Under the armistice régime, now a matter of history, a peculiar legal situation prevailed in Jerusalem, for no less than four distinct régimes of demilitarization could be found in the city: the Mount Scopus régime, the régime of the Government House Area, the régime of no-man's-land, and the régime of the limitation of military forces and equipment on both sides of the demarcation lines. The object of this article is to examine one of these régimes, that which obtained on Mount Scopus.

Today, the situation in Jerusalem is, of course, drastically changed, both with respect to the régime of the City as a whole, and with respect to Mount Scopus. The Jordanian attack of June 1967 resulted in a unification of this strife-torn city. Mount Scopus, for so long separated from Western Jerusalem, its humanitarian and cultural activities so long paralyzed, is slowly returning to life. The present study, which may be of interest to students of international law and relations, is of historical value only and does not relate to the current situation.

The method followed will be that of a pragmatic case study. In view of the special circumstances surrounding the establishment of the Mount Scopus Demilitarized Zone, a comparative, deductive or theoretical approach would be of limited usefulness. A special effort has been made to use primary rather than secondary sources. The writer has had the opportunity to consult the diplomatic archives of the Government of Israel.

I shall try in the following pages to explain Israel's policy on extradition, outline briefly Israel's Extradition Law, 1954, and survey Israel's extradition links with European countries. I shall then deal with Israel's experience with the application of the European Convention on Extradition of 13 December 1957, and shall consider possible modifications to the Convention. This task has been made easier by the three reports which have been presented by Professor Schultz, Mr. Duk and Mr. Karle.

The extradition of criminals presents for every country delicate and complex problems, for this branch of law, regulated by both international agreements and domestic legislation, is intimately related to each State's concepts of administration of justice and criminal law, as well as to its approach to human rights in general, and asylum in particular.

In March 1992, Israel's Parliament, the Knesset, enacted Basic Law: Human Dignity and Liberty. Some believe that this Basic Law has created a constitutional revolution in Israel, while others feel this view to be exaggerated. In any event, there is general agreement that the Basic Law, with its 13 brief sections, has effected many significant changes in numerous areas of law.

It is well known that criminal procedure and some parts of the law of evidence are particularly sensitive to constitutional changes. To what extent is this also true in Israel as a consequence of the Basic Law and interpretations given to it?

More particularly, what precisely does the Basic Law say, and what has the Supreme Court inferred from the principles of human dignity and liberty beyond the express provisions of the Basic Law? What influence does the Basic Law exert on new legislation and indeed on legislation preceding the enactment of the Basic Law itself? May one expect that the Supreme Court will adopt the idea that the Basic Law embodies an exclusionary rule of evidence obtained in breach of a constitutional right? These, and other relevant questions, will be discussed below. First, however, we shall refer briefly to the legal and social background of the Basic Law.

The competition rules of the European Community are set out in Articles 85 and 86 of the Treaty of Rome. The first forbids, as incompatible with the common market, agreements that may affect trade between member states and restrict competition; the second the abuse of a dominant position. Articles 85 and 86 are the starting point of an intricate regulatory system which affects not only naked horizontal cartels and abusive behaviour by dominant undertakings but also distribution agreements, franchise agreements, the licensing and exercise of intellectual property rights, joint ventures and other forms of collaboration between undertakings.

This article attempts to denote the scope of the Community's jurisdiction in competition law matters as it is shaped and moulded in the judgments of the European Court of Justice (hereinafter referred to as the “Court”) as well as to evaluate whether the scope of jurisdiction awarded by the traditional jurisdictional tests can be justified on grounds other than legal conservatism.

The Trust Law, 1979, came into force at the beginning of February, 1980, resolving the debate of many years as to whether the institution of private trusts is recognized in the Israeli legal system. The debate was carried on in the cases, and in scholarly articles, but despite all the ink that was spilt, the law remained uncertain. Two views recently expressed on the question, one by Cohn J. in the case of Inzel v. Kugelmas, and the other by experts in the Ministry of Justice in their preamble to the Trust Bill, are clear evidence of the uncertainty. Cohn J. wrote:

The experts in the Ministry of Justice, on the other hand, stated that—

When the promisee ceases to be interested in performance of the contract by the promisor—and the case is not caught by the rules relating to frustration of purpose—he will prefer the promisor not to perform it. If breach by the promisor occurs, the promisee will be entitled to damages and where an abstract valuation applies (the difference between the consideration for the property or service under the contract and its value at the date of rescission: sec. 11 of the Contracts (Remedies for Breach of Contract) Law, 1971) that will be very convenient for the promisee. In every case, he will be spared performance on his part. Less convenient, but still sufficiently convenient, is the assumption that it is impossible for the promisor to perform: that the same event which caused the promisee's benefit in performance by the promisor to cease—or some other event—precludes performance by the promisor or renders it too onerous. Here as well the promisee will be spared his own performance and in addition may possibly receive indemnity, under sec. 18 of the Law, “for expenses reasonably incurred and liabilities reasonably contracted by him for the performance of the contract.”

The Contracts (General Part) Law, 1973, is the fundamental statute in Israeli contract law, and will in the future serve as the basis for the codification of Israel civil law. The Law was enacted following a decade of meticulous preparatory work by a committee headed by Professor Tedeschi. Prof. Tedeschi was the leading intellectual force in this committee; his influence is apparent in the approaches, principles and concepts of the Law, as well as in its particular provisions. Prof. Tedeschi also devoted a part of his prolific writings to the realm of contracts law. This article, dealing with only two sections of the wide-ranging Contracts (General Part) Law, is dedicated with admiration to the father of Israeli modern contract law.

It is generally accepted that the source of the section lies in the traditional supremacy of the English Crown. Since the Crown is the lawmaker it cannot be fettered by the laws it makes unless there is express provision to that effect. On the other hand where laws confer rights upon the Crown, a contrary rule sometimes operates that a statute is to be interpreted in favour of the Crown, since in enacting it the King's subjects act as grantors of rights and the rule against derogation from grant takes effect. In point of logic, however, even without express provision there is nothing to prevent a lawgiver from placing restrictions upon himself.

In Jewish thought indeed although the law emanates from the Almighty, who is indeniably Supreme Authority—”the King of Kings”—it is deemed to apply even to Him.

It is surprising therefore to note that even in the United States, that model of democracy where the rights of the individual are so protected, the English approach has been adopted and extended to every government body even in the area of private law.

In this paper I shall try to do two things: first, for those who do not have a detailed knowledge of criminal procedure in England, I shall give a bird's-eye view of what the victim's legal position is today. Secondly, I shall examine the difficulties, theoretical and practical, which make it hard to give the victim the deal which many of those who claim to speak for victims believe they ought to have.

In the last twenty years the victim, for long the “forgotten man” in the criminal justice system, has been rediscovered. Politicians of all parties have learnt that victims, and those who identify with them, have votes, and therefore need to be placated. Up to now, however, this has mainly been done by words rather than deeds.

An example is the document rather grandly entitled “The Victim's Charter”, which the Government issued in 1990 (with a revised version in 1996). Contrary to what the title “Charter” might lead one to suppose, this document confers no rights or privileges, but merely lists the ways in which the various parts of the machinery of criminal justice ‘ought’ to be sensitive to the position of the victim.

One of the events marking the legal development of this country which has taken place since the first International Congress of Jewish Lawyers and Jurists, is the coming into being of a new system of Courts—the Labour Courts. Israel thus joined the ever increasing number of states having a special judiciary to adjudicate in matters of labour.

The Law establishing the Labour Courts came into operation on September 1, 1969, exactly four years ago. This period is too short for a sound evaluation and because of my position, I am to some extent, disqualified from evaluating results and achievements, even in as far as already warranted by experience.

Being fully aware of these limitations, in this address I will try to present this new component of the Judiciary of Israel, and to outline the place of the Labour Courts in the Legal and Labour Relations Systems of Israel.

Before dealing with the Labour Courts, their composition and jurisdiction, it would, I believe be proper to make some remarks on the labour relations system of Israel, and to comment on some basic features of our labour law. This has to be done, since the Labour Courts, although institutionally and constitutionally part of the Judiciary, are an integral component of the labour relations system, just as the Judiciary as a whole is an integral component of the socio-economic and political system of any state.

It is difficult to see the connection between these two topics, but on 25 February 1975 the Constitutional Court of the Federal Republic of Germany gave a decision of great importance in both fields, and although Israel adheres to another system of law, in the opinion of the writer, this decision is of great interest here too.

The amendment of the German law relating to abortions, whose constitutionality was examined in the judgment mentioned, is part of a reform movement spreading from Europe to the Americas in the West and to Russia, India and Singapore in the East. It began to have influence upon legislation between the two wars (Russia 1920, Scandinavia and Switzerland in the 1930's), but gathered momentum particularly during the last decade (one of the earlier laws in this series is the English Abortion Act, 1967; one of the latest, the French Law of 17 January 1975).

I find myself in agreement with much of Jeff McMahan's analysis. Yet I have argued in the past (initially against Judith Jarvis Thomson, but also against McMahan) that it is insufficient, and misleading, to think about warfare and its moral assessment in merely individualistic terms. My disagreements with McMahan's discussion here are mostly linked to the same fundamental reservation.

McMahan describes a clear-cut dichotomy between the individualist perspective— which he endorses—and collectivist approaches. These he characterizes as recognizing (in warfare) only collective moral agency, precluding individual responsibility. But in my view, we should reject this very dichotomy and adopt instead a dual moral perspective. Our focus should not be exclusively on individual choice, action, and responsibility: This should be combined with a collective perspective. In my comments here I will illustrate this by examining McMahan's discussion of terrorism and intention. I hope thereby to show that the description of warfare as a set of individual acts must be supplemented by its description as a conflict between collectives—between nations acting through their respective armies.

I am grateful to be here as a Lady Davis Visiting Professor on my fourth trip to Israel. I feel very much at home because of the warmth and hospitality of my colleagues and friends. Moreover, the University of Pennsylvania has an Israel-Penn exchange programme which we hope to expand, and I know that the new dean of our law school, Dean Freedman, will have more conversations with Dean Klein. Thank you for having me and for affording me new opportunities to augment my experiences in Israel.

I hope to help promote the role of criminology here at Hebrew University, especially the relationship between research in behavioural science and the law as well as social policy. I have just returned from a one-week trip to the States under the auspices of the National Academy of Sciences to discuss a new report of a Panel on Rehabilitation, which represents some of this admixture of science, ethics and law to which I refer.

I wish to share with you some thoughts about Western society's changing penal philosophy, with particular emphasis on the shift from rehabilitation to retribution. Some of what I discuss is rooted in empirical science; some is my personal perspective. There should be little difficulty discerning the differences. For many years of my professional life I adhered to William Graham Summer's dictum—Yale University's early 20th century sociologist—that the purpose of sociology is to describe, not prescribe.

The Rules of Court which the International Court of Justice adopted in 1946, on the commencement of its existence, were essentially a reproduction of the Rules of Court adopted by the Permanent Court of International Justice on March 11, 1936 with such alterations as became necessary after the changes incorporated in the new Court's Statute, in comparison with that of the Permanent Court. When the Court adopted those Rules it did so with the intention of undertaking a more thorough revision after more experience of the judicial function had been acquired. Since then, the Court has had the matter under review, but for over twenty years nothing concrete has emerged.

The Court has had a rough passage in this period. This is demonstrated by insufficient judicial business, bitter debates on its role in the United Nations both in connection with advisory opinions and in connection with the inclusion of jurisdictional clauses in multilateral treaties drawn up in United Nations meetings, widespread mistrust of the Court as an institution and of judicial settlement as a mode for the pacific settlement of international disputes, and a general malaise attending everything to do with the Court.

The development of an international status for military conscientious objection received a strong backing by pronouncements from bodies like the Human Rights Committee that the capacity for objection can derive from the international human right to freedom of religion or belief of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights. Even with such pronouncements, questions remain in regard to the nature, boundaries and scope of this right. Most importantly, does this pronounced right allow for selective military conscientious objection within the international human rights system? This article will focus on the view that the capacity for military conscientious objection in the international human rights system derives from the right to freedom of religion and conscience. The implication of the international human right of freedom of religion or belief is important for its application to selective conscientious objection. However, even if the Human Rights Committee desires to limit the application of military conscientious objection, a selective objector can arguably still make the case for upholding a claim based on the human right and the manner in which it has been interpreted by the Committee and other international bodies. While on the one hand the focus on the human right to freedom of religion or belief can possibly provide the basis for a selective conscientious objector, it removes the possibility for claims that do not involve a religion or belief. The importance however of freedom of religion or behef should force a reviewing body to properly consider and measure the claim of a selective objector, with a view towards considering whether they are confronted with the manifestation of a belief and whether the state is violating such a seminal human right.

This article outlines the ways in which the United Kingdom manages civil litigation concerning sensitive national security material. These are: (i) the common law of public interest immunity; (ii) the use of a closed material procedure and special advocates; and (iii) the secret hearings of the Investigatory Powers Tribunal. With these existing alternatives in mind the article analyses the background to, the reasons for, and the controversies associated with the Justice and Security Act 2013, enacted in the wake of the UK Supreme Court's 2011 ruling in Al Rawi v Security Service.

1. It is with the greatest pleasure that I contribute this paper to this volume published for my dear friend Reuven Yaron. He was one of the very first foreign colleagues whom I invited to give lectures for the students of the Amsterdam Law Faculty some months after my appointment in 1965, and eight years ago Reuven Yaron was a visiting professor at our University for a period of six months. On that occasion he read fascinating papers on Ancient Near Eastern laws and brilliantly participated in my Papinian-seminar, where also other participants such as Eric Pool and Laurens Winkel made numerous astute remarks. I therefore decided to make Papinian's text D. 17.2.81, concerning societas omnium bonorum and dos, the main topic of my contribution to this volume published in honour of Reuven Yaron. However, I found in the Digest-title 17.2 two additional texts by other classical lawyers, viz. Paul and Gaius, in which they also examine problems in connection with societas omnium bonorum and dos (D.17.2.65.16 and D.17.2.66). It is instructive to discuss these three texts together in this paper. In each of the three texts the situation is different. In the cases that Paul and Gaius deal with, it is the husband who, having received a dowry, is a socius omnium bonorum (Situation I). In Papinian's text which is — even for Papinian! — exceptionally rich in legal ideas, the lawyer gives solutions for many legal questions in a situation, wherein a father, being one of two socii omnium bonorum, promised or gave a dowry to his son-in-law on behalf of his daughter (Situation II).