It's 4:15 p.m. on Friday at the corner of Bathurst and Lawrence. The kosher butchers, bakeries and King David Pizza are already closed. Men in black hats and black suits hurry along darkening, cold streets. These hours of slim winter light before sunset are precious for Toronto's Orthodox Jewish community, a time of intense preparation for the day of rest and prayer. At 4:30 p.m., the 39 rules of Sabbath descend here. Or at least 38 do, depending on whether the eruv is operational.
By now on Friday, most Orthodox Jews in Toronto, especially the rabbis, have already visited the website torontoeruv.org or phoned the " eruv hotline." On this Sabbath, a flashing green light on the website cheerfully indicates that yes, the eruv is intact. Which is why a short time later a young man carries a prayer shawl to synagogue, instead of wearing it. Ditto with the woman pushing a stroller along the sidewalk past Haymishe Bagel Shop.
During the day-long Sabbath that begins at sundown on Friday, these simple acts are not kosher. Both fall under the category of "carrying," strictly forbidden on the Sabbath -- except within the eruv, a nearly invisible religious ribbon that wraps a huge swath of the Greater Toronto Area, including the Jewish strongholds of Forest Hill and the Bathurst Street corridor.
Completed 10 years ago this Hanukkah, the current eruv was a gift to the community from a small group of dedicated Orthodox Jews who spent almost a decade putting it together. It's difficult to spot: a continuous series of fences, walls, hydro wires and fishing line that runs south of St. Clair, east of Dufferin, south of the 407, and west of Leslie. The principle of the eruv is that an area bounded by walls is private; essentially, it extends the privileges of a home to the larger community."In Toronto, we happen to be fortunate that the 401 has walls," explains Rabbi Reuven Tradburks of Kehillat Shaarei Torah synagogue. "The CN and CP rail lines have walls and fences around them for safety reasons. So, if you took a snapshot of the city from above, there are large areas that are bounded."
Even so, every wall has a door, and it's these "doors" that must be properly connected with old-fashioned wire and pole. "In these cases, usually two posts and a lintel will stretch across, covering the gap," Mr. Tradburks says. "There are a variety of different places throughout the city where the eruv is visible, but only if you know what to look for."
Though mostly invisible, it has a tremendous impact on the lives of highly observant Orthodox Jews. "On the Sabbath, one is not permitted to carry from a house or a building out into the road unless you have an eruv," Mr. Tradburks explains. "So women with small children can't go to sit in the park for the afternoon, and they cannot attend synagogue. They are stuck inside the house. It can be very restrictive. For anyone with younger children, the eruv becomes a godsend, so to speak."
The same goes for people in wheelchairs, who would otherwise have to remain at home during the Sabbath. "For an older person who is suffering emotionally, who is losing physical abilities, the eruv has a big impact on their dignity," Mr. Tradburks says.
And there are other pluses: toting a book to synagogue, bringing a bottle of wine or a loaf of challah bread to a neighbour. Says Mr. Tradburks, "You can live nicely without these things, but they are more of an enhancement to the community."
Rabbi Moshe Stern was president of Vaad Harabonim, the organization of Orthodox rabbis in Toronto during the eruv's planning and construction. Mr. Stern, who usually phones the eruv hotline on Friday morning, knows that a few dedicated volunteers patrol the perimeter every week to ensure that the line is unbroken.
"This is Canada, after all. A major storm can knock down wires," he says. "It's very rare that the eruv is not functioning, but when it's not, it becomes the duty of all Orthodox rabbis to inform every member of their congregation."
He recalls when, 2½ years ago, the eruv was broken for a Sabbath: "Suddenly you had to check your pockets for combs, or a handkerchief, or keys -- even a piece of Kleenex," Mr. Stern says with a laugh. "I feel like the eruv should be knocked down once in a while, just to remind people how lucky they are to have it."
Building the current eruv was an ambitious project. A volunteer committee, with guidance from Orthodox rabbis, reached out to the former City of Toronto, the City of North York, and Vaughan for permission to build sections of the eruv. The project also required co-operation from utility companies and the Canadian Pacific and Canadian National Railways. Crews were dispatched to adjust wiring on electrical poles, and the Toronto eruv's website indicates that the railways spent more than $300,000 to build a series of fences that enclosed their rail lines -- complying with a government regulation in a way that also fit religious requirements.
Mr. Stern confirms that each stage of the eruv was completed with all the proper permissions of local and provincial government. "We had heard in other cities, in London, for example, and in Montreal, that building an eruv caused some friction within communities," he says.
In fact, in 2001, civic officials cut down an eruv in the Montreal suburb of Outremont after complaints from area residents; Orthodox Jews in the area fought for the right to reconstruct it, and the Quebec Superior Court ruled that their fishing line could go back up.
"Sometimes certain feelings come to the surface that aren't so pleasant," Mr. Stern says. "Here in Toronto, there was complete co-operation. Maybe because we were meticulous."
The current eruv superseded an older one that marked the old boundaries of the city's Jewish community. "The original eruv of Toronto was downtown," says Rabbi Shmuel Spero of Anshei Minsk Temple in Kensington Market. His is one of a handful of Orthodox synagogues outside the current eruv; it's located in the once-thriving Jewish community of Kensington Market, where old Yiddish signs still haunt a few of the windows and brick walls. This area was enclosed by the first Toronto eruv, established in 1922 south of Bloor Street. "[That]set the precedent for Toronto," Mr. Spero says. "But it wasn't agreed upon by all members of the community. There was some controversy" over whether it fit all the relevant requirements of Jewish law.
That's not so today, Mr. Stern adds. "We didn't want to create a scenario where some members of the Jewish community would have problems with the technical legitimacy of the eruv," he says. "It's now accepted by the entire Orthodox community." In fact, Mr. Stern brags, "One of the chief rabbis from Israel came here to visit, and he told me that this is one of the best eruvim in the world."
Still, as much of Toronto is covered, the Orthodox community is growing. "Most of the major Jewish community now exist within the eruv, but there's discussion of pushing it farther north. If you look up past Highway 7, whole communities have sprung up." Mr. Stern sighs, "An eruv is like taxes; it never ends. As the community shifts and grows, we will expand it."
In Kensington, Mr. Spero says that, in the next five years, he hopes to construct an eruv that would encompass the city's hospital corridor as well as his own synagogue. "We have charted the downtown area to know how it could be laid out, the issues that would have to be overcome. It's possible. God willing."