The Eruv had never been described in such a way to me. ‘Rogue’ immediately felt like guerrilla architecture, and contrary to my experience in North America where the Eruv always appeared humble yet extremely calculated. But here, there is a nuanced meaning to the material manifestation of the Eruv that goes beyond spiritual or symbolic space into possessive space. In a place where Jewish people are not a minority, the Eruv has become a battle between the different Jewish sects, rather than a quiet pluralistic settling of a community amongst others. In certain circumstances, the Ultra-Orthodox Jewish communities have slowly begun to use the Eruv as a means to claim territory in secular Jewish neighbourhoods. Inciting what has become dubbed as ‘Eruv Wars’ in the city, these community Eruvin get torn down and put up by battling sides, attempting to stake claim over a neighbourhoods’ religious identity. The Eruvin in Jerusalem, specifically these rogue community Eruvin, don’t embed themselves in the same manner as the others I had seen. They were superimposed onto the context, some spray painted, many non-functional but still standing with strings blowing in the wind. They felt like leftover flag posts remaining from an attempt to stake a claim on land. The Eruv Wars, now at a standstill, were a push and pull between secular and religious communities. And because of its material simplicity, it could be just that – a tool of power instead of a tool of community. And this is the unbelievable and yet incredible power of self-made architectures – they can be deployed at ease with different ambitions in mind. Communities have built Eruvin in Jerusalem as if they were patching torn fabric - redundant boundaries overlaid and incomplete in order to provide a significance of a space for religious use. Unfortunately, the value of the Eruv is lost in its material manifestation – it becomes instead leftovers and artefacts of a fraught landscape. The Eruv becomes a guise for these territorial markers – they are not mixing or mingling spaces, or spaces of multiplicity. Just leftover materials that tarnish the landscape. The Eruv is a reminder that boundaries are never neutral in their existence. However, there is a lightness to all this – to see the power a group has in building a sense of community, and that in the circumstance of the Eruv, can be done with respect and care. The Eruv offers many lessons in the world of boundaries, and perhaps the most important is that of plurality and multiplicity. The Eruv is only successful when it negotiates its existence, when it urges mingling instead of separation. The Eruv’s materiality, as stated before, is both its greatest strength and its greatest weakness. It is an example of a truly open kind of architecture and boundary, but just like anything, can be abused in its humble qualities. But there is no doubt that the Eruv is a form of empowerment, putting the interests of the community in the hands of its members. My time pursuing field work, and still doing so, on these edges has been fulfilling. The Eruv markers, be they modest or territorial, have significance tied to them. The most mundane of materials become the most basic architectonic form – and for me, they each hold a story. O
from the top: Community-scale Eruvin in a religious neighbourhoods in and outside Jerusalem Eruv running parallel to a highway in the Northern Negev Desert
on site review 38: borders, lines, breaks and breaches 53
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