September is the start of school, the start of fall and also the start of chicken-slaughtering season in South Williamsburg—the unlikely home to my charter school and to a very traditional sect of Chasidic Jews. There’s nothing a vegetarian likes more than getting off the bus at 6:30 am and narrowly avoiding stepping on a chicken bone in patent leather flats. Foul smell emanating from chicken detritus, bones still sparkling with blood and flesh. I am not happy; starving mere minutes ago, no longer do I want my instant oatmeal. Though I am, in fact, also celebrating the Jewish New Year this month, my fresh beginnings involve no ritualistic slaughter. To each his own, I suppose, but I do not cherish this part of September.
Caveat: I’m a Jew so I’m allowed to critique Judaism in all its iterations. Right? Well, maybe. This questionable logic is similar to—but also totally different from—how we “took back” Bitch at women’s college. And how we “took back” a few other words not fit to print. Regardless, here goes.
When I got off the train before my interview in late spring of 2010, I was unprepared for Chasidim. Really, nothing except Jerusalem or a time warp is adequate preparation. As if it were a time machine, the J train transported me from my hotel in midtown to pre-war Poland just by crossing the East River. Two songs played on my pump-up playlist, and there I was: smack dab in the middle of Eastern Europe only with a few more fried chicken establishments to spruce up the place.
Mostly, this diversity is what makes New York City great. The fact that Chasidic Jews, Dominican immigrants, hipsters and Russian immigrants all thrive in Brooklyn is remarkable. Save the infamous bike lane debacle, relations in Williamsburg seem smooth enough, but there’s still something weird and fraught lurking beneath the day-to-day.
Stepping off the train onto Bedford Ave, I felt like a prostitute in my modest interview outfit. Very little was bared, and yet: men looked at their feet; no one looked me in the eye. Crossing the street, I almost got mauled by a mini-van driving about twice the speed limit. When I thought I was safe on the other side, a similar incident occurred, only this time my almost-killer was a seven-year-old careening around the corner on a scooter. A hallmark of the culture appears to be a general disregard for basic traffic rules. Word to the wise: Do not jaywalk in the Burg, lest you encounter a Chasid on wheels.
Finally, after a year, I'm no longer strucky daily by the odd reality that I teach Black and Hispanic kids in the middle of Chasidville. Relations between the community and my school are mostly non-existent. My students have a neutral to negative perception of the Jews, and I suspect the feeling is reciprocal. When they find out I’m Jewish, they just get confused. We are accustomed to the odd blending, and it works out 99% of the time. I even occasionally visit Flaum’s Appetizers for their Kosher salad bar (which, of course, turns into a pickle bar on Fridays). The thing that continues to nag—besides the annual chicken slaughter—is the women.
Historically, feminism is criticized for being an exclusive movement—a luxury of the white upper middle class. Women like Bell Hooks and Gloria Anzaldua should be praised for extending the movement into diverse communities and into the Third World, but there are still some groups that seemingly remain untouched.
Though Google research informs me there are definitely feminist changes occurring within American Chasidim, I find no compelling evidence in Williamsburg. It’s hard for me to believe that a woman my age with three kids and a wig has access to the same options that I do. It’s hard for me to buy that she is liberated. Hard to resist labeling oppression when I see it. Women within the community argue that this is what they want. That even with more opportunities, Chasidic women would still choose homemaker and mother over doctor and lawyer. This role is biblically prescribed, and that trumps all. This is all well and good, but I’m not totally sold. As feminist strides are made worldwide, I worry that this pocket is left in the dust because of lack of information, choice and opportunity. Is it adequate to say this is what they want—because the bible said so? Maybe I'm being narrow-minded for calling them the same, but the concern persists. I’m excited if Chasidic feminism is truly burgeoning, but I’m not convinced this is the case.
Chicken slaughter has little to do with feminism, but these aspects of the Chasidic community outside my classroom window are the two that still don’t sit well with me.
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