Other Side of the Tracks

As a bochur and yungerman, Rav Moshe Yosef Unsdorfer always favored both the sugya and the practicalities of eiruvim. It was a passion that ran deep in his genes, inherited from his grandfather Rav Shmuel Alexander Unsdorfer ztz”l — longstanding rav of the Montreal community and later a rav in Petach Tikvah, where, among other missions, he worked with then-chief rabbi Rav Baruch Shimon Salomon ztz”l to improve the eiruv in that city.

Rav Shmuel Alexander’s son Rav Shlomo Zalman, who succeeded his father’s position as rav of the Sanz beis medrash in Petach Tikvah, originally lived on a dead-end street near 16th Avenue in Boro Park, where in 1993 he built  private block eiruvim  — similar to other existing kehillah block eiruvim.

An eiruv enthusiast as well, Rav Shmuel Alexander’s grandson Rav Moshe Yosef followed suit, and as a kollel yungerman with both knowledge and hands-on expertise (he was responsible for handling eiruvim issues that arose in the Catskills, where he spent many summers learning in the Tartikover camp), he became a sought-after contact on eiruvim.

In 1999, after several block eiruvim in Boro Park were connected, the new combined eiruv became the envy of adjacent neighbors, who pleaded, “Take us in too!” Thus, a committee was formed by Reb Ephraim Bloomberg and Reb Avrum Weiss to enclose the whole neighborhood in the combined eiruv.

Thereafter Rav Unsdorfer’s expertise brought him national stature and communities across the country came to him for help. By 2000 the word had spread to Montreal. This was his first eiruv project outside the US, and was of particular meaning to him for two reasons: it brought to fruition a dream his grandfather had once had, back when he had been the rav of the community; and it also allowed young Rav Unsdorfer to form lasting, close connections with Rav Yaakov Yitzchok Neiman ztz”l and many other gedolei poskim, notably Rav Fishel Hershkowitz; the Serdehaly Rav, Rav Chaim Leib Katz; and Rav Gavriel Zinner.

That’s why Rav Unsdorfer was summoned on board in 2006 by Vienna askanim Reb Shlomo Karen and Reb Nechemia Deutsch, when their community became entangled in a drawn-out, 12-year, million-euro eiruv project. It proved to be one of the most challenging — but in the end, one of the most innovative — communal eiruvim to date.

The Viennese authorities required the 25-mile eiruv to blend in with the city’s traditional landscape and modern architecture. The delays and complications were due to the colossal bridges, walls, dams, fences, tram wires, and natural borders such as the Danube River, which the eiruv would have to encompass; the design would also have to wind around the construction work on the tracks of ?BB, the Austrian railway. Furthermore, the various kehillos in Vienna are spread out, adding to the project’s complexity.

The Austrian capital, home to a very vibrant Jewish community of about 200,000 before World War II, had an eiruv in two of its districts until 1938, the year Hitler’s Germany annexed the country. The new eiruv encompasses ten districts, encircling most of Vienna’s 7,000 Jews.

Rav Unsdorfer recounts the visible Hashgachah pratis along the way — the eiruv was completed soon after he joined the project. “We made contact with an ?BB executive named Mr. Skowronek, who was eager to help us out as payback for chesed to his own relatives. Before the Nazi occupation, the family of a Viennese Yid named Isidor (Yitzchok) Konig Hy”d took Skowronek’s grandmother into their home. Konig was eventually deported, and while working on the eiruv by one station, Skowronek gestured toward the tracks and pointed out that thousands of Jews were led to Auschwitz from there.”

“At least I can help you out in some small way, as an apology for my country’s involvement,” he told Rav Unsdorfer and the group of askanim. Indeed, he did.

“Without him,” Rav Unsdorfer surmises, “I don’t think we’d have succeeded.” Beyond the total cost to the kehillah of a million euros — most of which was raised through private funds — the rail firm invested separately to ensure their renovations would orchestrate well with the eiruv. In fact, major stretches of the eiruv are made up of actual rail tracks and tram overhead electrical lines.

The municipal authorities too were extremely supportive, bringing in the original rail engineers who were behind the city’s most complex structural project. Mr. Frodl — by then an elderly man — went to great lengths to facilitate the eiruv, going so far as to redraw plans for existing rail renovations, down to moving the station entrance. The rail firm’s building contractors ensured that the eiruv would not have to be closed even for one Shabbos. “We have a policy to do everything to ensure that it shouldn’t come to a situation of ‘this week no eiruv,’ ” Rav Unsdorfer explains.

Another push in bringing Vienna’s eiruv to completion came from the unexpected enthusiasm of one of the less religious congregations — the son of their president became a strict Shabbos observer and would need an eiruv to carry when he comes home for Shabbos. The president himself took on a large part of the million-euro fundraising campaign — Rav Unsdorfer’s most expensive eiruv to date.

As the first eiruv in Vienna built since World War II, it isn’t surprising that there would be some anti-eiruv feeling simmering beneath the surface. There was one isolated hate incident during the eiruv’s construction — a swastika spray-painted onto a post along with the words “No Eiruv.” But that graffiti, and other protests Rav Unsdorfer has faced over the years, don’t daunt him. “The Yevanim are recorded as the earliest eiruv-breakers, making 13 breaches in the fence surrounding the Beis Hamikdash,” he says.

Levees and Fishing Boats

“It’s not always easy to construct an eiruv,” Rav Unsdorfer says, “and not all eligible neighborhoods and communities have them, because building an eiruv often demands phenomenal patience and dedication from askanim to bring the plans to fruition.”

Since his travels are time-consuming, Rav Unsdorfer gives priority to larger kehillos requesting his involvement. Yet he tries not to turn anyone down — even if the eiruv will only benefit a lone army chaplain or rabbi.

A rav in a remote community confided to him the regrettable case of one baal teshuvah couple in his neighborhood who returned to their former lifestyle because the wife couldn’t bear being cooped up indoors with her brood on Shabbos. “The eiruv I made him may have been too late for that couple — but with that scenario in mind, I try to squeeze everyone in.”

When he embarks on a project, Rav Unsdorfer doesn’t always know what Providential acts will help him along the way, but he’s rarely been disappointed. There was the time a fishing boat came ashore just when he had to measure the depth of a water wall and the fisherman kindly took him aboard, or the time a Jew employed by a US senator who chaired a committee within the Department of Transportation arranged access to a district restricted by a stringent post-9/11 Homeland Security. Once he even merited being able to perform the mitzvah of shiluach hakein from a cherry-picker.

The rabbi is quick to qualify that an eiruv’s size is not necessarily correlated to its expense. “I’m currently building an eiruv for the Jews in New Orleans — probably my biggest project, but also the cheapest, as the new levees installed after Hurricane Katrina are serving as part of the eiruv.”

According to Rav Unsdorfer, eiruvim can use existing levees, floodwalls, and lake and river embankments as rabbinically recognized “walls.” And thanks to New Orleans’s unique geography and flood protections, the new eiruv — which will require municipal cooperation for the use of power lines to fill in the gaps — will cover most of uptown and downtown New Orleans.

Rav Unsdorfer examines Brooklyn streets with eiruv askanim Reb Arvum Weiss and Reb Ephraim Bloomberg

Drawing the Line

Halachically, the minimum height for an eiruv is ten tefachim (between 80 and 100 centimeters, or 32 to 42 inches). But legally, there is also a minimum height, in order to accommodate trucks, cables, and other tall installations. Furthermore, the higher the eiruv the safer it is against sabotage, so it is usually assembled at a height of about 18 feet.

The entire length of an eiruv is examined every week by the skilled mashgichim, who sometimes have to ascend in a basket crane. “When we build an eiruv, we bear in mind these mandatory weekly checks, so construction is done in a way to make sure checks are easy and economical to carry out,” says Rav Unsdorfer.

Eiruv experts have considered installing CCTV monitoring in hard-to-reach areas and even creating an electric eiruv that would trigger an alarm if the eiruv is severed — both high-tech methods that are halachically acceptable but so far have yet to be implemented in most communal domains.

The Satmar Rebbe, Rav Yoel Teitelbaum ztz”l (whose name was used posthumously as proof for both sides of the Williamsburg eiruv controversy), advised that some cautionary cartography should be used when creating a map of an eiruv. The boundaries as delineated on the map should fall well inside the actual borders. This tactic helps protect against the danger that people will inadvertently cross the eiruv border and thereby cause chillul Shabbos; it also helps prevent sabotage. For one eiruv supervised by Rav Unsdorfer, it was even necessary to hire marshals to guard the eiruv from sabotage.

“Another tactic is to have a backup,” Rav Unsdorfer reveals. “Our hot-spot eiruvim have three backups, so that accidental chillul Shabbos due to a suddenly pasul eiruv is virtually impossible.”

The materials used for an eiruv have to be weather resistant and therefore vary according to climate. Ice and snow can weigh down and tear the string, so heavier cord is needed in places with harsh weather conditions — as long as the thick cord can be pulled taut and doesn’t make the poles sag (depending on the climate, stronger poles are also necessary). Clear fishing line is a popular option, although it tends to dissolve in cold regions. “Either way, it has to be aesthetic and not an eyesore — and both professional and halachic. The Chazon Ish would go around the Bnei Brak eiruv regularly to ensure that it met those two requirements.”

As for the posts, or lechis, they range from wood, iron, Lucite, and glass, to lampposts and utility poles. Rav Unsdorfer says he’d had luck with his choices: hurricanes have felled trees and downed utility cables, but his eiruvim have withstood most types of weather. One exception was the Seagate eiruv after Hurricane Sandy. The eiruv was originally constructed under the authority of Rav Moshe Feinstein ztz”l, and rebuilt by Rav Unsdorfer — at the behest of the Seagater Rav, Rav Zalman Leib Meisels — after the cement seawall from Rav Moshe’s original eiruv eventually became submerged under sandy beaches. After the hurricane, Rav Unsdorfer’s replacement eiruv was submerged by sea, not sand… together with entire houses along the bay.

A curious neighbor checks out the measuring of a new lechi. “We explain it as a zoning facility”

Inside the Carry Zone 

Nowadays, when rights of freedom of religion are paramount, it’s easier than ever to create a neighborhood or community eiruv. But how do the eiruv activists present the concept to uninformed authorities and neighbors?

Rav Unsdorfer explains the eiruv as a zoning facility whereby Jewish law only permits carrying necessary items and pushing strollers and wheelchairs within the zone. He sends explanatory literature to the relevant parties, although sometimes the halachic guidelines are hard to understand. One puzzled official suggested, “Why don’t you evade complications and pull the eiruv line underground?”

Still, Rav Unsdorfer prefers not to clarify his work to any curious passerby. “A crowd once gathered at the base of our ladder, wondering what I was doing up there. Not wanting to cause a ruckus by telling them about the concept of eiruv, I tried my best to ignore them, when I heard them hypothesizing that I was probably preparing to hang decorations for the seasonal holidays.”

As for earning the cooperation of lay residents whose properties are needed for the actual eiruv, sometimes a little money can do the talking. “For one particular eiruv, a lot of our posts were to be placed on the outskirts of the neighborhood, in a Chinese area, so that the eiruv would encompass the Yidden on the periphery as well,” Rav Unsdorfer explains. “One time we knocked on a door and showed the Chinese occupant our papers, but he claimed he didn’t understand English and slammed the door. We knocked again, this time flaunting a wad of cash. It was amazing how quickly he acquired the language.”

But since cash is not always king, the askanim prefer to rely on the siyata d’Shmaya that seems to accompany them on their missions, like the time Rav Unsdorfer wanted to use a huge tree as a marker. The Parks Department, however, wouldn’t let him attach anything to the tree, which meant that particular eiruv would have to make a less-mehudar zigzag across the street. But then, the ancient tree abruptly died and he couldn’t help but be amazed, as he watched the municipal workers chop the colossal evergreen to ground zero.

Guarding Boundaries in New York

Community eiruvim are often hampered by technical issues, but in the boroughs of New York, the sheer masses of people have created halachic controversy over citywide eiruv projects since the beginning of the 1900s.

The first eiruv in New York City was established in 1905 by Rav Yehoshua Seigel ztz”l, known as the Sherpser Rav in Poland and who became the leader of the Polish community in New York. Rav Seigel’s eiruv only encompassed the Lower East Side, utilizing the natural riverbanks of Manhattan on three sides and on the fourth side, the 3rd Avenue El. There was rabbinic opposition to Rabbi Seigel’s eiruv from the litvishe community, but it was utilized by many within the Polish and Galician communities throughout the first half of the 20th century. By the 1940s, however, Rav Eliyahu Henkin had invalidated Rav Seigel’s eiruv due to changes that had been made along the waterfront and on the 3rd Avenue tracks. In addition, Rav Henkin explained that one of the requirements of the eiruv is that the city be “rented” from the local authorities and that Rav Seigel had rented the city for only ten years — which had long since expired.

With the gradual move of Manhattan’s Jewry from the Lower East Side northward, rabbanim debated the issue not just of a neighborhood eiruv, but of the possibility of creating an eiruv around all of Manhattan, an island enclosed by man-made walls around its waterfront. But there was a lot more at stake than a halachic boundary. With millions of people, would it really be possible to halachically cordon off the island as “private property”? While Rav Moshe Feinstein and the Agudas Harabbanim opposed the eiruv and Rav Henkin approved a newly designed solution in a bedieved situation of great need, he wrote that the eiruv could not be considered acceptable in all cases unless the majority of rabbis agreed to its creation.

Together with the discussion of a Manhattan eiruv in the late 1940s and ‘50s, poskim of the newly formed Vaad Lemaan Tikun Eiruvin B’Manhattan under the leadership of Rav Yonoson Steiff, the Viener Rav ztz”l, also discussed the possibility of an eiruv in Brooklyn. In 1949, Rav Michoel Ber Weissmandl, head of the Nitra Yeshivah in Mount Kisco, New York, wrote a lengthy teshuvah on the prospect, and poskim began to consider creating eiruvim in various Brooklyn neighborhoods, but this idea was met with opposition by Rav Moshe Feinstein.

Without going into greater detail here, the eiruvim built to surround Flatbush, Williamsburg, and Boro Park have been fraught with controversy — both political and halachic — for more than half a century.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 600)