting legal reform which made them pioneering figures of moral courage and legal influence at challenging and critical times in Jewish history.

Shabbat Shalom, dear Am Yisrael and fellow Jews and a peaceful weekend to all.