Skverer Terrorists Harass Neighbor

We’ve just completed the Three Weeks, a period that isn’t just about reflection and growth, but a direct response to the kind of behavior we’re witnessing right now: sinas chinam, division, and baseless hostility. New Square has yet to offer any explanation for how such actions continue—and their silence says more than any statement could. This is the time for real teshuva, not delay tactics or superficial outreach. Without serious and visible change, any response will be
understood for what it is and we won’t back down or be fooled.

The following is an unfortunately true story as related by a prestigious community member living “within the mile.” It started with something small. A car registration.

“Like many of you, I slipped my new registration sticker into my jacket pocket after it came in the mail. I figured I’d get to it later. But somewhere along the way, it vanished. I remembered davening Maariv the night before in New Square. That wasn’t typical for me – most families who live “within the mile” avoid davening there, unless absolutely necessary. Too many uncomfortable encounters. Too many unspoken messages that we are simply not welcome. But it was late, and the nearest other Minyan would have meant a 10-minute drive I didn’t have the energy for. So I davened there. The next morning, I retraced my steps to the Shul, hoping maybe the registration had fallen out and someone picked it up.”

“At first, I found nothing. But eventually, while the cleaning crew was getting things ready for Shabbos, I located someone who seemed in charge. He told me, yes, someone had found it. I asked how I could get it back and he gave me the name of the person who supposedly had it, but no number. I gave him mine to pass along, and I waited. No one ever called. A day or two later, I went back again. Still hopeful. Still trusting, perhaps foolishly, that a fellow Yid would simply want to do Hashavas Aveidah, despite my address being clearly displayed on the paperwork. But before I even had a chance to ask around, someone barked at me: “Get out.” And then, the man I had been directed to found me and said coldly: “I ripped it up. And never come here again.”

As I turned to leave, a crowd gathered. Not five or ten. Over fifty people. Surrounding me. Telling me I wasn’t welcome. That I couldn’t Daven there. That I should leave and never come back. It was humiliating. And frankly, terrifying.

For weeks, I didn’t return. Not out of anger – but out of fear. I couldn’t wrap my head around what had happened. Over a registration sticker. What had I done to deserve that? But eventually, I came back. Maybe I was naive. Maybe I hoped it was just a handful of rabble-rousers. Maybe I didn’t want to believe that Jews could treat one another that way. When I returned, the man who had first helped me saw me again. He came over. Quietly. Nervously. And apologized. “This is not who we are,” he said. “Most of us don’t agree with what happened, or with what our community is doing to yours in the first place, and are embarrassed about more than just this incident. I feel terrible.”

And I believed him. Or at least part of me did. But even as he spoke, I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye. Heads turning. Whispers behind hands. Faces stiff with judgment. Yes, it was me – the one who made the unforgivable mistake of revealing my identity in their Shul. The one who had to be cast out, humiliated, and warned never to return. And that’s what haunts me. Not just what happened to me, but what it says about what’s happening in our community, and why it’s happening. This wasn’t about land. It wasn’t about a boundary. It wasn’t about theology or policy or politics. It was about a car registration. And a culture.

A culture that says: We don’t care who you are – you are not welcome here. A culture where humiliation is justified, hostility is encouraged, and fear is weaponized. This is not normal. This is not what Torah teaches. And this is not something we can remain silent about.

We need to open our eyes to the truth: this is not an isolated incident. This is a pattern. A mindset. A growing darkness that is creeping into more corners of the Monsey Kehilla than we care to admit. We must say it clearly and without hesitation: This must stop. Now.

This is not how Jews act

This is not what Hashem wants from us

And we will not tolerate this treatment. Period.