The fate of a proposed eruv in Palo Alto looks grim.
An Orthodox-led group sought to build the eruv in order to form a contiguous border — made of telephone poles, strings or natural boundaries, such as creeks — allowing observant Jews to perform tasks otherwise forbidden during the Sabbath.
But in a City Council meeting on July 25, the eruv came up short — even though almost 90 percent of the proposed border is already in place.
One council member flatly rejected any eruv, while two other members accepted a version that Jewish leaders say could never be built.
“This is a technical ambush,” said Carol Saal, a longtime resident of Palo Alto and a leader in the Jewish community. “The restrictions have become so onerous that an eruv is almost out of the question.
“Basically, I think that the city staff found a loophole and exploited it. Once again, the city’s staff demonstrated their lack of leadership,” she added.
The eruv’s potential death blow was delivered in a report drawn up by the city manager, Frank Benest. The report stated that placing foreign attachments on telephone poles or lampposts constituted a safety hazard for city workers.
Benest and the city Department of Public Works did give the green light to an eruv that contained no attachments.
The eruv, however, mandated the use of small plastic frames, called tzurat hapetach, to be attached to poles in order to brace connecting lines.
According to Rabbi Joshua Zweiback, Palo Alto’s city manager was informed prior to the council meeting that the restrictions would essentially kill the eruv.
“The proposal went forth despite our objections,” said Zweiback of Reform Congregation Beth Am in Los Altos.
Noting that there are more than 100 eruvim throughout the country, Zweiback said he was hard-pressed to understand why the issue failed.
“It’s a real loss for the community that cuts across all ideological boundaries. Every single rabbi I know was 100 percent in support of the eruv.”
Stan Sussman, the founding president of the Palo Alto Community Eruv Inc., offered an acerbic analogy of the city manager’s watered-down proposal.
“Imagine getting a permit to open a restaurant. But the city says that there can be no chairs in this restaurant, because people could fall off them and hurt themselves. And there can be no silverware, because they could be used as weapons.
“Lastly, there shouldn’t be food, because people could choke,” he continued. “Other than that, feel free and open a restaurant.”
Rabbi Yitzchok Feldman of Palo Alto’s Orthodox Congregation Emek Berecha, boiled down the legal jargon to one word — fear.
“The city was afraid of being sued for religious preference, even though Palo Alto’s own attorney [Ariel Calonne] said the likelihood of any such suits ever reaching court is minimal.”
Feldman, the driving force behind forming an eruv, tempered his frustration at the outcome with wry humor, suggesting that drastic measures could be in order.
“On Sept. 13, I will unilaterally declare an eruv in the city of Palo Alto,” he quipped, borrowing the line from Palestinian Authority leader Yasser Arafat. “This eruv may actually encompass more than Palo Alto — we might try to incorporate Coit Tower and sections of Nob Hill as well.”
Summit sarcasm aside, Feldman demurred when pressed for details on what the next step for the eruv proponents would be.
“Let’s just say that we’re mulling over our options.”
Whatever those options are, they can’t erase a year’s worth of bad memories for Rabbi Sheldon Lewis.
“This is a very sad day for Palo Alto, perhaps the hardest day I can remember for our community in the 27 years I’ve been here,” said the leader of the city’s Conservative Congregation Kol Emeth.
“It’s really made me wonder about the heart of Palo Alto,” Lewis continued. “I really think we’ve seen the dark side of this community.
“Things should never have gotten this complicated if Palo Alto was a community that truly celebrated diversity.”