The night before Yom Kippur, I drove through quiet Brooklyn streets. The towers of plastic crates packed with chickens looked out of place behind a children’s school bus. The birds had no food or water, no protection from the rain. Wings were bent awkwardly in the confined space, beaks poked through the openings, eyes wide in the dark.
I had come to witness Kaporos, a ritual practiced by some Orthodox Jews. In the days before Yom Kippur, a practitioner swings a live chicken while reciting a prayer, symbolically transferring their sins to the bird. The chicken is then slaughtered, and the meat is reportedly given to those in need. Many Jewish leaders reject using birds and choose coins instead, donating the money to charity.
In parts of Brooklyn, though, Kaporos becomes one of the largest open-air slaughter events in the United States. Thousands of birds arrive in crates and wait outside in the heat, rain, or cold, while New York City supplies barricades, floodlights, and police.
By morning, rain streamed through the crates, soaking already bedraggled birds. Some, trapped in bottom crates, had drowned in pooled rainwater. Most sat motionless, refusing to even peck at the watermelon offered by volunteers from Kind Kaporos. To me, their behavior spoke of a suffering that will stay with me forever.
As the spectacle began, sidewalks filled with families. Children gawked, teenagers jeered, elders directed. Birds were yanked from cages and passed overhead. Some were swung gently, others roughly.
Slaughter unfolds beside apartment buildings and playgrounds. At one site, a butcher worked from a repurposed dumpster, knee-deep in carcasses. Cones overflowed with dead and dying birds; garbage bags bulged with bodies; streets ran slick with blood. The claim that the meat is donated rings hollow amid the carnage.
What is this teaching the children? That another creature can be a vessel for our sins? That inflicting suffering is sometimes okay? That blood in the gutter is normal?
There is also the matter of public health. Tens of thousands of birds, many sick or dead, handled without gloves. Health officials consistently warn about the risks of Salmonella and other pathogens when handling live poultry, especially for children. Yet, in those rain-soaked streets, I saw the warnings being ignored in real time. Bare hands moved from birds to phones to faces to strollers. In 2022, the year I was there, Brooklyn saw a spike in Campylobacter cases just after Kaporos, prompting a public health inquiry.
I can still see the shivering birds refusing watermelon from kind hands and the children who laughed, who learned, who will grow up believing this is what repentance looks like. The lesson they were receiving did not look like mercy or forgiveness. It seemed more about power.
There is another way. Use coins and donate to charity. Teach compassion as part of atonement. Choose the merciful parts of an existing tradition.
New York City can choose to stop condoning this cruelty and decide that public streets are not slaughterhouses. It can withdraw barricades and floodlights, and enforce the same health codes that apply to everyone else.
I am not Jewish, and Brooklyn is not my home, but I understand Yom Kippur is a time for reflection and renewal. I know that Kaporos is one tradition of many that can make up a Jewish life. The Jewish traditions my friends and colleagues have shared with me are generous and compassionate, anchored in mercy and loving-kindness.
Witnessing Kaporos left me with one conviction: allowing thousands to suffer and die in the streets is not merciful or kind.
Coins instead of chickens. Compassion instead of cruelty.