Zevachim 97

Shalom, dear friend! So glad you're here to dive into some ancient wisdom with me. No prior experience needed, just bring your curiosity and maybe a cup of coffee (or tea!).

Hook

Ever stood in your kitchen, staring at a pot after a particularly delicious (or disastrous!) meal, and wondered, "How clean does this really need to be?" Or maybe you've had that moment where you cooked something super fragrant, like garlic or curry, and even after washing, you swear the next dish you make in that same pot has a faint whisper of its predecessor? You're not alone! This isn't just a modern-day kitchen conundrum; it's a timeless human experience.

Think about it: we put so much care into our food. We choose ingredients, follow recipes (or bravely improvise!), and then we want to enjoy the fruits of our labor. But what happens when the "energy" or "flavor" of one dish lingers, potentially affecting the next? What if that first dish was extra special, maybe even sacred? Does its "essence" transfer? And how do we properly cleanse our tools, not just physically, but in a way that truly resets them for a fresh start?

These are exactly the kinds of questions that occupied the minds of ancient Jewish Sages, long, long ago. They weren't just debating dish soap brands; they were delving into the very nature of holiness, intention, and how we interact with the world around us – especially when that world involves food, cooking, and sacred offerings. They understood that even a seemingly mundane act like cleaning a pot could be imbued with profound spiritual meaning. So, if you've ever pondered the deeper philosophy of a clean kitchen, you're in excellent company! Today, we're going to peek into a fascinating discussion from the Talmud that explores these very ideas, offering insights that are surprisingly relevant to our own lives, even thousands of years later. Get ready to have your mind (and maybe your dishwashing routine) gently stirred!

Context

Let's set the stage, shall we? Imagine a bustling, vibrant intellectual hub, a bit like a university campus but steeped in spiritual debate.

Who Were These Folks?

We're talking about the Sages (often called Tanna'im), the brilliant Jewish teachers and scholars who lived roughly between the 1st and 3rd centuries of the Common Era. Names like Rabbi Tarfon, Rabbi Natan, Rabbi Yochanan, and Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi pop up in our text today. Think of them as the intellectual rockstars of their time, sitting in study halls, meticulously dissecting texts, and engaging in lively, often passionate, debates about Jewish law and life. They weren't just academics; they were deeply spiritual leaders shaping the future of Judaism.

When Did This Happen?

This conversation unfolds during the Mishnaic and early Talmudic periods. This was a pivotal time for the Jewish people, especially after the destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem in 70 CE. Even though the Temple, where many of these laws were practiced, was no longer standing, the Sages diligently studied and preserved these traditions. Why? Because they believed in the eventual rebuilding of the Temple, and these laws were fundamental to understanding holiness and maintaining a spiritual connection to God, even in exile. They were building a portable Judaism, one focused on study and community, preparing for a future that blended the practical with the profound.

Where Were They?

These discussions primarily took place in ancient Israel and Babylonia (modern-day Iraq), in places called yeshivot – Jewish academies or study houses. Picture rooms filled with scholars, often in pairs (chevruta), poring over texts, questioning, analyzing, and building a vast body of knowledge known as the Talmud. It was a dynamic, interactive learning environment, far from a quiet library!

What Are We Reading Today?

Our text comes from the Talmud, specifically a section called Tractate Zevachim (which means "Sacrifices"). The Talmud is like a giant encyclopedia of Jewish law, ethics, philosophy, and folklore, built around the core text of the Mishnah (the first written compilation of Jewish oral law). Zevachim focuses on the intricate laws surrounding the Korbanot.

Key Term: Korbanot

Korbanot (Sacrifices/Offerings): Special gifts brought to God in the ancient Temple. (9 words)

These Korbanot weren't just offerings; they were powerful acts of connection, repentance, and thanksgiving. They involved specific animals, grains, or other items, each with its own detailed set of rules for preparation, who could eat them, when, and where. The Sages' debates, like the one we'll see today, reflect their deep reverence for these practices and their commitment to understanding every nuance of how to approach holiness. They understood that every detail mattered when connecting with the Divine. For them, a Korban wasn't just a physical act; it was a spiritual conduit, a way to draw closer to God, and thus, every associated law was imbued with sacred significance.

Think of it like this: if you were preparing a very special gift for someone incredibly important, you'd pay attention to every detail, right? The wrapping, the card, the presentation. For the Sages, the Korbanot were the ultimate gifts, and the laws surrounding them ensured they were offered with the utmost care, respect, and precision. This meticulous approach to seemingly small details is a hallmark of Jewish thought, reminding us that even the "how" of what we do can be just as important as the "what." This lesson from Zevachim 97, though discussing Temple practices, really delves into the universal principle of treating special things with special care.

Text Snapshot

Let's dive into a little piece of this ancient conversation from Zevachim 97. Don't worry if it seems a bit technical at first; we'll unpack it together!

Here's what some of the Sages are debating about cleaning vessels that held sacred offerings:

"With regard to the spit and the metal grill [askela], one purges them in hot water.

...Rabbi Tarfon says: If one cooked a sin offering in a vessel from the beginning of the Festival, one may cook in it for the entire Festival without scouring and rinsing the vessel after every use...

...And the Rabbis say: One may not continue using it in this manner; rather, one must perform scouring and rinsing before the end of the period during which partaking of the particular cooked offering is permitted.

...Scouring is like the scouring of a cup, and rinsing is like the rinsing of a cup; and scouring and rinsing are both performed with cold water; this is the statement of Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi. And the Rabbis say: Scouring is performed with hot water, and rinsing is performed with cold water."

You can find this text and more at: https://www.sefaria.org/Zevachim_97

Close Reading

Alright, let's roll up our sleeves and explore some of the amazing insights hidden in this text. We're going to unpack how these ancient discussions about pots and pans actually reveal profound ideas about intention, time, and the interconnectedness of everything.

Insight 1: The Subtle Power of "Taste Transfer"

Our text opens with a very practical discussion about cleaning a "spit and the metal grill [askela]." What's an askela? It's a metal grill for roasting. (5 words) The idea is that these tools, used for cooking sacred meat, need to be cleaned in a specific way—"purged in hot water." This immediately introduces us to a core concept in Jewish law: the idea that the "essence" or "flavor" of food (especially sacred food) can be absorbed by the vessel it's cooked in, and this absorbed essence can then affect subsequent foods. It’s not just about visible dirt; it's about invisible spiritual residue.

Think of it like this: you make a fantastic curry in your favorite pot. Even after washing, you might notice a faint curry aroma when you make soup in it the next day. Or, if you're a coffee connoisseur, you know that a perfectly seasoned ceramic mug enhances the coffee, but a mug that held a strong herbal tea might subtly alter the taste of your next brew. The Sages took this everyday phenomenon and applied a spiritual lens to it. For them, the "taste" wasn't just physical; it carried the holiness or status of the food.

This idea of "imparted flavor" becomes even more explicit later in the text when it discusses mixing different kinds of meat: "If there is enough of the more sacred meat to impart flavor to the less sacred or non-sacred meat, then the lenient components of the mixtures must be eaten in accordance with the restrictions of the stringent components therein..." This is a crucial principle: if a tiny bit of something highly sacred (the "stringent" component) is so potent that it can "flavor" a larger, less sacred dish (the "lenient" component), then the entire mixture takes on the stricter rules of the more sacred item. It's like a drop of powerful dye coloring a whole bucket of water. The dye's "essence" transforms the whole.

Consider the hierarchy of holiness. There were "offerings of the most sacred order" and "offerings of lesser sanctity," along with "non-sacred" meat. Imagine preparing a royal banquet versus a simple family meal. The "most sacred" items were treated with the utmost reverence, reserved for priests, and eaten within very strict timeframes and locations. If even a hint of that super-sacred meat flavor got into your everyday stew, the whole stew would suddenly become "royal" and subject to all those stringent rules. This isn't about being wasteful; it's about respecting the boundaries of holiness.

A fascinating nuance arises from the baraita (an ancient teaching not in the main Mishnah. 8 words) later in the text: "Whatever shall touch its flesh shall be sacred... unless the other food absorbs something of the sin offering into its meat." This clarifies that it's not just any touch that transfers status, but actual absorption of flavor or essence. A mere brushing past is not enough; there must be a tangible (or, in this case, "tastable") transfer. This shows the precision of Jewish law. It's not a superstitious fear of contact, but a careful distinction based on actual substance transfer.

Furthermore, the baraita also teaches: "if the sin offering touched part of a piece... only the section that touches the sin offering is disqualified." This is another layer of precision. If a holy item touches a larger, less holy item, only the specific part that absorbed the taste becomes sacred/disqualified. You don't throw out the whole apple if only one tiny bite touched something forbidden; you just cut off that piece. This teaches us that holiness, while powerful, is also contained and precise, not a wild, uncontrollable force. It's a system designed to preserve and respect, not to needlessly restrict. This echoes the sentiment in the Tosafot (commentary) where the Sages clarify the method of "purging" (removing absorbed flavors) – the very act of discussing how to clean shows the importance of ensuring the vessel is truly reset, removing any lingering spiritual "taste."

Insight 2: The Dance Between Time and Ritual Cleansing

The text then plunges into a debate about when a vessel needs to be scoured and rinsed. Rabbi Tarfon presents a very lenient view: if you cook a sin offering (a sacrifice for unintentional sins. 5 words) in a vessel at the beginning of a Festival, you can use that same vessel for the entire Festival without cleaning it after every use. His reasoning is based on a verse that says, "and you shall turn in the morning, and go to your tents" (Deuteronomy 16:7), which he interprets to mean that all the days of the Festival are considered like "one morning." This is a brilliant, almost poetic, legal fiction, designed perhaps to ease the burden of constant cleaning during a busy holiday period in the Temple. It’s like getting a "festival pass" that simplifies the rules for a special occasion.

But the Gemara (the later layer of the Talmud, explaining the Mishnah) immediately challenges this: "But is there no prohibition against bringing an offering that was sacrificed with the intent to consume it after its appointed time [piggul] during a pilgrimage Festival? And is there no prohibition of notar, consuming sacrificial meat beyond its appointed time, during a pilgrimage Festival?" These are crucial points! Piggul is a disqualified offering due to wrong intention. (6 words) Notar is sacrificial meat eaten after its time. (6 words) Both of these prohibitions are fundamentally tied to time limits. If the whole festival is "one morning," wouldn't these time-bound rules simply vanish? This shows the Talmud's relentless pursuit of internal consistency – if a rule is proposed, how does it fit with all other existing rules?

Rabbi Natan steps in to clarify Rabbi Tarfon's position, stating that his leniency applies "only with regard to this, the halakhot (Jewish laws) of scouring and rinsing, alone." Ah, specificity! Rabbi Tarfon isn't saying all time-based rules are abolished, just this one particular aspect. It’s like saying during a holiday, you get a special exemption for one particular task, but all other regulations still apply. You might get to wear festive clothes to work, but you still have to do the work!

Rav Nachman offers an alternative, and frankly, quite ingenious, explanation for why vessels might not need daily cleaning during the Festival: "the meat of each and every day becomes a purging agent for the other food." This is a profound idea! The constant presence and cooking of new sacred meat essentially "cleanses" or "purges" the vessel of the old absorbed sacred taste. The holiness of the present moment actively displaces the holiness of the past. Imagine a constantly flowing river that purifies itself, or a tool that's always in use and therefore remains sharp and clean. This suggests a dynamic, active form of spiritual maintenance, rather than a passive one.

However, "the Rabbis" (the majority opinion, often) disagree with Rabbi Tarfon. They say you must scour and rinse the vessel "before the end of the period during which partaking of the particular cooked offering is permitted." This is a more intuitive approach: once the time limit for eating a specific sacred offering has passed, its "taste" (its spiritual status) must be actively removed from the vessel. It's about clear boundaries and ensuring that the vessel is truly "reset" before it's used for something else, particularly another sacred item. This prevents any mixing of spiritual energies or statuses.

The Rabbis then derive this rule from a clever textual analysis. They note that the Torah states about a copper vessel in which a sin offering was cooked: "It shall be scoured and rinsed in water" (Leviticus 6:21), and immediately in the next verse: "Every male among the priests may eat it" (Leviticus 6:22). This juxtaposition (placing two ideas side-by-side) teaches that the cleaning (scouring and rinsing) should happen after the eating period is over. It's a powerful interpretive tool in the Talmud, where the physical arrangement of verses in the Torah is seen as conveying subtle legal meanings.

This leads to another fascinating debate: how exactly should "scouring and rinsing" be done? Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi says both are done with cold water, while "the Rabbis" say "Scouring is performed with hot water, and rinsing is performed with cold water." This is a very practical argument, but it's built on deep textual analysis. The Rabbis argue that since the Torah uses two different verbs ("scour" and "rinse"), it implies two distinct actions, likely requiring different methods. Rashi (a primary medieval commentator, often called the "father of all commentaries") explains that the Rabbis believe "hot water for scouring, cold water for rinsing" is the meaning, just like cleaning vessels acquired from non-Jews. Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi counters that the two verbs simply mean two distinct actions—one for the inside of the cup ("scouring") and one for the outside ("rinsing")—even if both use cold water. This isn't just a debate about water temperature; it's a profound discussion about the meticulous interpretation of language and how every single word in the Torah carries immense weight and potential meaning. This deep dive into semantics shows how seriously the Sages took every detail of the Divine word.

Insight 3: The Interconnected Web of Sacred Practices

The Talmud often reveals that Jewish law is not a collection of isolated rules, but a beautifully intricate and interconnected system. This insight becomes crystal clear when the text introduces a verse that acts like a master key, linking various types of Korbanot: "This is the law of the burnt offering, of the meal offering, and of the sin offering, and of the guilt offering, and of the inauguration offering, and of the sacrifice of peace offerings" (Leviticus 7:37). This verse, Shmuel (a later Sage) teaches, connects all these different offerings, implying that certain rules from one can apply to all. This interpretive principle is called Smichut Parshiyot (proximity of passages), where the Torah's arrangement of ideas side-by-side reveals deeper connections.

Let's look at two powerful examples of how this verse connects the dots:

Example 1: The Universal Utensil

The verse states "of the burnt offering" (a sacrifice fully consumed by fire. 5 words) to teach that "just as a burnt offering requires a utensil in its preparation, so too do all animal offerings require a utensil." This means that all animal sacrifices need a specific tool. But which tool? The Gemara asks, "If we say it is a bowl" (for collecting blood), that's already known from other verses. "Rather, the term: Utensil, must be stated of a knife." This means all animal sacrifices must be performed using a knife. But where do we learn that a burnt offering itself needs a knife? From the story of Abraham and Isaac (Genesis 22:10-13), where Abraham "took the knife to slaughter his son," and then offered a ram "for a burnt offering instead of his son."

This is incredibly profound! It connects the daily, detailed practices of the Temple to the foundational narrative of Abraham, a cornerstone of Jewish faith. The very tool used in the Temple rituals is linked back to the moment of ultimate devotion and test of faith. It's not just a rule; it's a lineage, a connection to the deepest spiritual roots of the Jewish people. It teaches us that even the most practical details of religious observance are imbued with historical and theological significance. Imagine a modern craft: if the master craftsperson used a specific type of chisel, all students using that craft would use that same type of chisel, honoring the tradition and the master.

Example 2: Eaten by Priestly Males

The verse also mentions "a meal offering" (a sacrifice of grain or flour. 5 words). This teaches that "just as a meal offering is eaten only by males of the priesthood (see Leviticus 6:9–11), so too are all of the offerings mentioned in this verse eaten only by males of the priesthood." This establishes a uniform rule for who can partake in these sacred meals. A meal offering is a sacrifice of grain or flour. (6 words)

Again, the Gemara asks a smart question: "With regard to what offering is it that this halakha must be derived?" We already know that sin offerings (a sacrifice for unintentional sins. 5 words) and guilt offerings (a sacrifice for specific sins. 5 words) are eaten by male priests, as it's explicitly written. So, why do we need this general rule? The answer: it's for "communal peace offerings" (a sacrifice shared by priests and owner. 6 words). This shows the Talmud's meticulous nature – derivations are made only where strictly necessary, not to create redundancy. It's like finding a universal remote that works for all your devices, even the ones that already have their own specific remotes, but especially for the one obscure device that didn't have a remote at all.

This entire section on the Leviticus 7:37 verse highlights how the Sages perceived the Torah as a unified, interconnected text. They didn't see isolated laws but a grand, coherent system. Every part spoke to every other part, creating a rich tapestry of meaning and instruction.

Finally, the text delves into a complex legal scenario: what if sacred meat touches a disqualified sin offering? Should the positive mitzvah (a commandment, a good deed. 4 words) of eating sacred meat override the prohibition against eating the disqualified substance? Rava says, "A positive mitzva does not override a prohibition that relates to the Temple." This is a crucial principle: laws pertaining to the Temple and its holiness are often given a higher status. He brings an example from the Paschal offering ("Nor shall you break a bone of it" Exodus 12:46) – even if breaking the bone would allow you to eat the marrow (a positive mitzvah), the Temple-related prohibition against breaking a bone takes precedence. Rav Ashi adds another layer, saying that the verse "shall be sacred" is itself a positive mitzvah. So, it's not just one positive mitzvah versus one prohibition, but a positive mitzvah against a combination of a prohibition and another positive mitzvah. This demonstrates the incredible depth and intricate balancing act involved in Talmudic legal reasoning, always seeking to understand the Divine will in its fullest, most nuanced expression. The holiness of the Temple and its rituals demanded unique reverence and adherence, often elevating its rules above other considerations.

Apply It

Okay, so we've delved deep into ancient debates about sacrificial meat and cleaning vessels. You might be thinking, "That's fascinating, but how does this apply to my life, here and now, without a Temple or actual sacrifices?" Excellent question! The beauty of Jewish learning is that these ancient texts often hold universal truths that we can translate into our daily experiences.

The core ideas we explored—the subtle transfer of "essence" or "flavor," the importance of intention in cleansing, and the dynamic interplay between time and purity—can totally transform how we approach everyday tasks. Let's try a simple, doable practice for this week that brings these concepts to life.

Your "Mindful Cleaning" Micro-Ritual

This week, choose one everyday item that you use frequently and needs regular cleaning. It could be your favorite coffee mug, a cooking pot, a cutting board, or even your phone screen. The goal is to bring mindful intention to its cleaning, following the spirit of the Sages. This practice takes less than 60 seconds a day, but its effects can linger much longer.

Step 1: Choose Your Sacred Object (for the week)

Pick one item that you interact with daily. Let's say it's your coffee mug. Every time you clean this mug this week, you'll engage in this micro-ritual.

Step 2: Pause and Reflect (Before Cleaning)

Before you even turn on the water, hold your mug (or pot, or phone). Take a deep breath.

• Acknowledge its past use: What was in it? Coffee? Tea? What "energy" or "flavor" did it hold? Don't just think about physical residue, but the memory or purpose of its last use. "This mug held my morning coffee, warming my hands and helping me start my day."
• Recognize the "transfer": Think about the idea of "imparted flavor." Even if you can't see it, imagine that a subtle essence of its past use is still there. If it was a particularly intense experience (a challenging conversation over coffee, a difficult meal cooked in the pot), acknowledge that its "taste" might be lingering.

Step 3: The "Scouring" (With Hot Water & Intent)

Now, start cleaning. If possible, use hot water, connecting to the Talmudic debate about hot water for scouring (as the Rabbis suggested for deeper cleansing).

• Active Release: As you scrub the inside of the mug, consciously imagine the hot water and your scrubbing motion actively releasing or purging the lingering "essence" of its past use. "I am now releasing the residue of yesterday's coffee, letting go of what has passed."
• Spiritual Reset: This isn't just about physical dirt. It's about a "spiritual reset." You're making space. You're saying, "That chapter is complete. This item is being prepared for a fresh start." Think of it as clearing your mental palate, or decluttering your mind. The act of "scouring" is about deep cleansing, making room for newness.

Step 4: The "Rinsing" (With Cold Water & Renewal)

Once you've scrubbed, rinse the mug thoroughly, perhaps with cooler water, connecting to the idea of "rinsing" for refreshment.

• Inviting New Potential: As the cold water washes over the mug, imagine it clearing, refreshing, and preparing the item for its next purpose. "I am rinsing this mug, preparing it to hold new warmth, new flavors, new possibilities."
• A Fresh Canvas: This step is about inviting new potential and welcoming the future. The mug is now a clean slate, ready for whatever joy or purpose it will serve next. It's like taking a deep breath after exhaling, or opening a fresh page in a notebook.

Step 5: Articulate Your Intention (Optional, but Powerful)

As you finish cleaning, either out loud or in your mind, say a simple intention:

• "I clean this mug (or pot, or phone) to honor its past use and prepare it for new purpose, bringing mindfulness and intention to this moment."

Step 6: Appreciate the Renewal

Hold the clean item for a moment. Feel its readiness. Notice how a simple act of cleaning, when done with intention, can feel like a small act of renewal, not just for the object, but for yourself. You've participated in a micro-ritual of transformation.

Why This Practice?

• Connects to Ancient Wisdom: You're literally engaging with the spirit of the Sages' debates, translating their concerns about spiritual purity and intention into your modern life.
• Enhances Mindfulness: It turns a mundane chore into an opportunity for presence and awareness. Instead of rushing through, you're slowing down and noticing.
• Promotes Renewal: Just as the Sages sought to cleanse vessels for new sacred uses, you are creating a sense of renewal and fresh starts in your daily routine. It's a tiny ritual that says, "I am ready for what's next."
• Zero Jargon, High Impact: No special tools or knowledge are needed, just your intention. It’s a powerful way to bring a sense of the sacred into the seemingly ordinary, reminding us that every moment can be an opportunity for connection and consciousness.

Give it a try this week. You might be surprised at how a simple act of cleaning can become a moment of profound personal reflection and spiritual connection.

Chevruta Mini

Now for the fun part – let's explore these ideas together, just like the Sages did in their study halls! A chevruta is a study pair. (2 words) It's all about friendly discussion and sharing perspectives. No right or wrong answers, just open conversation.

Discussion Question 1: The Self-Cleansing Effect

The Talmud discusses Rav Nachman's fascinating idea that "each and every day becomes a purging agent for the other food" – meaning continuous use of a vessel for sacred food effectively cleanses it daily. It's like the new holiness "pushes out" or neutralizes the old, without needing explicit scrubbing.

• Where in your daily life do you see a similar idea, where continuous engagement with something (a habit, a relationship, a skill, a space) inherently "cleanses" or refines it, without needing explicit, separate "scouring" or intervention?
  • Think about a musical instrument: if you play it daily, it seems to stay in better tune, or your connection to it remains fresh. Does it "cleanse" itself through constant use?
  • Consider a friendship or a family relationship: sometimes, consistent, loving interaction keeps it healthy and vibrant, naturally resolving small issues, rather than needing a big, explicit "clearing the air" conversation every time. How does ongoing connection prevent "stagnation" or keep the relationship "fresh"?
  • What about a skill, like writing or painting? The more you do it, the more refined your technique becomes, and the less you might need to "unlearn" bad habits. Does the act of doing itself refine the process?
  • Or even a personal space, like a garden or a desk: if you spend time there daily, tending to it, does it naturally stay more organized or feel more "pure" than if you let it sit untouched for weeks? How does active engagement prevent spiritual or emotional "dust" from settling?

Discussion Question 2: Drawing Lines of "Sacredness"

Our text meticulously differentiates between different levels of "sacredness" (most sacred, lesser sanctity, non-sacred) and how their "flavor" or "essence" transfers. This highlights the importance of recognizing and honoring different levels of specialness.

• Where do you draw lines of "sacredness" or "specialness" in your own life? What things, spaces, times, or relationships do you treat with a distinct level of reverence or care, ensuring their unique quality isn't diluted or "contaminated" by less special things?
  • Consider your physical possessions: do you have "everyday" dishes versus "special occasion" china? What makes one more sacred than the other, and how do you protect that distinction?
  • Think about your time: do you dedicate certain hours or days as "sacred" (e.g., family time, personal reflection, creative pursuits) and try to prevent them from being encroached upon by work or mundane tasks? How do you maintain these boundaries?
  • What about spaces? Do you have a "sacred corner" in your home for meditation, prayer, or quiet reading? How do you keep that space distinct and prevent it from becoming just another cluttered area?
  • Reflect on relationships: are there certain relationships you hold as particularly "sacred" and protect from the trivialities or negativity of other interactions? How do you ensure their unique quality remains intact?
  • How do you ensure that the unique quality of that "sacred" thing isn't diluted or contaminated by less special things? What practices or intentions do you employ to maintain these distinctions and honor what is truly special to you?

Take your time with these questions. Listen to each other, share your thoughts, and enjoy the journey of discovery!

Takeaway

Even in the simplest act of cleaning, Jewish wisdom invites us to find layers of intention, renewal, and connection.