Haley Schulman, 29, a Jewish professional in New York City was “appalled” by Pence’s comments. 

Haley Schulman, 29, is “appalled” by Mike Pence’s assertion that Trump is incapable of prejudice because his grandchildren are Jewish. Photo courtesy of Haley Schulman.

“It feels like blatant pandering and treating Jews as if the only thing we care about are other Jews,” she said. “Treating Jews as a monolith is offensive, especially because those values that I care about as a Jew are not values that are being expressed or embodied by this current administration.” 

President Trump was recently reported as having stated that Jews are “only in it for themselves” — a commonly employed antisemitic trope used to conjure suspicion toward the Jewish community. 

At the debate Pence tried to deflect Harris’ charge that Trump did not condemn white supremicists during the September 29th debate.

“The President has Jewish grandchildren,” said  Pence. “His daughter and son-in-law are Jewish. This is a president who respects and cherishes all of the American people.” 

Lucy Greenbaum, 23, a Jewish musician from St. Louis, Missouri, sees a disconnect

Lucy Greenbaum, 23, does not feel recognized as a Jewish person by the Trump administration. Photo by Zack Dalin

between the Trump administration’s eagerness to appear close to the Jewish community and its actual relationship with Jewish Americans. 

“I was just really taken aback by that comment,” she said. “My immediate reaction was that I don’t feel seen by [Pence], by Trump, by the Trump administration, as a Jewish person. I do not feel represented by them.”

Greenbaum is concerned about the impact of Trump and Pence’s rhetoric on the Jewish community. 

“Trump had the opportunity to condemn white supremacy as a whole and did not do so [during the presidential debate]… I feel that this administration is a direct threat to Jewish people in this country,” said Greenbaum. 

According to the Anti-Defamation League, antisemitic incidents in the United States have risen under Trump’s presidency, with a 12% increase from 2018 to 2019. 

Jonah Rothstein, 25, described Pence’s comments as “laughable.” Photo courtesy of Jonah Rothstein.

Jonah Rothstein, 25, a member of the Jewish community in Encinitas, California, rejects Pence’s assertion that Trump supports the Jewish community. He described Pence’s comments as “laughable.” 

“This administration throws dog whistles to white supremacists, including the Proud Boys, who are recognizable antisemites… it’s baked into their ideology,” said Rothstein. “Just because you have a relationship with someone who’s Jewish does not mean you are not antisemitic.” 

Although originally a Bernie Sanders supporter, Rothstein will be voting for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris. 

“It’s the only option we have to preserve a semblance of American democracy,” said Rothstein. 

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Vince Vance, 26, a humanities teacher in Manhattan, finds it difficult to be inundated with images and stories of men that look like him dying at the hands of police. 

Vince Vance, 26, identifies as a progressive socialist and sees capitalism as a major barrier to achieving racial justice. Photo credit: Vince Vance.

“There are times where I’ll see something has happened and I will have to scroll past it at first because I am not in the headspace to just completely derail my day,” he said. 

Vance, who identifies as Black, Queer, and as a progressive socialist, sees America’s emphasis on capitalism as the biggest barrier to eliminating racism. 

“Capitalism is the root of a lot of evil,” said Vance. “The policing that happens is protecting the interest of the rich.” 

His activism this year has included protesting with Black Lives Matter, donating money to protect individuals from evictions during the Covid-19 pandemic, and practicing self-care. 

“Taking care of myself is in itself an act of resistance,” said Vance. 

He hopes that after the next presidential election, America can start putting systems in place that better protect people of color, such as universal healthcare and prison reform. 

Sitting right of Vance on the political spectrum is Jerime Mason, 29, a training and quality specialist in healthcare from Chicago, Illinois.

“I am definitely more conservative than I am progressive at this point,” said Mason. 

For Mason, a devout Christian, it is the politicization of racial issues in the United States that he finds taxing. 

“For me, to actually address racism, it can no longer be politicized,” he said” It is a matter of truth and fact. If we are going to say all people are equal then we have to live that out, and with that I think ‘judging a book by its color’ is the one thing I see present in almost all mainstream media’s framing of the issue — like prejudging and pre-biases.” 

Mason is not convinced that the recent acts of police brutality against Black individuals are explicitly racist. 

With regard to the muder of George Floyd by a Minnesota police officer, Mason said, “ I am confused at how it is even perceived as racism. You definitely see an obvious abuse of authority, but after watching it several times, there’s nothing about it that tells you he did it only because he was Black.” 

Jerime Mason, 29, a devout Christian, views the politicization of race as the most frustrating element of political tension in America today. Photo by Jhaylen Cherry

He knows that his views are not the norm in the Black community, but that doesn’t hold him back from participating in conversations on race.

“I think it is healthy to listen and to desire truth in the conversation, even if I am wrong, and also to love the other person regardless of what conclusion they come to,” he said. 

Mason has spent a lot of time reading and researching to develop his political and social beliefs. But his real hope for a more just future comes from his Christian faith. 

“I don’t think I have seen or read the words of another man [i.e. Jesus] that has brought me more hope,” he said.  

Evan Traylor, 26, a full-time rabbinical student in Washington, D.C., finds his Jewish faith intertwined with his views on racial justice. 

“From as long as I can remember, what I learned at my Temple is that Judaism is about helping others and making the world a better place,” said Traylor. 

Being Biracial, both Black and white,Traylor has encountered racism within predominantly white Jewish spaces, pushing him to work on issues for Jews of Color. 

“It has been five to six years of exploring and investing around this idea of Jews of Color,” he said.  “How do we support JOCs and how do we eliminate the racism that exists within the Jewish community?” 

This summer, some of Traylor’s activism included speaking at Central Synagogue and teaching a workshop for the Jewish organization, Hillel International.  

He sees the tie between systems of oppression and the power of the wealthiest citizens. 

“Until we are able to refute the ideas that center white wealthy men, racism will continue to be here,” he said. 

 Traylor maintains hope despite the deep-seated inequality in this country and all of the work that must be done to dismantle it.

“It is hard to have ancestors that were enslaved and eventually gained their freedom, and started a family and set off this long chain of events that led to me and not have hope,” he said.

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But this April, families celebrated the tradition while isolated inside of their homes. 

Because of the coronavirus pandemic that has overwhelmed the nation, households have been observing long-established traditions through computer screens. Families are using platforms like Zoom to celebrate in isolation. 

Rabbi Gavriel Bellino, the rabbi of Sixth Street Community Synagogue in the East Village, experienced the struggle of families who yearned to celebrate but couldn’t risk contamination. 

“Because you know, people are used to these big family meals. They’re used to grandparents with their grandchildren,” he said. “It was like ‘your grandchildren are going to kill you.’ It became the inverse of the normal Passover, and we define it by community and we think about multi-generational, and it’s precisely those things that you couldn’t experience.” 

Synagogues across New York have closed their doors in fear of spreading coronavirus, and at a press conference on March 27, Mr. De Blasio said that synagogues holding in person services would be met with enforcement agents.

“I want to say to all those who are preparing for the potential of religious services this weekend: If you go to your synagogue, if you go to your church, and attempt to hold services after having been told so often not to, our enforcement agents will have no choice but to shut down those services,” he said. 

But in late April, mourners gathered in Brooklyn for a funeral to honor a prominent rabbi who died of coronavirus. It was held by Hasidic and Orthodox communities of Williamsburg, and over 2,500 people attended. According to Yeshiva World, the funeral was for Rabbi Chaim Mertz, and was the first event in which Mr. De Blasio personally participated in dispersing crowds, and posted on his Twitter page. 

“My message to the Jewish community, and all communities, is this simple: the time for warnings has passed,” he said. “I have instructed the NYPD to proceed immediately to summons or even arrest those who gather in large groups. This is about stopping this disease and saving lives. Period.”

Rabbi Bellino, who struggled with the closure of his own synagogue, said that generalizations about a group can be harmful even if the mayor is trying to protect them. 

“I understand the desperation, when you’re trying your best to keep people safe, and you see people flagrantly violating that you lose your mind,” he said. “No good can come of broad stroking a whole group of people. Even if he just said the ‘Hasidic’ community, it would have been offensive because a lot of the Hasidic community is taking this very seriously.” 

Like other traditions, synagogues have been organizing memorials at home to grieve through Zoom. 

For Rabbi Bellino, his synagogue wanted to honor the death of their music teacher and conducted the memorial online. 

“He had passed away last year and they had planned this memorial event, to remember him and honor him on the anniversary of his passing and so they did that on Zoom,” he said. “They’ve limited the number of people that can attend a funeral. There are no funerals being held, or the burial event is limited to two or three people and the rabbi.”

Because of the restrictions on holding funerals, Rabbi Bellino said that people are holding “Zoom Shivas.” “Shiva” is where families mourn together after the burial of the deceased. 

But for many people, Shiva hasn’t been the same in isolation. 

“Obviously part of the tragedy is either people being taken away from us way too quickly, suddenly, but also to lose people that just died because people die who then can’t be mourned according to these traditions, these ways that people find meaning in,” he said. “They can’t do that or they can’t have that connection and next thing you know, they’re gone and there hasn’t been that system of dealing with them.”

But he said that Zoom Shiva has been an alternative for people who have no other way to honor the deceased. He said that his friend had a Shiva for his father. 

“They did not Zoom the burial or funeral, but they did have a Zoom Shiva. It was a little strange, but it was also really nice.” 

But some people found it impersonal to be honoring a person through technology. Specifically, when a friend suddenly dies from COVID-19. 

“It was horrible that he died.  It was tough to attend his memorial service via zoom, rather than in person,” said Eric Morris, a synagogue member in Syracuse, New York. “It was really hard.” 

Morris said that he hadn’t seen his friend in a long time so it was difficult saying goodbye to him online, but he said that he enjoys continuing some traditions on Zoom.

“My wife attends Saturday morning service on Zoom with our synagogue,” he said. “We had a Friday night service. We meet people from our synagogue about two to three times per week online.” 

He said that Orthodox families are still holding funerals but are abiding by social distancing guidelines. 

“A friend called me and asked me to come. We were all six feet apart, everyone was wearing masks,” he said. “It was a regular funeral, less than 20 people attended.” 

He said that it was important for the family to commemorate death with an in-person ceremony. 

“Instead of a zoom, the Orthodox rabbi requested an in-person funeral. It was just immediate family, and they had to do it in-person.” 

But some synagogue members are embracing online resources, and are joining online clubs with Chabad groups to stay in communication.

“It’s a Jewish women’s group, it’s a book club, it’s for current events, and they talk about helping out people in the community,” said Robin Gersen, a native New Yorker. “I had this mahjong game I used to play periodically, and now they are playing online.” 

She said that her uncle died of coronavirus complications and her family had a Zoom memorial to honor him. 

“My uncle Al was 70, and he passed away in mid-April. He died in a nursing home in Queens,” she said. “No one was able to see him in the nursing home, so that was the hard part.” 

But she said that technology helped her family cope when it was all too clear that being together wouldn’t be safe. 

“In March, they wouldn’t allow any visitors. His wife and daughter weren’t able to go visit him for the last month of his life, but he was able to speak with his grandchildren on FaceTime.”  

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Picture being a Jewish teenager in Europe in the early 1940’s, hiding for four years in the basement of Nazi head quarters in Poland, eating nothing but potato peels from the garbage and avoiding the light for fear of detection. Some believe that can happen again.

“The incidents are increasing,” said Jonathon Pierce, 49, the International Spokesperson for the Jewish fraternity Alpha Epsilon Pi (AEPI). “We’re talking about swastikas painted on houses and mezuzahs ripped off brothers doors, and these are just the most recent incidents, there are more.”

A study conducted by the Louis D. Brandeis Center and Trinity CollegeTrinity College study showed that over half of Jewsih college students experienced anti-Semitism.

Today brothers of the Fraternity AEPI endure congruent situations of anti-Semitism. With 185 chapters in five different countries (including the United States, Canada, France, Israel, and the United Kingdom) there have been over 1000 incidents of intolerance against Jewish fraternity brothers alone this year, according to the National Office of AEPI. Examples include swastikas sprayed on the brothers’ mailboxes at the University of Oregon.

Pierce, an alumnus of the AEPI Chapter at Vanderbilt University, wants his brothers to be proud of who they are and what they believe in. But he is also worried for their safety.

“We had to hire a security team to work with our brothers to make sure they’re safe in situations,” said Pierce. “It’s happening every day on every campus. Just two days after the anti – Israel vote at UC Davis to divest from companies who do business in Israel, there were swastikas painted on the AEPI house. That’s no coincidence. Every Jew should be concerned.”

According to the AEPI Chapter at Emory University, brothers now look behind their shoulders and are more careful when they’re out at bars since their house was spray painted with swastikas on the Jewish Holiday Yom Kippur.

But they don’t feel like this discrimination is anti-Israel. They feel like it’s anti-Semitic.

A junior, AEPHI sorority sister from New York University, who would not give her name because of fear of anti-Semitic backlash, said students from other universities will come on campus and hurl slurs at Jewish students.

During recruitment, her AEPHI sisters even worried that they were labeled the Jewish sorority during rush, bringing them negative attention. Other sororities swayed freshman girls from joining AEPHI because they were a Jewish sorority.

“I’m still proud to be a Jew and wear my AEPHI letters,” she said. “I do believe there will be another Holocaust. We said never again after the destruction of the second temple, after the Spanish Inquisition, and after the Holocaust. It just repeats itself.”

Allan Hall, 85, a Holocaust survivor from Krakow, Poland, believes that the Jewish people will always be outsiders.

Hall is in constant worry that the next generation will face the tragedy that he endured.

Allan Hall, 85, is a Holocaust survivor. Photo by Nicole Schubert

“I personally experienced anti-Semitism on a governmental and institutional basis,” said Hall. “But I’ve also experienced anti-Semitism in the United States in a major and minor way.”

While attending the University of Florida and joining the fraternity Alpha Epsilon Pi (AEPI), Hall experienced perpetual incidents of anti-Semitism similar to today. Whether it was when he felt aghast to have his formal date feel his head for horns and his side for tails or to change his last name to Hall from Horowitz, he always felt like an outsider. But Hall believes without anti-Semitism, the Jewish people wouldn’t be as strong as they are.

“It’s those that hate us that keep us going,” said Hall.

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by Ben Shapiro

A new phone app called CombateHateU was released today to help Jewish college students deal with displays of anti-Semitism on their campuses.

Officials from the Simon Wiesenthal Center along with representatives from the historically Jewish fraternity Alpha Epsilon Pi gathered this morning at the Museum of Tolerance on 42nd street in Manhattan, New York, to announce the introduction of this new tool to fight anti-Semitism.

“We need to empower people to stand up and take action, reclaim their territory, their rights,” said Mark Weitzman, director of government affairs for the Simon Wiesenthal Center. “It will allow people, Jewish, not Jewish, anyone who cares about freedom of speech and quality of intellectual and academic discourse on campus to participate and to be able to make it a safer and more secure place for people.”

In the wake of recent demonstrations of discrimination displayed at Emory University and Ohio University, the leaders of these two Jewish organizations feel the need to stand against anti-Semitism is as strong as ever. They believe the fighting along the Gaza strip has increased hostility towards Jews around the country. Weitzman, a native of Brooklyn, New York, said this issue is prevalent all across the globe.

“This is a problem that is going on internationally, certainly across Europe,” said Weitzman during the press conference. “There was just a case a week or two ago, where Jewish students were barred from a British sporting good store because they looked Jewish.”

CombateHateU is an advanced application based off a previous model released by the Wiesenthal Center that was intended for use by high school students. The new model allows college students to inform members of the Wiesenthal Center when and where illustrations of anti-Semitism are occurring, whether it is physical actions, or derogatory speeches from students and professors. Students can describe the event, or even post videos and audio links of what occurred. The application first reminds students to go through their campus institutions designed to handle social matters, and also insures them of their anonymity when reporting these issues through the application.

“It has the opportunity to give us a description, tell us when something happened, let the student tell us who they contacted,” said Rick Eaton, co-author of “Digital Terrorism and Hate” and one of the main contributors towards the development of the application. “We never would give that information out, but it would give us the opportunity to use the weight of the Wiesenthal Center to contact campus authorities or whoever that we think might be able to help in these incidents, but it is always confidential.”

Eaton, along with the other senior members of the Wiesenthal Center, are glad their idea has come to fruition, although now they want to make sure Jewish students around the country are aware of the new tool they have at their disposal.

“One of the most important things, and we ask the brothers of AEPi that are here, is to share this app, not only with your AEPi brothers but with your Jewish friends on campus that may need to see it,” said Eaton, who works out of the Wiesenthal Center’s Los Angeles headquarters.

One of those AEPi brothers in attendance was Nissan Mirakov, 19, from Fresh Meadows, Queens. Mirakov attends Baruch College in Manhattan, and is vice president of the Hillel House at Baruch. Mirakov is proud of the active population of Jewish students at Baruch, and specifically in his fraternity, but voiced concern for the potential Jewish student who is not surrounded by other Jewish people, or is not affiliated with any Jewish organizations.

“Nationally I think it will help us out a lot,” said Mirakov.

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Barely visible behind the tidy, stacked columns of Judaic literature, Yitzhak Israeli leafed through a leather-bound copy of the Talmud, searching for new insights on an ancient text.

Two rows away, Karen Steinberger picked up a paperback she’s been itching to buy: Future Tense by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, a prolific, controversial author who’s faced opposition from religious conservatives.

But no matter what literary work either chooses to read at Yeshiva University’s book fair, both will encounter one common theme: the roots of Jewish identity.

The school expects more than 13,000 visitors this month at the Seforim sale—located at 2495 Amsterdam Ave. on the university’s Wilf Campus in Washington Heights—where patrons can select from a wide range of faith-based titles, from Yearning for Shabbat to the cooking guide, Quick and Kosher.

With less than a week before the student-run event ends, Tzvi Feifel, 23, a Yeshiva student and the fair’s chief executive, said his team looks to gross $1 million from its selection of nearly 15,000 works.

“We have all the ancient texts but we also have newer stuff which is borderline controversial,” Feifel said. “There’s always some stuff that’s going to poke people’s sides. But we’re trying to be of service to the community and the community is very broad.”

Some readers like Israeli of Munsey, N.Y. said that, when it comes to the holy books, it’s hard to stick to a budget.

“I have a small pile building in the corner over there,” he said, pointing to a stack so high it threatened to topple over. He later added several more to the growing heap. “Let’s see how big it’s going to get by the end of this visit.”

But the sale also appeals to a younger crowd—those who want to study Judaism in a 21st century context. Clusters of Yeshiva students mingled between the aisles, discussing recent reads or noteworthy authors, including the works by Joseph Ber Soloveitchik, commonly known as “The Rav.” Steinberger, 21, said she’s eager to get her hands on some newer titles and lose herself in the “corpus of literature.”

From the customary to cutting-edge, Feifel said the eclectic variety of merchandise reflects the diversity of the clientele.

“We have people getting the traditional stuff,” he said, referring to the prayer books. “But at the same time they branch out and get the new stuff. The purpose of reading the old stuff is not to read it in of itself. The question is when you read something, how does it affect you, how does it mold you to become a better person.”

Still, Feifel isn’t convinced of all messages in modern writings—and neither is Israeli, who rarely ventured out of the sale’s selection of traditional works.

But despite the generational gap, both considered the book sale one way to reconnect with their religious roots, using faith to inform their day-to-day lives.

“See how much wisdom is folded into these books,” Israeli said, tracing the gold, embossed Hebrew characters stamped on the spine of one tome. “It’s trying to give us a drop from the ocean of the wisdom of the Torah. Religion gives you strength, gives you power, gives you belief, gives you life.”

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A Hasidic Jewish man walks down the street in Williamsburg. Photo by Kathryn Kattalia/NYU

Walking into Solomon Wagmar’s world is a lot like walking onto a movie set. The dressmakers and cobblers peddling wares along Lee Avenue exude an old world vibe, reinforced by the bearded men ambling down the street in stockings, black overcoats and wide-brimmed hats. Signs hanging in the windows of delis and restaurants clearly spell out the neighborhood’s dress code: “No shorts, no sleeveless.”

Indeed, not a single knee or elbow is revealed on the unusually warm late October afternoon as women in headscarves chat animatedly in Yiddish, pushing their baby strollers around a Klein’s Real Kosher Ice Cream truck unloading on the sidewalk.

For the tourists passing through on Saturdays (Wagmar says they come to see the kolpiks — large fur head-dresses worn by men on the Jewish day of rest), the enormous Hasidic district stretching through southern Williamsburg, Brooklyn, looks like a community frozen in time, immune to the trendy cafes, organic food stores and condos overwhelming the hipster-centric streets north of Division Avenue. For Wagmar, it’s simply the neighborhood he calls home.

“Some people don’t know exactly who we are,” Wagmar said. “They don’t get into our lives and don’t get our point of view or don’t know exactly what’s happening. We are very friendly people and a nice community. We like to live here.”

Wagmar, whose red beard makes him look older than 26, moved to Williamsburg from his childhood home in Monsey, N.Y., seven years ago with his wife Chaya, a schoolteacher. He has a quiet demeanor, but is eager to answer questions, apologizing ahead of time for his grammar. Like most Hasidic families, Wagmar and his wife speak Yiddish at home, using English only when they don’t want their three young children to understand what they’re saying. A student of Jewish law at his synagogue’s college, Wagmar breaks to pray three times a day. He loves Twitter and avoids politics.

“In Monsey, I was scared,” Wagmar said. “When I walked out at 11 o’clock at night, I was scared because it was very quiet. When you see a car passing by with loud music, I was scared about what was going to happen. Here, whenever you walk, you see other Jewish people are in the street. I feel more safe than in other neighborhoods.”

Nestled in the northern part of Brooklyn, one quick stop away from Manhattan on the L train, Williamsburg has become an increasingly popular place to live, drawing a diverse population that continues to grow. Boasting almost 150,000 people, the neighborhood is home to vibrant Polish and Puerto Rican communities and is a hot spot for young people lured in by the artsy glow of the area’s bars and restaurants.

It’s a neighborhood rich in history that’s constantly changing face. The Domino Sugar refinery still looms along the East River, an abandoned relic of Williamsburg’s 19^th Century industrial boom. Other factories have since transformed into hip, indie nightclubs fueling the neighborhood’s underground music scene. A shrinking subculture of hipsters still cling to the non-conformist attitudes first introduced to Williamsburg by an influx of artists who set up shop in the 1970s and left just as quickly in the 90s, no longer able to pay rising rents on their trendy brownstones.

Despite the mesh of cultures, the Hasids have managed to maintain a certain level of exclusivity, if only just barely. The Jewish community was one of the first ethnic sects to settle in Williamsburg, arriving in droves from Hungary and Romania following World War II. Today, it is the largest community of its kind in the world and continues to grow, though at a price — literally.

“You notice outside people coming in,” Wagmar said. “Prices are rising, and some people are moving to Manhattan or other places in Brooklyn to try to grab some better prices. It’s getting more expensive here.”

It’s getting more expensive everywhere — especially in Williamsburg. The Hasidic community is not the only group wary of encroaching commercial chains and shiny high-rise condominiums popping up in a neighborhood whose zoning laws once capped buildings at five stories. In 2009, the first Duane Reade to infiltrate Williamsburg opened on Kent Avenue and North Fifth Street, four blocks away from the locally-owned King’s Pharmacy. A CVS is expected to open along Kent Avenue later this year.

The roar of construction pierces the once-quiet sidewalks running through McCarren Park as developers move forward with plans to build a luxury hotel along North 12^th Street between Bedford Avenue and Berry Street. Half-finished apartment complexes along the East River give the waterfront a new look that some fear will translate into a more overarching neighborhood makeover.

“The crowd here is going to change,” said Caren Becker, a 28-year-old Williamsburg resident. “All those construction sites that you see everywhere are going to change the picture so much.”

Becker moved to Williamsburg a year ago from Prospect Heights. An architect working in Manhattan, she was attracted to the area’s close proximity to the city. She said she is unsure how much longer she will stay.

“The house where I live, it’s mostly young professionals with high-paid jobs,” Becker said. “It’s no longer just artists with no money. That’s an issue for Williamsburg. People with money can afford to live here and are pushing the other ones away. It’s scary.”

Brian Lentini, a project manager with aptsandlofts.com, a Brooklyn-based real estate firm marketing many of the new high-end condo buildings, said the new developments are aimed at bringing in young families looking to escape Manhattan who no longer want to rent. He expects the new wave of homeowners to increase as more buildings are completed in the near future, despite the lofty $550,000 starting price accompanying most one-bedroom condos.

“A lot of people from Manhattan are coming here because it costs less and there is a cooler neighborhood vibe,” Lentini said. “There is a ton of people coming over. Here, there’s a more laid-back feel. They’re getting a better product.”

Young Jewish families are  increasingly moving to new housing developments going up along the Hasidic neighborhood’s eastern edge — an area Wagmar calls “New Williamsburg.” He moved his family there two years ago, no longer able to afford the rising cost of living in his community. He said despite increasing rents, most Hasids are reluctant to move from the area they’ve called home for more than 50 years.

“In all Jewish places and towns, there are very high prices,” Wagmar said. “It should push people out, but the fact is that most people are staying here, which actually makes it more expensive. If people started moving then business owners couldn’t keep prices so high. But because people are staying, prices are staying that way.”

Despite the financial challenges Hasids face in the wake of Williamsburg’s revived housing flux, Wagmar said he is most anxious about living in closer quarters with other Jewish families in his building — an inconvenience he said he didn’t have to worry about before coming to Williamsburg.

“When you live so close to each other, everyone knows what’s going on,” Wagmar said. “It’s a little more uncomfortable than in other neighborhoods where you’re living (your) life and no one knows everything going on behind your doors.”

Still, he said he does not see himself moving, nor does he fear his neighborhood’s values will be compromised by newcomers.

“Normally we are friendly to our neighbors,” Wagmar said. “The children are happy here. It’s a good place for them to grow up. People are moving out and others are moving in. The neighborhood is changing definitely, but the Jewish people are here to stay.”

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