Merging Domains With An Eiruv

 

In chapter 81, we learned that it is forbidden to carry between a private domain and a public one on Shabbat.  Now we will learn about an interesting extension of this rule.

 

The Talmud tells us of two special decrees instituted by King Shlomo.  One regarded washing hands; Shlomo decreed that our hands should not be considered definitely pure until washed, and this was the basis for the later rule that required washing for bread. (See chapter 40.)  The other decree forbade carrying on Shabbat even between two distinct private domains (Shabbat 14b).  Such carrying is permissible only through eiruv chatzerot, a "mingling of courtyards" in which several adjoining properties are symbolically combined into one via joint ownership of a Shabbat meal, as the Kitzur Shulchan Arukh explains.

 

The main reason for this second decree was that a private courtyard of several private dwellings has a public character, and could be confused with a true public domain.  If a person saw people carrying from the house to the courtyard, he might assume that it is permissible to carry into the street as well.

 

This decree seems to bear a message of alienation: each household is viewed as its own private world, and each neighboring household is presented as a menacing foreign domain likened to a public thoroughfare.  However, the decree came with its own solution with the exact opposite message, one of fellowship.  By the simple expedient of putting food for one meal in a central location and making each household a partner in the meal and the room, the entire courtyard or even an entire city is turned into a SINGLE domain!  Recognizing the threat of alienation gives us the impetus to create brotherhood.

 

 

THE MORAL METAPHOR

 

In chapter 81, we viewed objects in a particular domain as a metaphor for ideas in a value system.  Moving an object from the private domain to the public one can symbolize making a moral decision that a particular idea belongs to the realm of evil, not that of good.  Even though such a decision does not involve any particular ACT of good, it is a momentous moral act.  This is the inner significance of the fact that carrying is considered a Shabbat labor even though no actual change is effected in the object moved.

 

We can readily extend this metaphor to Shlomo's decree.  The private domain remains a metaphor for acts that are morally correct, but the prohibition on carrying even from another private domain suggests that what is right for one person is not necessarily proper for another.  Even taking an object from one private domain to another - judging one person's act according to the values appropriate for another person - is a complex and significant moral act.

 

Here is one example of this principle.  Pinchas acted zealously to uproot immoral behavior from among the Jewish people, and was rewarded with a unique blessing from God  (Bamidbar chapter 25).  However, Jewish law explicitly rejects Pinchas's behavior as a prescriptive model for others (Rema SA CM 425:4).  Such an act would be improper for another person, one who lacks Pinchas's pure instinctive zeal for God's honor.

 

Prohibiting carrying even between two distinct private domains teaches that each person's basic moral code is intensely and inalienably private.  Even when every individual is acting in an upright and conscientious way, there will inevitably be differences in moral standards. 

 

However, it is considered a mitzva to make an eiruv in the community, to combine the separate private domains into one.  This is done by having each household compromise a bit of its own privacy, and give all other households a bit of title to its own domain.  In terms of our metaphor, people accept standards slightly different than their own, and also are willing to modify their own standards so that they conform to other people's domains.  These compromises are a prerequisite for civilized city living.

 

In a large community, moral standards that vary with each individual's private moral standing can be quite dangerous.  When many people join together in a community, the ideal is "eiruv chatzerot" - mingling of domains.  Urban culture requires certain compromises, a certain homogenization of standards.  The figure of the lone, zealous avenger, which is so important in the desert, is less appropriate in the city.

 

WAR AND PEACE

 

Why was this decree instituted specifically in the time of King Shlomo?  Rav Hai Gaon (a very early medieval scholar) gives a profound answer to this question.

 

The mishna tells us that an army camp is exempt from the requirement to make an eiruv (end of first chapter of Eiruvin). Rav Hai Gaon observes that when Shlomo's kingdom was established, "he had peace from all sides around" (Melakhim I 5:5).  Until this time, the Jewish people considered themselves to be in an ongoing state of war - as if the entire nation were considered a single army camp.  (Cited by Semag, beginning of Hilkhot Eiruvin.)

 

An army camp has its own kind of fellowship, but it is a kind much different than that of the city.  In wartime, there is virtually no privacy, and no stability.  A truly private domain barely exists.  It is no wonder that there was then no need to create an eiruv.

 

Finally, in the time of Shlomo, the Jewish people had a sense of SECURITY, and this gave them a sense of PRIVACY.  The verse just mentioned says that Shlomo had peace from all sides; the very next verse elaborates that "Yehuda and Yisrael sat securely, each man under his vine and under his fig tree, from Dan [in the far north] unto Beer Sheva [in the far south] all the days of Shlomo."

 

When each person is conscious of his own privacy, his own property and his own place, then there is a need to take special steps to create community and fellowship.  According to Rav Hai Gaon, this is the historical background to the institution of eiruv.

 

Peace and prosperity not only create the NEED for fellowship, they also create the greatest OPPORTUNITY for ideal fellowship. 

 

Adversity gives people a sense of urgency and common purpose.  This motivates them to give up their privacy and work together for the collective good.  A sense of community is automatically created.

 

But ironically, this very lack of privacy constitutes a barrier to TRUE community.  In order to open up to others, we require a certain personal space, a modicum of privacy and modesty.  We could say that prior to the time of Shlomo, a true sense of "eiruv," of mingling of properties, was not only unnecessary but was also impossible.  It was only through the security of "each man under his vine and under his fig tree" that people attained a willingness to compromise their private space and give their neighbors free reign there, without the imposition of a stifling, military-style uniformity.

 

The Semag (an early medieval authority) points out that an army camp is also exempted from washing hands.  So Shlomo's institution of washing hands is also based on the peace and security that his reign brought.  We can perceive here a similar message.  The requirement for washing hands is to awaken us to an added sensitivity to holiness and purity, over and above the minimum requirements of the Torah.  It is unrealistic to expect this special sensitivity among people preoccupied with war and defense.  Most people require a minimal amount of material security in order to sharpen their spiritual sensitivity.

 

SOVEREIGNTY AND SALESMANSHIP

 

The Semag also draws our attention to a passage in Yirmiyahu that seems to discuss our halakha. 

 

"Thus said God - watch your souls, and bear no loads on Shabbat, bringing them to the gates of Yerushalayim.  And bring no loads out of your houses on the Sabbath day, and do no labor, and sanctify the Sabbath day as I commanded your fathers.  And they did not hear, and they did not turn their ears, and they stiffened their necks not to hear nor to accept admonition.  But if you will indeed hear Me, says God, not to bring loads in the gate of this city on the Sabbath day, and to sanctify the Shabbat day, not doing any work; Then through the gates of this city will come kings and ministers, sitting on the throne of David, riding carriages and horses, they and their ministers, men of Yehuda and the residents of Yerushalayim and this city will be inhabited forever... But if you will not hear Me to sanctify the Sabbath day, and to refrain from bearing a burden and entering the gates of Yerushalayim on the Sabbath day, then I will kindle a fire in its gates, and it shall consume the palaces of Yerushalayim, and it shall not be extinguished." (Yirmiyahu 17:21-25, 27)

 

This prophecy includes the admonition not to "bring loads out of your houses on the Sabbath day."  The point of the admonition is that people shouldn't be preoccupied with commerce.  If we are able to overcome the ultimate private concern, that of business, by refraining from trading on Shabbat, then we will be worthy of the ultimate public accomplishment, that of sovereignty.

 

But if we are NOT able to rise above these petty concerns, then Yerushalayim is judged with fire.  The Maharal explains that anything holy that is defiled is condemned to burning.  He gives the examples of truma (food given to the priests that only they may eat) or sacrifices that become ritually defiled - they must be burnt.  The consuming fire of destruction reminds us of the fire of holiness that was supposed to inhere in these objects.  In addition, the disappearance of these defiled items in fire reminds us that holiness is transcendental, not this-worldly.  When their sanctity is removed, objects of holiness themselves disappear.

 

Yerushalayim is the holy city, and if it is not sanctified by keeping Shabbat properly, then it too is condemned to burning (Chidushei Aggadot).