religion

The traditions of Palo Mayombe

Enox J. Rios became an Iyawo this past April. And so for a year and seven days he must only dress in white. He is to eat all his meals on the floor. He is forbidden from looking into a mirror and cannot be outside after dark. He’s also not allowed to make any physical contact with the uninitiated. That means no handshakes.

As Yawo, Rios is a newly ordained priest of an ancient diaspora religion brought to Cuba by Congolese slaves. From Cuba it spread throughout the Caribbean, to the Dominican Republic, Colombia, Venezuela, and later to the US. It’s called Palo Mayombe, and its dark rituals involving human and animal remains and even grave robbing, is practiced in extreme secrecy. Like another Afro-Caribbean religion, Santeria, thousands of Latino New Yorkers are adherents of this syncretic faith which involves ritual dance, song, and drumming.

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Botanica Babalu in the Bronx. Photo by Neil Giardino.

Rios is the owner of Botanica Babalu, a folk medicine shop in the Bronx that sells spiritual herbs, candles, and statues of saints. It’s a one-stop for Palo accessories including medicinal plants for aura cleansing. “This is a place I like to think of for healing and guidance,” he said.

As a palero, Enox said he has been ordained or “crowned” ocha. This means that an Orisha, or holy being of his faith, is aligned with his inner head. In essence, it gives him the ability to act as a spiritual medium.

“It’s very dark. Very draining. But if it’s used for the betterment of the people and for protection, it is amazing,” said Rios.

The spirits that paleros are in contact with are both ancestral and of the natural world. Worship for paleros like Rios centers on communication with these deities by using iron or clay pots called ngangas. The nganga is to a palero what an alter is to a Catholic priest. Palo means stick in Spanish. And that’s what goes into the pot along with earth and bones. But that’s not all that goes into a gnanga.

“You want the spirit to keep you safe from a gun, to keep you safe from a machete, from a blade, somebody pulling out a blade on you. So we implement all those things in the pot,” explains Rios.

Palo faithful believe that a spirit of the dead also lives inside. The spirits of Palo communicate through ordained mediums like Rios. Earthly items like guns or knives help the palero channel these spirits and summon protection from them. Clients pass through his doors seeking spiritual cleansing. He offers spiritual baths with medicinal herbs. Rios claims his prices are lower than other botanicas. “I’m here to give back. I remember having cancer, looking for some kind of positivity, some kind of light, some kind of hope to keep me going. And so that’s what I try to do.”

One patron needs a blessing before a job interview. Another isn’t coping with a death in the family. Some are trying to keep their marital vows sacred. Requests to keep husbands or wives faithful are common. Rios said instead he focuses on light and healing. But he explains that some paleros not only overcharge in times of crisis, but also use the spirits in their ngangas recklessly, to harm or worse.

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A scale for medicinal herbs is hung above a holy statue at Botanica Babalu. Photo by Neil Giardino.

“You can kill with a nganga. That’s how dark it is. It’s like a dog. Somebody comes into your back yard and your dog is trained. If that dog gets loose, who knows what you’re going to be in by the time they get the dog off of you,” he said.

Palo is almost always linked to Santeria. And ritual music and dance is fundamental to both. There is one main distinction: Santeria comes from the Yoruba people from Nigeria and Palo Mayombe comes from the Congo. Since Congolese slaves were brought to the Caribbean much earlier than the Yoruba, it’s harder to trace their music and culture directly back to Africa. In other words, Palo’s African origins are darker and more mysterious.

Peter Manuel is a professor in the department of Art and Music at John Jay College who has written extensively about music of the Caribbean. “Palo songs have some Congolese words in them, but mixed with a lot of Spanish. It’s just more syncretic and more acculturated,” he said. Manuel added that although the often feverish dance, pounding drums, and call and response incantations of Santeria and Palo are similar, tracing Santeria to the Yoruba is much easier because these Nigerian slaves were brought to the Caribbean as late as the 19th century. That direct line between Palo and the Congo is much more indistinct.

One similarity in both Palo and Santeria is ritual sacrifice. Every so often news about sacrifice of animals makes headlines in Greater New York City. When asked about this, Enox J. Rios is unequivocal. “This is an Afro-Caribbean religion and it’s one of the oldest religions. This is the way it’s been done. It’s tradition. But there’s room for growth.” he said.

And as an initiated Yawo of Palo Mayombe, Rios will now embark on his year and seven days of austerity as an ordained palero. He acknowledges the darkness of his religion, but says he’ll continue to use it for the sake of wellness and healing.

“There is bad and there is good in everything. Palo is heavy but at Botanica Babalu it’s used for love, stability, and everything that is positive.”

The Razi School celebrates cultural diversity

The Razi School is decorated with photos from around the world to celebrate International Day. Photo credit: Nicole Schubert

As bombs of bigotry erupt in the Middle East, some fear that tolerance will never be restored.

But imagine a school where Muslim first grade boys sit at their desks coloring in pictures of a Rabbi, a Muslim man and woman, and a Christian boy below the words: “In Islam, everyone is equal.”

“The students learn the difference between Islam, Judaism, and Christianity and that everyone is your neighbor no matter what religion they are,” said Denise Frazier, 40, a parent of a first grade girl at the Razi School in Woodside, Queens. “They teach them that they can have friends that are Christians and Jews, that they are all the same, and all equal.”

The Razi School, a Muslim pre-kindergarten through 12th grade private school, encourages its students to learn the different religions of the world.

Recently, the students participated in International Day, where they celebrated cultural diversity and the many nationalities that are represented at the school.

“International Day is a celebration of people from all walks of life to teach equality and tolerance for one another no matter where they come from or what religion they are, “ said Frazier. “It amazed me that there were 32 different countries represented in a school with 300 students.”

According to Frazier, the students were able to experience the different cultures through food. With their sense of smell and taste, they could immerse themselves onto the streets in Egypt, the food markets in Tanzania, and the sidewalk cafes in the United States. The aroma of koushari lentils and rice, chapatti flat bread, and apple pie cobbler brought the students closer together.

But International Day is not the only way the Razi School addresses tolerance. The students are also required to take religion class.

“You are going to be good guys,” said Sheileh Wessam, the first grade religion teacher at the Razi School, to his 15 students. “Look guys, you have to respect your friends and help other people.”

Wessam’s first grade students read out loud their lesson of the day, a story about Prophet Musa (or Moses in the Hebrew Bible). At the end of the lesson, the students were instructed to color images that represented different religions.

But not all schools are this dedicated to cultivating an environment that teaches tolerance.

According to Teaching Tolerance magazine, religion class is not a requirement in most schools.

“We have a crap structure in teaching religion in this country,” said Adrienne van der Valk, managing editor of Teaching Tolerance magazine. “When students have the opportunity to interact with other students who practice religious beliefs that are different from their own, their fear goes down and their understanding goes up. But it’s not mandatory.”

Van der Valk encourages teachers to allow their students to see themselves and others who are not like them in their work.

“It is much more difficult to label a stereotype if you have regular contact with that group,” said van der Valk. “This can occur by watching movies or reading books about that group. We encourage teachers to do this.”

According to the Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC), the future of achieving equality and justice lies in the hands of educators.

When schools do not require a curriculum that fosters tolerance, students are more vulnerable to social injustice and religious prejudice.

Jordana Loft, a masters student in elementary inclusive education at Columbia University, experienced the effects of this vulnerability while substitute teaching at a charter school in the South Bronx.

“I was wearing a red kabbalah bracelet and one of the girls, who was wearing a hijab asked me if I was Jewish,” said Loft. “I said ‘yes, why do you ask?’ She responded asking me that if she’s Muslim and I’m Jewish, does that mean we can’t be friends?”

Loft explained to her student that she grew up in a community where they embrace different cultures, attend difference schools and go to different places of prayer.

“Those differences make people unique and special,” said Loft to her student. “They enhance my life. I get to learn things I didn’t know before.”

Loft told her that when she was away at school her best friend was Muslim. They used to speak about the different places they would pray.

“She immediately got excited,” said Loft. “She was able to see herself in my story. We could now be friends.”

Brooklyn Tea Party President Runs for NY State Assembly

Joseph Hayon is the president of the Brooklyn Tea Party. Photo by Renee Jacques

Joseph Hayon is about ready to move his family to another country. If Obama gets reelected he is convinced there will be another four years of what he sees as the destruction of America. Hayon sits in a run-down building in the Midwood section of Brooklyn hastily apologizing for being an hour late to our appointment. He was meeting with a potential donor because not only is Hayon the president of the Brooklyn Tea Party, he is also running for the New York State Assembly.

Remember when everyone was making a big fuss about the Tea Party back in 2009?  After Obama took office, the group staged dramatic protests in D.C. fervently chanting that they wanted “their” America back and fiercely opposing any government regulation on their lives—including Obama’s healthcare bill and what they view as excessive and interfering taxes on the American people.

Most of America thought they were whack-jobs, with their extremist views and outrageous claims (some keep trying to press the point that Obama forged his birth certificate and that he holds radical Muslim views). The group is named after the iconic American movement in Boston that actually made a lot of sense. But today, the people in the Tea Party frequently spiral into inane tirades that baffle the American public. They often get shooed away as over-zealous radical thinkers who are labeled as just plain weird.

The first thing that Joseph Hayon wants to get out of the way about the Brooklyn Tea Party is that his group is different. “We’re practical,” says Hayon calmly.  He’s a 34 year-old Jewish guy wearing a suit and he has two kids and a loving wife. He works as a bookkeeper and is also studying accounting at Brooklyn College. His main concern is religious freedom and whether the government is spending the citizens’ money wisely.

But above all, what Hayon says that he cares about is a better life for his kids. His three kids are prominently featured on both of his campaign cards and when I receive emails from him his name is listed as “Homework Helper.”

“Everything is for children,” he says. “If we owe sixteen trillion dollars, our children have to pay for that.” If elected to the State Assembly, Hayon said his priorities are to repeal gay marriage and to change the way New York runs its education system by switching to educational vouchers.

“The voucher would come from the government,” he says. “I have three kids, so the government comes and says, ‘One voucher for each kid. Take the voucher and go to any school you want. It doesn’t matter if its a religious school or a private school, a public school, a charter school, go and use it any way you want.’ Something like that would save the education crisis that goes on in the black communities, the Jewish communities and the Catholic communities. The low income and religious communities will benefit greatly by having educational vouchers.”

One thing that Hayon wants to make clear: the Brooklyn Tea Party does not like Mitt Romney. Hayon says he and his colleagues think that Romney is just the lesser of two evils. “We are not excited about Mitt Romney but we are strongly opposed to Barack Obama and so Romney wins our endorsement by default, okay?” says Hayon with a sense of urgency. “But, ideally, the Brooklyn Tea Party preferred other candidates like Herman Cain and Rick Santorum. I was a presidential delegate for Santorum.”

Hayon is extremely passionate about politics for someone who only voted for the first time when he was thirty. “I did not care about politics,” he says. “No candidate reached out to me. Nobody ever gave me a reason to vote.” Apparently Anthony Weiner  (the congressman who made a name for himself notably for his “sexting” scandal) forced Hayon to change his mind. “I received a phone call from Anthony Weiner,” Hayon says. “His position against school vouchers was frustrating, primarily because he represented a large amount of Orthodox Jews and Catholics.”

Hayon ran unsuccessfully for the Assembly two years ago and has scarcely updated his website.  “What’s the point?” he says. “My positions remain the same.” The site opens with a letter to his supporters expressing his feelings about his loss and emphasizing in bold that his sole purpose is to “protect our children.” He claims on his website is that it was truly an “act of God” that he lost with 43 percent of the votes and only spent $615.

He gladly broke down how he managed to be so frugal. He spewed out different price points and numbers about how he saved money by splitting the cost of the cards with someone who was running for Senate and it ended up being a really good deal. But this year, he’s trying to raise more money.

He has changed his slogan from “Our Children Are Our Future” to “Uniting Communities for Our Children.” This is deliberate. He needs to gain approval from all the different sub-groups in Brooklyn (the Hispanics, the African-Americans, the Haitians, etc) in order to beat Helene Weinstein. He is trying to paint Weinstein as someone who wants to abolish religious freedom. She voted for the gay marriage law and Hayon wants everyone to know that he will fight repealed on behalf of every religious person in Brooklyn, regardless of what God they pray to.

“It’s a pivotal issue in the Orthodox Jewish community,” he says. “We have a lot of Caribbean people in Brooklyn, African-Americans, and Haitians. We are against gay marriage.”

Above all, Hayon says that the Brooklyn Tea Party’s philosophy is to make sure the government adheres to exactly what the people—the citizens who pay the taxes—want. “The people should make as many choices as possible,” he says. “We are religious people and religious people pay taxes. The government has to cater to religious people.”

In a recent interview with “The Atlantic”, New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg said, “The Tea Party is a manifestation of frustration. They don’t want it. What is ‘it?’ They don’t know what ‘it’ is, there’s just a general feeling that society is not going in the right direction.”

When confronted with the hypothetical—yet very real—possibility that Obama might be re-elected, Hayon gasps. “Oh my God,” he says. “My family will have to move. All these regulations just take away religious freedom. Those who are strong will move and those who are weak will stay and not be religious anymore.”

His faith holds his life and his family together. He gleams when he talks about his children, taking pride in the fact that they are well behaved and already religiously devoted. His six-year old son speaks English and Hebrew fluently and his four-year-old always sits quietly during the two long hours every Saturday that Hayon takes them to synagogue. His 20-month-year-old baby even hands Hayon his yarmulke every morning.

Where he would take his family if America fails him once and for all?

“Israel is definitely an option,” he answers as if he has given this question serious prolonged thought.

Atheist group wants 9/11 cross removed from ground zero museum

The 9/11 Cross on a pedestal at ground zero. Photo courtesy of Wikipedia

The 17-foot steel T-shaped beam pulled from the wreckage at ground zero after the 9/11 attacks has become a religious symbol for many. Families prayed at the foot of the cross; small pocket sized replicas were made.

Now that the cross has found a permanent home at the National September 11 Memorial & Museum, atheists say the cross has no place in a museum funded by taxpayers’ money, many who are not Christian. They feel the cross is a violation of the first amendment, which prohibits the federal government from showing preference for one religion over another or over the non-religious.

Members of NYC Atheists a non- profit organization who advocates for separation of church and state, met yesterday to discuss the progress of a lawsuit filed in July by group members to have the “Miracle Cross” removed from the museum.

The plaintiffs, three members of NYC Atheists, argue that keeping the cross in the museum is a “violation of constitutional rights.”

Dennis Horvitz, one of the three plaintiffs, believes if their case is lost it will set a bad precedent for future issues of separation of church and state.
Horvitz, 62, from the Upper West Side, said the group is being criticized as standing against Christians, but that’s not the case.

Peter Pohly, 73, a resident of the Upper East Side, an atheist, came specifically to hear about the lawsuit, which he supports

“I find it truly appalling that a place of public interest is singling out one religious sect,” Pohly said.

He believes it’s imposing religion on the memorial and those it honors, when many of those who died were not Christian.

“It’s as if the people with other or no religious beliefs are not equally as important,” Pohly said.

During the meeting, attendees watched a recorded interview with Danielle M. Mathey, the attorney for the plaintiffs. Afterward they had a Q&A session with Mathey via Skype.

Mathey, of Green River, Wyo., said she believes the plaintiffs have a strong case and it should be settled before it reaches trial.

But Attorney Paul L. LaClair, of the Gucciardo Law Firm in Lower Manhattan, who attended the meeting, disagrees.

“I think they have absolutely no shot at winning this case, but I wanted to hear what Danielle (Mathey) had to say,” he said.

LaClair, 57, said the case lacks precedent because the museum isn’t open yet for the final display to be evaluated.

Because the display won’t be completed till next year, there is no way of knowing what other items are going to be put in place, or if those items might make it more secular. The plans include a Jewish Star of David made from steel remain, as well as plans to include in the display a Bible and a prayer shawl recovered from ground zero along with the cross.

“Everything is going to depend on how the museum puts the display up,” LaClair said.

After leaving the order, Catholic “married priests” continue to minister

Thomas McCormick holds two photos of himself, one taken during the early years of his priesthood, the other taken more than 20 years later on his wedding day. McCormick is one of 200 priests of Celibacy is the Issue Ministries who continue to minister even after leaving the Roman Catholic Church to marry. Photo by Chelsia Rose Marcius.

Thomas McCormick opened his leather wallet and pulled out an old photo of a young bearded man in priestly garb. He paused, looking down at the picture before reopening the wallet to jimmy out a second portrait of the same size and of the same smiling face. But the man’s cheeks were now bare, his brown hair faded. A black tux and white bow tie replaced the religious vestments, and now the man was wrapped in the arms of a woman.

The photographs of McCormick —the first taken in 1981 when he entered the Roman Catholic priesthood, the second snapped on his wedding day more than two decades later —are daily reminders of his commitment to both marriage and ministry. Yet McCormick, 60, of St. James, N.Y., and other Catholic “married priests” are considered both outsiders and at odds with the church.

More than 200 ordained married men in “Celibacy is the Issue” or CITI Ministries preform religious rites for disfranchised Catholics who want the blessing of a priest.

A shortage of new priests has left older clergymen without successors and parishioners without guides to keep them within the Catholic community. According to the Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate at Georgetown University, 288 parishes in New York and hundreds more nationwide closed between 2000 and 2010. The Pew Research Center study Faith in Flux, updated in February 2011, found that one in 10 Americans raised Catholic have now left the church as adults, and nearly one in four cite “the rule that priests cannot marry” as a reason for leaving.

“Parishes are closing all over and a lot of that is due to the decline in the number of priests,” said Thomas Reese, a Roman Catholic priest and Research Fellow at Georgetown University’s Woodstock Theological Center. “With fewer priests in the parish, many Catholics say, ‘Why don’t you do something about this, why don’t you ordain some married men so we can have mass, so that we don’t have to drive 100 miles to the next church.”

Thomas McCormick on entering the priesthood and his decision to leave

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McCormick said his decision to enter the priesthood shocked old classmates. As a kid in Brooklyn, he did “the Catholic thing,” attending mass every Sunday and serving as an altar boy at the local parish. But teenage friends knew him as the guy who sported a leather coat and drank beer on the Brooklyn Belt Parkway – and the seminary was the last place anyone expected McCormick to wind up after a four-year stint with the U.S. Air Force.

“The only reason I went to church while in the military was because I was afraid God was going to strike me dead,” he said. “And then I was invited to go to a little prayer meeting in 1972 in a little town outside of Oxford, England. It was during that weekend that I saw for the first time Catholics who were deeply in love with the lord. But not because of the rules and regulations of the church. They had a personal relationship with God. I wanted that.”

He entered the Seminary of the Immaculate Conception in Huntington, N.Y. at age 27, and was ordained within three years. But McCormick said he did not quite fit in. He wore sandals and kept a beard. He stood on the pews to preach. And he often challenged church leaders.

“They saw me as radical, they saw me as different,” he said. “But I would not be afraid to speak off the altar on ethical and moral issues.”

More than 20 years passed before McCormick left the priesthood; he said it was, for the most part, because of loneliness. But afterward McCormick felt something was missing, and spent the next seven months questioning his decision.

Louise Hagget, founder of CITI Ministries and its website Rent-A-Priest, said there are church laws that validate the ministry of a married priest – an interpretation of Roman Catholic doctrine not recognized by the Vatican.

Still, the group’s online directory – dubbed “God’s Yellow Pages” – lists 200 ordained married men in 42 U.S. states. Hagget said members rarely get together, but she called for a meeting in 2002 to discuss clerical celibacy and the state of the church. McCormick, who left the clergy that year, decided to attend.

“I remember standing up and saying, ‘Hi, I’m Tom, I’m on leave and I’m lost,” McCormick said. One priest approached him after the meeting. “‘I remember him coming up to me and saying I know your pain,’ He looked into my soul and said, “Remember, you are a priest forever. Nobody can take that away from you.’”

The expression, “Once a priest, always a priest” is common among CITI members, including Richard Hasselbach, who left the priesthood in 1990.

Richard Hasselbach talks with parishioners at the Clarkstown Reformed Church in West Nyack, N.Y. Hasselbach left the Roman Catholic priesthood to marry yet still continues to preside over weddings for Catholic couples.

“I don’t think the Pope would be too thrilled with me if he were to join the conversation,” said Hasselbach, 60, of Carmel, N.Y. “But the word ‘catholic’ means universal, and I believe that my baptism and my ordination is a universally Christian one. So I feel like I have the key to every church door. And I should be able to walk into any church in Christianity because I am a universal Christian.”

Yet this understanding may be lost on recently ordained Catholic clerics. Reese said younger priests appear to adopt a more traditional approach to ministry and “are not agitating to change the rule” on clerical celibacy.

“These guys who have entered the priesthood in the last 20 years tend to be more conservative and, more importantly, much fewer in numbers then the classes the 50s and 60s,” he said. “They’re not going to be able to replace the current crop of priests facing retirement, illness and death.”

According to Hagget, more than 75 percent of the married priests in CITI Ministries were ordained between 1950 and 1979, when Catholic reform groups began popping up across the country.

Many groups have since dissolved. Stuart O’Brien, 74, of Boston, a married priest and a part of the reform group Corpus, said members continue to meet with church leaders on the issue of celibacy.

He said most of their efforts “fall on the deaf ears of Rome.”

“There are no young priests, no middle-aged priests, just old priests,” O’Brien said. “You cannot make these people come alive with a 75-year-old priest. The church talks about getting young people to come back, but come back to what? What do they have come back to?”

McCormick oversees about 100 Catholic weddings a year, and he said marriage has allowed him to connect with parishioners in a way traditional priesthood could not.

“If the church were to change the rule on celibacy, I would go back tomorrow—and so would most of the priests I know,” he said. “There’s a fear that it would restructure the entire world understanding of Catholicism. But I know more now from being married, and my preaching would be more effective because of the life experience I have.”

For Easter on Fifth Avenue, faith is optional

Decked out in anything from marshmallows and playing cards to banners, trinkets and plastic eggs, hundreds made their way along Fifth Avenue Easter Sunday in the Bonnet Festival at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

Yet religion was not a requirement to come out and celebrate.

“I’m not Catholic,” said Jill Macklem of Greenwich Village, Manhattan, who wore a straw hat trimmed in tulips. “It’s a day of community and everyone’s coming out and being part of it.”

Beth Tallman of Bedford Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, represented her borough by sporting locally inspired headgear. “Our neighbors raise chickens, so we decided that we’d take the chicken theme to a whole new level and be the Bed Stuy Peeps,” she said.

Parade goers put on hats to promote a number of causes, including animal cruelty, same sex marriage and workers’ rights.

Moved by a recent wave of protests in the Midwest, Brian Griffin of Astoria, Queens, decorated his tall, vertical creation with labor speak slogans.

“In support of unions in Wisconsin, I made a hat that said New York is pro-collective bunnying,” he said. “United we bargain, divided we beg.”

Still, most came out to embrace the wacky, the quirky and a sense of camaraderie.

“I stumbled on the Easter parade several years ago,” said Mike Revenaugh of Astoria, Queens, who wore a motorized Ferris wheel head dress he built out of K’Nex toys and glue. “I saw it was a bunch of people making their own silly hats and that’s kind of right up my alley.”

Hundreds protest hearings on Muslim extremism

Muhammad Tahir stood tall over the sea of umbrellas and patterned headscarves, his face solemn as he held a soggy sign high above the crowd.

Hundreds of others flashed similar posters, all with the same six words printed in bold, black and white letters: “Today, I am a Muslim Too.”

Nearly 1,000 protesters gathered yesterday in Times Square to rally against the upcoming congressional hearings on “radicalization” of Muslims in America. The hearings, proposed by Rep. Peter King (R-N.Y.) last year, are slated to begin this Thursday.

Tahir, 35, of Queens, who has lived in New York for 16 years, said it was only recently that he told his son—who was born four days after Sept. 11, 2001— about the World Trade Center attacks.

Still, Tahir said it did not prevent his son from feeling their effects.

“There was graffiti on the subway that said, ‘kill all Muslims,’” he said. “I was walking with my son and he said, “Dad, but I’m an American Muslim. It’s almost impossible to explain something like that to a child.”

According to a February Public Religion Research Institute survey, 56 percent of Americans consider the hearings “a good idea.”

Yet Cyrus McGoldrick, civil rights manager at the Council on American-Islamic Relations in New York (CAIR), said the hearings have also prompted a backlash from Muslims and other religious groups calling for King to reconsider.

McGoldrick added that so far, the senator plans to proceed as scheduled.

“We don’t expect our pressure will change his mind,” he said. “What we’re most concerned about is how the rhetoric will spread and perpetuate hate on the ground. By offsetting that rhetoric with a display of positive energy, our voice will be heard more clearly no matter what Peter King does in congress.”

The senator did not respond to requests for comment.

Ciara Ulloa, 19, of Queens, said she has been “harassed on the streets” for adorning a hijab, the traditional head covering worn by Muslim women.

“People have actually cursed me out when I wear these clothes,” she said, pointing at the purple paisley scarf wrapped around her hair.

Ulloa said that many times, it is her peers who launch the verbal attacks.

“At a tutoring center two years ago a kid called me a terrorist,” she said. “He told me Arabs weren’t welcomed there, that I probably had bombs in my backpack. I was born and raised in this country as were my parents I shouldn’t be treated any differently than any other non-Muslim American.”

Jewish book sale bridges generational gap

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.”

Philadelphia Life: Despite population increase, some Amish choose to leave

Jemima King, 28, of Lancaster County, Pa., stands in front of her family's Amish produce stand at Reading Terminal Market in Philadelphia. Despite a recent increase in the worldwide Amish population, some like King choose to leave the religious community. Photo by Jessica Bell

PHILADELPHIA — Bagging crisp, white rice cakes and churning honey roasted nuts into a buttery spread, Jemima King has worked alongside her father at Reading Terminal Market for 17 years, selling everything from produce and preserves to jams and jellies.

She said the business partnership has strengthened their bond both personally and professionally. But today, King is not welcome at his home for Thanksgiving dinner. Nor is she invited to celebrate with him on Christmas day. That all changed the moment she stopped being Amish.

For 25 years, King, 28, belonged to an Amish church in southern Lancaster County, Penn., a tight-knit Christian community that rejects many modern day conveniences and adheres to a strict code of social conduct.

But after years of following church rule, King said she had enough. In 2007, she packed her things and parted ways with her family, her husband and the Amish way of life.

“I respect where I came from,” King said. “I respect the conservative, simple way. But I thought that there has to be something more, and I came to the understanding that there’s more to life than being Amish.”

Despite a significant increase in their numbers this year, the Lancaster Amish — who live just one hour outside Philadelphia and bring much business to the city — must still fight to keep members.

According to 2010 reports from The Young Center for Anabaptist and Pietist Studies at Elizabethtown College, the number of Amish, now 250,000 worldwide, grew 10 percent since 2009. Lancaster County boasts more than 29,000 — the oldest and one of the largest Amish settlements in North America.

Stephen Scott, a research associate at the Young Center, said Lancaster is one of the more successful groups, with a retention rate of 90 percent. Yet he said increased land costs have forced many to take up non-agricultural work in urban areas, where they inevitably interact with “the outside world.”

“This is a relatively recent development that could very well have a strong influence on people leaving, especially young girls who are away from home long hours with a lot of outside contact,” Scott said.

David Weaver-Zercher, professor of American Religious History at Messiah College and author of “The Amish Way,” added that settlements close to big cities are more likely to struggle for members.

“Going to market has been looked down upon; it provides young people socialization,” he said. “Families that mix with the larger world, that instead of farming or have businesses in town go to market in a city, will see a lower retention rate.”

Jemima King sells jam, peanut butter and other goods at her family's Amish produce stand. Photo by Jessica Bell

From helping her father stack jam jars to selling goods at the bargain store Bent and Dent, King interacted with non-Amish folk since before age of 11, but never thought of leaving the community. And even after completing Rumspringa — a period of self-exploration when Amish adolescents decide to either join or leave the church — King never questioned the rules of her religious upbringing.

It was not until after three of her six sisters left southern Lancaster that King began to consider other options.

After she moved out, her parents never asked her to visit the five-bedroom house of her childhood; they disapproved of her choice to leave and separate from her husband, who has since left the Amish to join King and their 4-year-old daughter.

“When my first sister left, she wasn’t allowed to come over; they had to mourn,” she said. “Now they’ve learned to accept us at where we are. We’re not a part of their Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners — the ones that left are not invited. But we’ve just learned to accept it. I’m very grateful and thankful that my parents are still talking to me.”

According to Zercher, “Some parents are angry and believe the best thing to do is make that process as painful as possible, which can be difficult and alienating.”

But he added that, like King, many who choose to leave for religious reasons do not abandon their Christian faith.

“It wasn’t materialism that I left the Amish for,” she said. “I don’t have to be Amish to go to Heaven. I was living under a lot a of bondage being Amish.”

Raised in the private, patriarchal and “more plain” part of Lancaster, King –- who now wears rhinestone studs and black leggings rather than white bonnets and calf-length dresses — said fellow churchgoers faced retribution for everything from having a “fancy bathroom” to taking phone calls on the Sabbath.

“The Bishop would go over all the rules of the church, all of the dos and don’ts, down to the nitty-gritty,” she said. “Through all my growing up years, I knew about this God, but the dos and don’ts did not make sense. That stuff really gets me going. It’s what led me to search, to find out what is right and what is wrong.”

Brad Igou, president of the Amish Experience tours and publisher of Amish Country News in Lancaster County, said flexible or rigid church rule has a significant impact on the rate of retention.

“The Amish and the English here are neighbors,” he said of some parts of Lancaster, adding that Amish call all non-Amish people “English.” “As young people grow up, they’re pretty familiar with the outside world that they’re not as enticed by English living. Those communities that are more strict have the most problems, where some members want to rebel.”

But Zercher said children from more separatist groups also have a “bigger jump” to make from being Amish to “English.”

“Even if a girl grows up with an old order, if she’s having a lot of contact with the outside world, she’s gaining the skills to do well if she leaves Amish life,” he said of women like King.

Among the assortment of photos covering her refrigerator door hung a picture her daughter in a blue dress and braided pigtails. The little girl sat smiling atop the knee of her “doddy” — the Amish word for grandfather — who wore a collared shirt and stiff straw hat.

King said she also had a good childhood. She remembered walking one mile to a one-room schoolhouse for class, selling produce at a roadside stand and running through strawberry patches to pick fresh fruit “before the sun got hot.”

“There’s been times I miss just driving down the road in a buggy,” she said. “I miss the little grocery shops and I still look at my daughter’s Amish baby dresses — they’re so cute.”

Still, King said she does not regret her decision.

“It’s drilled into our heads to stay with the church,” she said. “Some people think it’s a heaven or hell issue if you leave. Not all, but some. And they’d definitely take you back — as long as they can see you’re making an effort. They so strongly believe to stay in what you were taught. But I saw a light at the end of the tunnel, and once I made up my mind, there was no going back.”