Why a fishing line spans Manhattan
Published: Saturday, Aug 17th 2024, 08:40
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Whether playing baseball or pushing baby carriages: Actually, practicing Jews are not allowed to do this outside their homes on the Sabbath. Nevertheless, a fishing line makes it possible in Manhattan.
The sun has not yet risen over the East River when Moshe Tauber steers his slightly dented black minibus over the George Washington Bridge into Manhattan. At Riverside Drive, on the corner of 145th Street, he picks up the trail of a nylon string at half past four on the dot - as he has done every Thursday for around 25 years. He hasn't missed a single Thursday. "See that fishing line up there? It goes all the way across 145th Street to Madison Avenue. We have to check it now, that's where we start."
Tauber is a father of twelve, runs a crèche with his wife and teaches as a rabbi at a Jewish school. Every Thursday, however, the 50-year-old drives around an hour from his home town of Monsey to the metropolis of New York to check the Eruv of Manhattan - a thread that spans large parts of Manhattan when hung from street posts. On Friday morning, Tauber comes back to meet with craftsmen, coordinate repair work - and to make sure that everything is ready for Friday evening.
A cord that makes life easier on the Sabbath
"On the Jewish Sabbath - from sundown on Friday until darkness falls on Saturday - there are certain things that are not permitted," says Adam Mintz, who works as a rabbi in Manhattan. "One such thing is carrying objects outside your home - this includes, for example, pushing baby carriages or playing baseball," he says.
"That's why rabbis came up with the idea almost 2,000 years ago that you could demarcate an area that is no longer a public space, but a private one. Then everything would be allowed there again," explains Mintz. Originally - at the time of the Romans - real walls were erected for this purpose. "But at some point that was no longer practical, so we now use strings and posts."
There is also an Eruv in Zurich
Nowadays, cities around the world in which larger communities of strictly practicing Jews live have their own eruv - Antwerp, London, Toronto and Vienna, for example. In Switzerland, there has been a small eruv in Zurich since 1993: it is located in the area of Freigutstrasse and Gerechtigkeitsstrasse near Selnau station.
There are several eruvs in the various neighborhoods of New York, where it is estimated that more than one million people profess the Jewish faith.
But the one in Manhattan, which Moshe Tauber drives to every Thursday in his minibus, is the largest in the world, says Rabbi Mintz. It stretches from 145th Street all the way to the southern tip of Manhattan and covers almost the entire island. It does not consist of fishing line everywhere, but also includes fences and walls previously erected for other purposes.
Since the establishment of the Eruv in Manhattan in 1999, in agreement with the New York City Council, Rabbi Mintz has officially been its president - and Rabbi Tauber its janitor - on behalf of around a dozen Jewish institutions and organizations.
"It's all going very smoothly," says Mintz. "I don't have to do much, just collect the funding." This amounts to around 150,000 dollars per year, which is mainly raised from donations from Jewish institutions and private individuals. "All the hard work is done by Rabbi Tauber."
The biggest dangers for the Eruv: construction work and snowstorms
From the driver's seat, Tauber never takes his eyes off the line. Every now and then, he takes a sip of coffee from a thermo mug. "It's easier this early in the morning because there's less traffic. But sometimes it's also more difficult to see the line."
He has never experienced vandalism; most of the damage to the eruv is caused by construction work or storms, especially snowstorms. After Hurricane Sandy in 2012, the workmen spent several days repairing the eruv under Tauber's guidance - and managed to do it in time for the start of the Sabbath.
From 145th Street, Tauber turns south on the other side of the island. The sun slowly rises over the East River. "I don't have time to watch the sunrise," says Tauber, his eyes firmly fixed on the traffic and the fishing line.
He also ignores Manhattan and all its sights. "I don't spend any time here, at most I stop by the synagogue." Otherwise, he enjoys the time for himself during the inspection trips. "I usually listen to lectures on Jewish topics, and sometimes I record my own lessons and listen to them again."
Not everyone supported the eruv, says President Mintz. "There were and still are people who believe that if the rules say you can't wear anything on the Sabbath, then you should stick to them."
He grew up without an eruv in his home town of Monsey, says Tauber. "You can manage that." But now there is one there too - "and once you get used to it, it's hard to imagine living without it. Especially for people with small children, if you want to get out into the fresh air with them in the baby carriage."
"The Eruv stands."
In his black van, Tauber has now passed the southern tip of Manhattan and is driving back north along the Hudson River. The city is slowly coming to life around him. The first joggers and cyclists appear, and partygoers tumble out of bars and clubs. Most of them are probably unaware of the fishing line stretched high above their heads in many places. The simultaneity of these worlds is fascinating, says Rabbi Mintz. "And it's just so nice to see that something like the Eruv can still exist today."
Tauber has not discovered a single broken part on the Eruv this Thursday morning. Back at the starting point of his inspection trip, he stops the minibus and takes a black flip phone out of his trouser pocket. "This is my only phone and everything is blocked on it, it doesn't have internet access either. I can only use it to write messages." As he does every Thursday morning, he now texts Mintz and the heads of several other Jewish institutions with the results of his patrol. "The eruv is up."
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