Rabbi Eliyahu Galil is a writer and editor and former Rosh Kollel in Montevideo, Uruguay 2011 - 2016.
I grew up in a home where the “Seudat Yitro" was not a strange ritual from a book of customs on the bookshelf, but a simple and natural part of the Jewish year. They probably explained to us exactly what we do and why, but what I mainly remember are smells and colors and a festive feeling. Lots of beautiful dishes on the table, plates full of delicacies, and special homemade cookies like debla and yoyos that were always there to delight us children.
I remember a table more beautiful than usual, set with a festive tablecloth and lit candles, to which all the siblings arrived from the various places where they were studying. As a child I thought this was a feast everyone did. Only later did I understand that this was a special tradition of our community, Jews of Tunisian origin: Seudat Yitro, named after the father-in-law who became an honored guest in our national story.
This memory accompanies me to this day and shapes the way I look at customs that move between history and home. Seudat Yitro is not an official holiday; it has no binding laws, but it has the power of a custom that rolls from generation to generation. It is a custom practiced by Jews who came from Tunisia and their descendants, who hold a special meal on Thursday of the week in which Parashat Yitro is read. The meal is simply called “Seudat Yitro," and it asks us to pause for a moment before a unique figure who is not a member of the Jewish people, yet precisely he knew how to see, to bless, to give advice, and to join.
The feast is not just another addition to the already crowded Jewish eating schedule (“They tried to destroy us and didn’t succeed? Let’s eat!"). It contains several layers. On the simple level, there is joy over a miraculous rescue event that occurred in Tunisia near the time of Parashat Yitro in the last century. A jaundice epidemic spread among the cities of the country and killed mainly children and infants. Through prayers and acts of kindness, the harsh epidemic stopped exactly at Parashat Yitro-and since then it has been customary to mark the event with a special feast in honor of Moses’ father-in-law. Originally, they were careful to prepare foods of small size for the feast-rather than poultry, for example, they would roast pigeons-in order to symbolize the rescue of the small children from the epidemic.
But on another level, unconscious and slightly subversive, Seudat Yitro emphasizes the place of “the outsider" in the Jewish story. Yitro is not a covenant member by birth, not one of those who left Egypt, not a descendant of Abraham and Sarah-and yet he embraces the people of Israel, understands, is impressed, and even dares to advise Moses on how to manage the people. And the people of Israel embrace him in return. One can see in Seudat Yitro an invitation to reconsider the boundaries of belonging and the possibility of lending an ear to wisdom that comes from outside. The feast is not only a backward glance at a historical event but also a practice of openness: bringing into our home voices that did not grow within it.
When one asks, “Why do we actually need Seudat Yitro?" the true answer is perhaps less “need" and more “it is fitting." It is fitting to pause here because Parashat Yitro marks a turning point: from a survival journey of freed slaves to covenant, laws, and systems of leadership. Two enormous things happen simultaneously in the parashah: the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, and Yitro’s advice to Moses on organizing the judicial system.
In the past I thought of them as two different stories; today I understand that they were intentionally woven together. The Torah is given from above, but the management of daily life, the division of responsibility, listening to advice-all these happen from below, out of a human encounter, in which not only covenant members can take part, but anyone who is a partner in the service of God.
And therefore this feast, which may seem marginal on the calendar, resonates deeply with the weekly parashah. It reminds us that revelation does not occur in a vacuum; alongside it are people, families, fathers-in-law and sons-in-law, administrative advice, and communal questions.
It also allows the parashah to become a living event in the home. The very contemplation of the figure of Yitro-the man who came from outside, recognized the good, gave advice, and entered the people not by force but by listening-already invites us to sit at the table, to eat, to talk, to think: what do we do with the Torah we received, whom do we bring inside, and how do we turn an ancient historical moment into a living story at home?
Shabbat Shalom!
For Hebrew piyutim for the seuda click here.
For comments: elig1981@gmail.com