Hasidim flex their muscle

With Passover upon us, Jewish communities across the city, nation and world have been furiously preparing for one of the holiest periods on the liturgical calendar. Holiday preparations in Borough Park, however, had taken on a decidedly different spin this year. Last week, the largely Hasidic population of the usually quiescent Central Brooklyn neighborhood abandoned their Seder preparations and disposal of chometz (leavened bread) to engage in a riot.

After two police officers in the 66th Precinct attempted to arrest 75-year-old Arthur Schick for refusing to cooperate after he was pulled over for talking on his cell phone while driving, all hell broke loose. Rumors quickly swirled through the tight-knit community that police had used excessive force and ethnic slurs in arresting Schick, and roughly 1,000 Hasidic Jews stormed the streets. They burned garbage, smashed car windows and engaged in all of the activities one would typically assign to an angry mob (though there is evidence that some of the violence might have been instigated by non-Hasidim).

End result? Two arrests besides Schick, and a police commander under fire. Chief Joseph J. Esposito, a former commander of the 66th Precinct himself and by all accounts no anti-Semite, has been accused by City Councilman Simcha Felder of saying "Get these fucking Jews out of here," when he was unable to keep himself in politically correct check while trying to handle an unruly mob of, well, Jews. Esposito admits that he cursed, but substituted "people" for Jews. Felder has backed off, as well, saying now that he never actually saw Esposito say what he said he said, but that he recognized the police chief's voice when he said it.

Police, speaking to me and others, can all agree on one thing: Esposito's career is over. Whether he did it or not, Esposito has tangled with Brooklyn's Hasidic community-one of, if not the most, powerful political blocks in the city. New York State Assemblyman Dov Hikind, who represents the area, has assured observers that this is not about exacting a pound of flesh on the community's behalf.

"We don't want his head. We want an apology," Hikind told a reporter.

But that's not the way things work in the real world.

The political power of the Brooklyn Hasidim is not to be denied. The neighborhood votes for those politicians whom they perceive delivers for them. The ultra-Orthodox Jews, who trace their origins back to Eastern Europe in the 17th century, gave Mayor Michael Bloomberg a better than a six-to-one margin over Fernando Ferrer in last year's election and a better than three-to-one margin over Mark Green in 2001.

How did the Mayor deliver this time around? By backing off from outlawing a very controversial practice to the City as a whole but a very common ritual to the Hasidic themselves.

Metzitzah b'peh is a variation on the traditional circumcision performed in Jewish communities. The rabbi performing the circumcision, or mohel, will draw blood away from the baby's penis with his mouth to clean the wound during the practice, which has been abandoned by most Jews.

But in the Hasidic community the practice is still commonplace, with supporters estimating that anywhere between 2,000 and 4,000 of such circumcisions occur each year. After the city's Department of Health linked the practice to several cases of herpes among babies last year, the city took a serious look at outlawing metzitzah b'peh, but eventually agreed to allow its continuation, implementing a campaign asking parents to choose another way instead.

New York City Health Department Commissioner Thomas Frieden called it one of the most delicate issues he has ever had to deal with. But imagine if it had been a Catholic priest performing the same exact ritual. It is hard to believe that the issue would have been just as "delicate."

Catholics, though-or any other interest group in the city-do not vote nearly as monolithically as Hasidic Jews. Even other sects of Judaism don't stand firmly together in such numbers. The voting power of Hasidic Jews made what would have probably been an easy decision to ban what is at best a questionable practice almost impossible. The public-health campaign put together by Frieden raised the hackles of the Hasidic community, many of whom felt that Bloomberg's administration was set to leave the issue alone altogether, and implemented the information campaign after the election so as to trick the community to remain supportive of him.

We have yet to have a great circumcision riot in Borough Park. The Hasidic community usually takes their agenda to the ballot box, seldom engaging in the more fiery organizing tactics like those that were witnessed last week.

But what becomes of the next police officer who stops a Hasidic Jew for any reason at all? Will he or she have to endure, at best, comparisons to the Nazis or, at worst, stand in the center of a full scale riot? Will they even have the chutzpah to stop a Hasidic Jew at all? If Esposito gets fired, who knows? The Hasidic Jews of Brooklyn may have found a new way to exercise their political power: by taking it to the streets.