Greatest Real Estate Finds

[marylander1940]

A Colorado home that looks straight out of 'The Flintstones' asks...

NYPOST.COM

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In Larkspur, Colorado, a home known as “The Rock House” -- which was built into an ancient rock -- has hit the market.

[samhexum]

Stunning drone footage shows vulnerable oceanfront houses that dot the Outer Banks on the brink of collapsing into the sea.

The footage — recorded Friday by WRAL News in Raleigh-Durham — caught a cluster of homes in Rodanthe, North Carolina, that the water seems particularly intent on claiming.

The banks have already foreclosed on some of the houses, which once stood about 100 yards away from the rising surf, one homeowner said.

“So many people say hateful things [and] ask why we built our house in the middle of the ocean,” said Sharon Troy, whose family has owned one of the homes for 16 years.

“It was not like this when we bought it,” she said of her house, which is near a pile of sand that used to be GA Kohler Street. “There was a football field of beach behind these houses.”

Not anymore. Now it stands in the path of waves with a group of other homes after years of beach erosion and high winds as sea levels rise.

The waves splash wildly against the wooden footings of the houses — even at low tide, the station said. And their septic tanks have cracked open, spilling sewage into the water.

“It wasn’t like this just a few years ago. And, we aren’t rich people. We are hard-working normal people. We can’t afford to move it,” she said.

“There is nowhere to move it,” Troy continued. “The insurance company won’t pay out until it falls over.”

Mark Gray, of WM Dunn Construction, told WRAL that his company has been contracted to clean up debris from at least five of the homes in the last few years.

“When it’s rough like this, like when the last one went in, we had to clean 11 miles of beach,” Gray told the station. “It’s a mess.”

The waves do their damage quickly — Gray said that between Monday and Tuesday last week, the ocean swallowed up another few feet of sand.

“It’s changed the whole dynamics of this thing,” the contractor said.

“Eventually, when the ocean erodes enough of the beach, then it takes the foundation out from under the house,” he continued. “As it lost beach, it lost the sand under its pilings and eventually the house just collapsed.”

“We’re bringing more equipment down to get ready for the potential collapse of the house,” he added. “Everything’s changed now. If the house falls, there’s no beach to get on to clean it up, so I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

“It’s a really unfortunate situation because that debris can scatter long distances across the seashore,” Cape Hatteras National Seashore Superintendent Dave Hallac told the station.

Climate change is further exacerbating the natural erosion that shifts the sands of the ever-changing barrier islands, Hallac said. And that puts more and more buildings at risk.

“When you add a foot of water or 2 feet of water, that just makes everything worse,” Hallac said.

Meanwhile, saltwater floods the neighborhood’s sandy, barely-paved streets, reminding the 200 or so residents left that their little beach community is on the clock.  

“It’s incredibly sad,” Troy, the homeowner, said. “All we can do is hope and pray.”

The troubling scene has played out time and again along the Outer Banks, a 200-mile string of barrier islands off North Carolina and Virginia.

Last month, another house in Rodanthe collapsed into the sea in a caught-on-camera disaster —and it was the seventh house to be carried away by rising tides in just the last four years.

David and Teresa Kern of Hershey, Pennsylvania, had bought the four-bedroom, two-bathroom vacation home in 2019 for $339,000.

The destruction left the couple scrambling to salvage what they could of their finances.

The Kern’s 1,500 square-foot home collapsed into the ocean back in August.

Debris from the home is seen washed up on shore.

A cluster of homes in Rodanthe, North Carolina, are on the brink of collapse because of sea level rise and erosion

[CuriousByNature]

15 hours ago, samhexum said:

Stunning drone footage shows vulnerable oceanfront houses that dot the Outer Banks on the brink of collapsing into the sea.

The footage — recorded Friday by WRAL News in Raleigh-Durham — caught a cluster of homes in Rodanthe, North Carolina, that the water seems particularly intent on claiming.

The banks have already foreclosed on some of the houses, which once stood about 100 yards away from the rising surf, one homeowner said.

“So many people say hateful things [and] ask why we built our house in the middle of the ocean,” said Sharon Troy, whose family has owned one of the homes for 16 years.

“It was not like this when we bought it,” she said of her house, which is near a pile of sand that used to be GA Kohler Street. “There was a football field of beach behind these houses.”

Not anymore. Now it stands in the path of waves with a group of other homes after years of beach erosion and high winds as sea levels rise.

The waves splash wildly against the wooden footings of the houses — even at low tide, the station said. And their septic tanks have cracked open, spilling sewage into the water.

“It wasn’t like this just a few years ago. And, we aren’t rich people. We are hard-working normal people. We can’t afford to move it,” she said.

“There is nowhere to move it,” Troy continued. “The insurance company won’t pay out until it falls over.”

Mark Gray, of WM Dunn Construction, told WRAL that his company has been contracted to clean up debris from at least five of the homes in the last few years.

“When it’s rough like this, like when the last one went in, we had to clean 11 miles of beach,” Gray told the station. “It’s a mess.”

The waves do their damage quickly — Gray said that between Monday and Tuesday last week, the ocean swallowed up another few feet of sand.

“It’s changed the whole dynamics of this thing,” the contractor said.

“Eventually, when the ocean erodes enough of the beach, then it takes the foundation out from under the house,” he continued. “As it lost beach, it lost the sand under its pilings and eventually the house just collapsed.”

“We’re bringing more equipment down to get ready for the potential collapse of the house,” he added. “Everything’s changed now. If the house falls, there’s no beach to get on to clean it up, so I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

“It’s a really unfortunate situation because that debris can scatter long distances across the seashore,” Cape Hatteras National Seashore Superintendent Dave Hallac told the station.

Climate change is further exacerbating the natural erosion that shifts the sands of the ever-changing barrier islands, Hallac said. And that puts more and more buildings at risk.

“When you add a foot of water or 2 feet of water, that just makes everything worse,” Hallac said.

Meanwhile, saltwater floods the neighborhood’s sandy, barely-paved streets, reminding the 200 or so residents left that their little beach community is on the clock.  

“It’s incredibly sad,” Troy, the homeowner, said. “All we can do is hope and pray.”

The troubling scene has played out time and again along the Outer Banks, a 200-mile string of barrier islands off North Carolina and Virginia.

Last month, another house in Rodanthe collapsed into the sea in a caught-on-camera disaster —and it was the seventh house to be carried away by rising tides in just the last four years.

David and Teresa Kern of Hershey, Pennsylvania, had bought the four-bedroom, two-bathroom vacation home in 2019 for $339,000.

The destruction left the couple scrambling to salvage what they could of their finances.

The Kern’s 1,500 square-foot home collapsed into the ocean back in August.

Debris from the home is seen washed up on shore.

A cluster of homes in Rodanthe, North Carolina, are on the brink of collapse because of sea level rise and erosion

If you have to build your house on stilts it may be a sign you should build further inland, or at a higher elevation...

[+ azdr0710]

Abandoned Hollywood Hills mansion covered with graffiti

WWW.NBCLOSANGELES.COM

---

An abandoned mansion in the Hollywood Hills has been taken over by taggers and squatters.

owner is

John Powers Middleton - Wikipedia

EN.WIKIPEDIA.ORG

 

Edited September 21, 2024 by azdr0710

[TonyDown]

2 hours ago, azdr0710 said:

Abandoned Hollywood Hills mansion covered with graffiti

WWW.NBCLOSANGELES.COM

---

An abandoned mansion in the Hollywood Hills has been taken over by taggers and squatters.

owner is

John Powers Middleton - Wikipedia

EN.WIKIPEDIA.ORG

 

Our local news reported this home has been abandoned and occupied by aggressive squatters for 2 years.   I wonder how Zillow scores the walkable rating for nearby real estate. 😅

Edited September 21, 2024 by TonyDown

[samhexum]

On 9/19/2024 at 7:57 PM, samhexum said:

A cluster of homes in Rodanthe, North Carolina, are on the brink of collapse because of sea level rise and erosion

 

Another Outer Banks home collapses into Atlantic, third home lost on Rodanthe street this week

[BiGuyNola]

One of the houses near mine collapsed into the ocean in the Outer Banks, and it was an alarming sight. The combination of the storm of elements, winds, waves, and erosion had been weakening the shoreline for quite some time, but no one expected it to happen so suddenly. Over the past few months, the rising sea levels and more and more aggressive storms had steadily eaten away at the foundation of the house, inching it slightly closer and closer to the edge. Then, one day, the structure gave way and plunged into the ocean, thankfully it was empty at the time, leaving behind only debris and a strong reminder of the ongoing struggle in coastal areas like the Outer Banks- homes built too close to the ever and ever shifting shoreline. Seeing it happen so close to me like that it was a flashing sign of the fragility of living along any coast really.

[CuriousByNature]

2 hours ago, BiGuyNola said:

One of the houses near mine collapsed into the ocean in the Outer Banks, and it was an alarming sight. The combination of the storm of elements, winds, waves, and erosion had been weakening the shoreline for quite some time, but no one expected it to happen so suddenly. Over the past few months, the rising sea levels and more and more aggressive storms had steadily eaten away at the foundation of the house, inching it slightly closer and closer to the edge. Then, one day, the structure gave way and plunged into the ocean, thankfully it was empty at the time, leaving behind only debris and a strong reminder of the ongoing struggle in coastal areas like the Outer Banks- homes built too close to the ever and ever shifting shoreline. Seeing it happen so close to me like that it was a flashing sign of the fragility of living along any coast really.

I recall something from years ago that showed the progression of housing towards the shoreline over the decades.  The photos showed much longer setbacks in the past, where it would have been comparatively safer to build.  With each decade, new homes were built closer and closer to the shore, and in one or two cases, owners even built their new homes closer to the water after their original homes had been destroyed by a hurricane.  Nominees for the Darwin Awards, perhaps.

[+ MysticMenace]

Looks like great mansions next to each other in a very star-studded island in FL. No need to look at who is selling the property... nothing to see there 😉 

[SoCalBaseball]

7 minutes ago, MysticMenace said:

Looks like great mansions next to each other in a very star-studded island in FL. No need to look at who is selling the property... nothing to see there 😉 

Is that Peter’s digs? 😄 beautiful 

[samhexum]

On 3/9/2021 at 5:16 PM, MysticMenace said:

Greatest Real Estate Finds

• Head and hands of Colo. girl, 16, last seen in 2005 found in freezer of recently sold home

• NOT a great real estate find...

[samhexum]

“After two months of browsing real estate websites, I came across this studio in a moment of serendipity,” begins actor Matthew August Jeffers. “I was juggling virtual press interviews for a film release, and in the breaks between each one, I scanned listings. This unit had been on the market for just 13 minutes, and something about the photos captivated me; the cozy private balcony, coupled with the luxury of an in-unit washer and dryer (be still, my heart), was exciting.”

Matthew says the “Miss America 1959” sash hanging from the pothos plant is something guests always ask about. He also says the motorized blinds he had installed were a great purchase, "allowing for precise control over the room’s exposure to natural light, which has a huge impact on how the space feels throughout the day."

As soon as Matthew saw the listing he texted the real estate agent. “An hour later, I was touring the space, and I turned to him and said, ‘Tell me what I need to do to make this mine.’ Despite already having an application submitted, he encouraged me to apply with a personal letter. A day later, I was holding the keys,” Matthew continues.  HeMatthew says it’s the studio apartment’s “intelligent design” that appealed to him most.

I had grown increasingly disheartened by the awkward studio layouts in the city, where the kitchen seems to spill into the bedroom. This studio, however, had a natural flow, which appealed to me. Having lived in two- and three-bedroom apartments for over a decade, I had initial reservations about downsizing to a studio. But as someone with dwarfism, I’ve spent my life optimizing small spaces, and I saw this as an exciting challenge to do so once again.”

"The piece that unlocked the space for me was my custom piano stand, which sits right at the heart of the apartment. Once that was in place everything else just clicked!" Matthew admits.

The apartment had been “freshly cleaned, painted, and outfitted with modern appliances” when Matthew moved in, which he says made it a blank canvas full of potential. “This allowed me to focus my energy on opening up and brightening what initially felt like a small, narrow space. Although I hadn’t previously decorated a studio apartment, I was mindful not to fall into the common trap of over-cluttering.”

To transform a closet into a home office, Matthew "removed the door, added playful wallpaper (because who wants to stare at a blank wall?), and scored a $30 desk from the kids' section at IKEA. It’s the first desk that actually fits me! I gave it a little upgrade with a designer lamp from the MoMA store, adding a touch of chic. I take some pretty high-profile meetings in that cozy nook, which feels like a perfect symbol of my journey — making waves in small spaces."

Having lived in New York City for over a decade, Matthew was faced with the task of doing a lot of decluttering to fit comfortably in this smaller space. “Having two-bedroom apartments gave me the luxury to showcase a maximalist aesthetic. Transitioning to a minimalist approach was difficult at first — I had to kill my darlings,” he describes. “To ease the process, I paid double rent for a month, giving myself time to thoughtfully curate what truly mattered to me and what I could let go of. But it helped me realize that much of what I held onto was just clutter. Now, my space feels more aligned with my essence.”

Matthew says he’s someone “who craves peace and quiet,” which is why he’s made sure to make his studio apartment feel like a personal retreat, what he describes as “functional tranquility. It’s a space where I can recharge and stay productive at the same time. I take meetings, dive into a good book, cook meals with ingredients from the Union Square Farmers Market, edit my photography, care for my plants, and watch great films. It’s my little sanctuary.”

Resources

LIVING ROOM

• CBS Ronan Sofa Grey — Havenly
• Fjallbo TV Stand — IKEA
• Accent Pillows — Dobbin Street Co-Op
• Walnut Rolling Tray — Etsy
• Mid-Century Keyboard Stand — Etsy
• Dried Flower Bouquet — Stems Brooklyn
• Invisible Book Wall Shelf — Urban Outfitters
• Dean Floor Lamp — Target

KITCHEN

• Aquarium — Pacific Aquarium & Plant
• Wire Mesh Fruit Bowl — MoMA Store
• Vitamix — Vitamix

BEDROOM

• Classic Percale Sheets — Brooklinen
• Cotton Quilt — Brooklinen
• Octopus — IKEA
• Boho Colorblock Wall Decal — Etsy 

CLOSET OFFICE

• Desk Lamp — 2Modern
• Constellations Wallpaper — Chasing Paper
• Kids’ Desk — IKEA

BATHROOM

• Dried Flowers and Planter — Flora Good Times
• Do Epic Shit Neon Sign — Etsy

[samhexum]

The Black Hole on Columbia Heights

By Bridget Read, features writer at Curbed 

 

Columbia Heights is likely one of the most famous streets in Brooklyn Heights — once home to Walt Whitman and Norman Mailer, now Matt Damon, Jennifer Connelly, and Michelle Williams. The Civil War–era rowhouses on the avenue look out over the promenade, with views extending from the East River all the way to the Statue of Liberty. Each is nicer than the next, with period-specific details, immaculate built-in bookcases, and perfectly lit art visible from the street. Then you get to 194. 

The massive four-story brownstone is the sickly shade of green mold, except in the places the façade has chipped off completely. Tattered blinds are drawn in the windows, some of which are broken or boarded up. The front door is padlocked, its Italianate finishes scuffed and rotting. Gas-lamp sconces dangle from their wires. On one recent morning, trash littered the steps leading down to the garden-level entrance, and a red Nike shoebox sat abandoned in a stone planter. Peering inside, I could see piles of what looked like old furniture and debris.

This kind of thing would stand out in many parts of the city, but here? The house next door sold for $12 million in 2018. The incongruity of an abandoned eyesore in one of Brooklyn’s most desirable Zip Codes has become a point of obsession in the neighborhood — for more than 40 years. “It’s been like that since I came here,” says Andrew Porter, a writer who has lived in the same rent-controlled apartment nearby since 1968 and has been speculating over the condition of 194 Columbia Heights for nearly two decades as a frequent poster on the Brooklyn Heights Blog, which is itself fixated on the house (the site’s Open Thread Wednesdays are basically a clearinghouse for recent gossip). The neighborhood association has long been frustrated with the situation. The mailman has theories. No. 194 is the ultimate street-level mystery: In the most real-estate-obsessed city in the world, in one of its prime locations, with some of the fussiest residents, it seems incomprehensible that anyone would let a house like this rot. And for this long.

Let’s start with the owner of 194 Columbia Heights: a man named Austin Moore, a psychiatrist who for years practiced out of an office on Henry Street and bought the historic house, built in 1860, from the previous owner in 1969 for $140,000. (Moore, now in his 90s, may still live at the address where he once kept an office, at least according to tax records.) His trouble with the house started early: By 1986, Moore was already facing the threat of foreclosure by the city due to unpaid property taxes but was able to cover enough of the balance to stave it off. Documents about the foreclosure proceeding note that the building had been vacant since 1983, though neighborhood watchers like Porter say it was closed up long before that. In the decades that followed, records from the Department of Housing Preservation and the Department of Buildings show 32 complaints and 17 violations, from open and broken windows to a failure to comply with changes to its certificate of occupancy. The house started to decay.

None of which escaped the notice of the ever-fastidious Brooklyn Heights Association (its current president is an architectural historian). At a meeting in 2009, 194 Columbia Heights came up along with a handful of other troublesome properties. Moore, along with other owners, needed to be pushed to “take the appropriate actions toward their preservation, whether that is engaging in restoration themselves or selling to someone who will.” That was also the year a windstorm brought pieces of the roof down and Moore — long silent in the face of local attention — gave his first and only public comment to the press about his house. He would “probably surprise everybody by doing some improvements this spring,” he told the Brooklyn Eagle. Little about the house changed, but workers did apparently fix the roof, per spies on the Brooklyn Heights Blog.

All the while, Moore’s unpaid property taxes continued to pile up. He owed another $40,000 in 2009 and now owes nearly $250,000. Which is part of the intrigue: Why keep up such a money pit when selling would be so lucrative? When I asked around the neighborhood (and the mailman, a doorman, and a landscaper), they all had heard the same rumor: Moore was keeping the house in order to spite an ex-wife. Intriguing, but never confirmed. I reached out to Moore’s son, who had no comment. A woman whose name was also listed on property records never responded to my inquiries.

As for what will happen next? In a neighborhood like Brooklyn Heights, there are two main engines of redress for a house that’s fallen into disrepair: intervention from the various city agencies that have jurisdiction over housing and vocal, sustained outrage from neighbors. (Often, it’s both.) Both have so far failed in the case of 194. “I think the whole thing’s about to come down,” another property manager of a nearby apartment building told me, who claims that a rat infestation from the house has impacted his buildings and tenants. But the Department of Buildings seems to disagree: Though the agency can make an emergency declaration to demolish a building if it’s deemed a hazard, a spokesperson told me that the department sent inspectors to 194 in February and found the house properly sealed to the public, which at the very least means that doors and windows on the first level were properly locked. The house also wasn’t at any risk of collapse or fire. Ultimately, it came down to cold, hard property rights. “On private property, its very difficult for a city agency to step in physically,” Andrew Rudansky, the spokesman for the Department of Buildings, said.

As for the Department of Finance, it could typically force a house like 194 into a tax lien sale, which usually results in foreclosure. But that hasn’t happened. Instead, a spokesperson confirmed that Moore was on a payment plan, though, they said, the house “may be subject to a lien sale in 2025.”

Finally, because 194 is in a landmarked district, the Landmarks Preservation Commission could deem the property at risk of “demolition by neglect” — but it too has so far not chosen to act. A Landmarks spokesperson said that Moore has been issued summonses for failing to comply with landmark rules as recently as June, but has apparently made adequate fixes to the home’s roof and cornices that placated the department, which “continues to work closely with the owner to make additional necessary repairs, including an upcoming on-site visit,” per a statement.

Younger, the property manager who said Moore once had a tenant, is the only person I spoke to who actually knows the man. “He calls me from time to time,” Younger told me, “to ask about vendors to do the things the city makes him do, to keep the city off his back.” Occasionally, Moore says he is ready to sell the place. But it never happens. As for why he thinks Moore has kept the house despite everything — the windfall that surely awaits if he does, an end to all that paperwork, and letting someone put some use to the space — Younger says he’s not sure. “He has only ever been cordial with me,” he said. “In our lives, we all have blank spots, and I guess this is his.”

 

 

194 Columbia Heights from the street. 

The back of 194. 

[samhexum]

NASA discovers underground ‘city’ beneath ice sheet in Greenland

What’s old is new again. NASA scientists discovered an underground “city” buried 100 feet beneath the ice of Greenland.

[samhexum]

NOT ENOUGH PICS TO GET A REAL FEEL FOR THE PLACE...

A Former Rectory in Newburgh, Complete With White Picket Fence, Yours for $789K

Set on a generous lot on one of Newburgh’s architecturally intriguing avenues, this recently renovated former rectory retains its 19th century charm.

The wood frame dwelling on the market at 177 Grand Street is within the East End Historic District, an area rich in examples of popular 19th century architectural styles. This three-bay-wide dwelling, with pilasters at the corners, a bracketed cornice hidden by siding, and a front door with sidelights and transom, is on the earlier end of the style spectrum. An historic district inventory dates the dwelling to circa 1840, which fits with some of its Greek Revival style elements, and historic maps show the house already in place by the 1850s.

The house on Grand Street is shown on this 1859 map between South and 3rd streets. Next door is the Westminster Reformed Church, marked as No. 13. Map of Orange and Rockland Counties via New York Public Library

While it served as a rectory for St. George’s Episcopal Church for much of the 20th century, the house was built as a family home. The inventory and building survey forms filled out in the 1960s and 1970s indicate a George Reeve as an original or early owner.

Census records show a George and Caroline Reeve and their family living in Newburgh in the 1850 census. George, a merchant, died in 1854. Caroline and their three children — Maria, Arianna, and George Henry — continued living in the house; she is listed at 177 Grand Street in the 1864 directory. By that time, son George Henry had died the year before and widowed daughter Maria had already returned to the family home, leaving the three women in the household. Census records in the 1860s and 1880s show the trio typically had one live-in female servant. Who that servant was changed in each census. In 1865, it was Lizzie Jackson, a 22-year-old Black woman born in Orange County. In 1870, it was Irish immigrant Julia Kiegan.

When Caroline died in 1890, she left the house at 177 Grand Street in trust for her daughter Arianna and gave other real estate holdings outright to daughter Maria Reeve Mead. The two sisters, both in their 50s, continued to live in the house together until Arianna moved to Interpines Sanitarium in Goshen by 1916. Maria died that year and in her will left 177 Grand Street to St. George’s Episcopal Church for use as a rectory with the stipulation that her sister had a life interest in the property.

 

While 177 Grand Street is conveniently next to a church, it isn’t St. George’s; that worship space is a few blocks away. Next door to the house is the former Westminster Reformed Church, now Mt. Calvary FBH Church.

Deeds show the house was conveyed to St. George’s in 1917 for use as a rectory and the church owned the property until 1977. During that time local newspapers covered church-related meetings and events that took place in the rectory. In January of 1952, fire trucks showed up at the house after a report of fire. It seems that the Reverend Frank L. Carruthers and parishioners were having a ceremony to burn the Christmas greens, sparking concern from neighbors. The Newburgh News reported that the reverend did have a permit for the fire.

The house has had multiple owners since the church sold it. At some point after 1970 the exterior was covered in vinyl siding. A 1970 photograph included in a New York State Parks, Recreation & Historic Preservation building inventory form shows the house with 19th century brackets (perhaps added after the house was built) and paneled frieze visible. Perhaps they are still under that vinyl siding.

Currently a two-family, the house comprises a one-bedroom garden level rental and an owner’s triplex above. The five-bedroom triplex has a fair number of 19th century details, including high ceilings, moldings, mantels, and a stair with a curved railing and a coffin corner.

   

The listing notes there are five fireplaces; four are original. The parlor and dining room have mantels of black marble. A doorway framed by pilasters separates the two rooms. A mini conservatory or sunroom, possibly an early addition, spans two floor-to-ceiling window surrounds with glass doors and shutters, one off the dining room, the other the parlor.

A modern kitchen with green cabinets and butcher block cabinets has been has been tucked into a room off the dining room. Some moldings have been left in place.

   

Upstairs, the bedrooms appear generously sized. An updated full bath includes a checkerboard floor, a claw foot tub, and 19th century marble sink with built-in cabinetry.

The house sits on just a smidge over half an acre of land with plenty of opportunity for a gardener with vision. There are some large trees, a driveway, and the picturesque church as a neighbor. There is front lawn space as well, and a white picket fence stretches across part, but not all, of the sidewalk.

The surrounding blocks are filled with architectural gems, including the Captain David Crawford House, headquarters of the Historical Society of Newburgh Bay and the Highlands. If you want to check out Newburgh during the holiday season, there are still some holiday festivities happening downtown, from gingerbread making to a cocktail and mocktail crawl.

The house last sold in January for $635,000. After the renovation, it is back on the market asking $789,000. James Dundon of Compass is the listing agent and one of the owners.

                                                 

 

Edited December 23, 2024 by samhexum
for absolutely NO @%!*ING reason at all!

[samhexum]

Bold thieves are targeting tiny homes — by stealing the entire house

[samhexum]

AN APARTMENT WITH A TERRACE AND A VIEW:

[samhexum]

As Barry Green tells it, his 47-foot houseboat was a hunk of junk rotting away at a South Jersey marina when he bought it. He completely rebuilt it, insulated its interior, and had it towed to a dock beside Brooklyn’s Kings Plaza mall 12 years ago.

He found a community among other houseboaters moored at the marina in Mill Basin, along with a refuge from skyrocketing rents for apartments on dry land. Now, however, he and other houseboat owners are being told to shove off. Mall executives decided to evict them last year, citing a plan to renovate the marina after its agreement with a prior dock operator ended.

“They own the dock. We own the boats,” Green said. “It’s, ‘Pick up your boat and go someplace else.’”

The problem, he said, is “there really isn’t any place else to go” — especially for an 80-year-old retiree living on about $1,300 a month in social security payments.

Those facing eviction can’t easily move their floating homes. Even if they could, the number of “liveaboard” docks where people can live on houseboats are dwindling across the five boroughs. And, in a nautical version of supply and demand, rents are rising at the marinas that still allow full-time residents. Prices are spiking on land, too.

“You look in the papers and it says affordable apartments for $2,000 or $3,000 a month,” said Green, who was paying around $700 a month to rent the slip at Kings Plaza under previous management. “This is affordable? For who?”

There is no official tally of New York houseboats. The city’s housing, transportation, parks, environmental and small business agencies say they don’t keep track. The parks department bans “liveaboards” from city-owned marinas and in 2021 evicted the few remaining houseboat residents from a deteriorating dock on the Hudson River at West 79th Street.

Residents, experts and historians say the number of houseboaters continues to decrease.

“ People are looking for another marina and it's hard to find one,” said Linda White, a retired letter carrier who has lived in a large houseboat at Kings Plaza for the past 14 years. “And the ones that will take you, they're expensive.”

Gothamist contacted 15 marinas across all five boroughs to see if they accept full-time residents. Representatives from each said they prohibit “liveaboards,” though one said they look the other way for longtime residents.

Most said they cut off water and electricity during the winter, or require members to remove their boats during the coldest months. Some boaters find safe harbor in inland waterways, like Newtown Creek, which courses through Brooklyn and Queens, and Westchester Creek in the Bronx, or keep a low profile in spots that officially ban full-time residents.

In legal papers filed last year, Kings Plaza General Manager Emma Dawson informed the houseboat residents they have to leave due to “a scheduled renovation of the Marina.” Another company had been leasing the facility from Kings Plaza and renting out the slips to the boaters until late 2023. When that agreement ended, the houseboat residents lost their right to remain at the marina, Kings Plaza’s attorneys wrote in six eviction lawsuits.

The commercial eviction cases are still moving through Brooklyn Civil Court and the residents do not have attorneys.

Dawson did not respond to questions from Gothamist and instead referred an email and phone call to the mall’s parent company Macerich, a retail real estate behemoth that owns at least 40 shopping centers across the country. Macerich spokesperson Denise James said the company declined to comment and that she had no information about why mall executives wanted to remove the houseboat residents from the dock.

New York City’s Economic Development Corporation asked businesses to submit proposals for redeveloping two waterfront lots near Kings Plaza last year, but a spokesperson said they have no involvement or information regarding the mall’s plans.

Evictions would unmoor the close-knit community of more than a dozen people, where residents said they chase away vandals, keep one another safe by making sure the gangway gate is locked, and check in on sick neighbors.

The marina and others like it around the city attract self-sufficient New Yorkers with an adventurous side. White, the retired letter carrier, said she and her husband decided to move in 14 years ago because they were in search of “something new.”

“It looked kind of exciting. And the first time you live on it, you're like, ‘Oh my god,’ because it's moving back and forth and it's up and down,” she said. “You get used to it.”

She now worries they may have to return to land. White said she has been unable to find another marina willing to accept her 52-foot barge.

Green’s houseboat is more like a floating workshop, brimming with his artistic and functional creations in wood, steel and leather. Shelves he built along the walls are lined with dozens of plastic containers filled with fasteners. Drawers are crammed with tools, like the chisels he uses to carve designs into an 8-foot-long plank covering a gap in the ceiling. He showed off some of his artworks: an intricate lock and an ornate, dragon-shaped steel dagger in a handcrafted leather scabbard.

“If I want to pound on metal at 3 o'clock in the morning, and you're living in an apartment, this doesn't work very well,” he said.

Elsewhere in the country, cities and towns from Portland, Oregon to Portland, Maine embrace “floating homes.” Boaters and maritime experts say that’s no longer the case in New York City, despite its 520 miles of shoreline and rich maritime history.

Barbara Dolensek,  the vice president of the City Island Historical Society and administrator of the City Island Nautical Museum, said “plenty of people” were living on boats in the Bronx when she and her husband arrived in 1976.

“Now, I don’t believe there’s anyone living aboard,” she said.

Robert Johnson, an 89-year-old houseboat resident and boating historian living on the Bronx’s Westchester Creek, said he has seen rents triple in the city’s few remaining marinas in recent years.  A new landlord doubled his own rent four years ago.

Houseboat communities are “considerably diminished” compared to two decades ago, Johnson said. “I would say almost disappeared.”

White, the retired letter carrier, said the city is losing an important source of affordable housing for hearty New Yorkers with a taste for unconventional living arrangements.

For the Kings Plaza residents, it means uncertainty and a community set adrift.

“The thing that's a shame is that you can buy these. They’re affordable,” White said. “I don't see why you can't live on them.”

[samhexum]

 

Villagers have said they’re fighting a “David and Goliath” battle against a billionaire entrepreneur’s plan to create a huge $37,200-a-night wedding venue on their doorstep.

Residents in Huntingfield, Suffolk, which has a population of just 150, claim the “all singing, all dancing”‘ entertainment center, which could hold 288 people, will destroy their rural idyll.

The location, known as Blyth Barn, is part of luxury holiday firm Wilderness Reserve owned by Jon Hunt, founder of estate agency Foxtons, and visited by stars such as Zoe Sugg and Jack Whitehall. 

However, the venue, which includes professional chefs and spa therapists on site, has angered locals who say it has gone “too far.”

They are particularly concerned about the approval of a 24-hour alcohol license, the effect on local traffic and late-night disturbance. 

At the end of last year, the business applied for a premises license at its latest development called Blyth Barn on the Valley Farm estate.

Proposals for the venue to serve alcohol 24 hours a day were approved by East Suffolk Council earlier this month.

An extraordinary general meeting of Huntingfield Parish Council on Thursday, Jan. 30, saw 50 objectors turn up to discuss the “biased” application.

The Wilderness Reserve has also sought “part retrospective” planning permission to reconfigure three approved holiday lets into a single guest house known as Blyth Barn.

Once finished, the 17-room property will have a swimming pool, hot tub, sauna, gym and party room.

Lorraine Brennan, 61, and Nina Roe, 39, are two villagers who have objected to the plans.

They said residents had initially been informed there were plans for a “rural retreat” that have now spiraled into the entertainment venue.

They are concerned that their “tranquil and peaceful village would be destroyed” by visitors who may overspill and cause nuisances in the village.

They also had worries about drunken behavior, drug taking and a lack of security.

“We feel as if we’ve been disregarded and unconsidered all in the name of money,” said Lorraine, who has lived in the “very old village and small farming community” for eight years.

“We were pleased when the application went through for the Valley Farm site as the old gothic farmhouse has been in disrepair for the last 40 years,” she admitted.

“We thought the idea of a rural retreat would be a really good thing for the village.

“Then in December 2024, we’re told they want to turn it into an entertainment center. It will be larger than our village,” Lorraine complained.

“We’ve had four years of construction noise disturbing the peace of the village already. This has got to a point where it’s gone too far.

“All of the construction traffic goes through the heart of the village as well as every staff member and guest. It’s a single-track road.”

Lorraine also shared that the issue has been “quite mentally distressing,” adding, “Our village and close community has been ruined.” 

She said that the village is “very lucky” that it already has a “wonderful pub and little village hall,” but noted that they both shutter by 11 p.m.

“Why should this development be allowed a 24-hour license?” Lorraine asked. “It’s a David and Goliath battle.”

The reserve’s barrister presented the case at the licensing meeting on Jan. 15 and described the venue as a “deconstructed hotel” that aims to “promote nature, sustainability, and the rural economy.” 

The alcohol license was granted on several conditions, including the Challenge 25 policy being adopted — it involves requesting ID for anyone under 25 — and CCTV.

The meeting also heard that a noise management plan should be prepared in consultation with East Suffolk Council before it is submitted.

The music sound levels should not exceed 85 decibels in the day and 75 decibels in the evening, controlled by acoustic limiting devices.

“Nobody has considered the knock-on effect this will have on traffic, light pollution, noise or the wildlife. Guests will be moving down into the village, coming into the pub — nobody in the venue can stop that,” said Nina Roe, who has lived in Huntingfield all her life. 

“It was noted that it was antisocial to use a single narrow lane, and they would use another access point. But all the roads into the village are single lanes,” she continued.

“Guests are picked up in Land Rover taxis and helicopters pick them up and land all over the village. These aren’t noiseless vehicles. 

“We’ve been misled.”

[samhexum]

On 11/21/2022 at 9:40 PM, samhexum said:

The Grinnell, a stately co-op in upper Manhattan, might just be the city’s best-kept secret — for now.

Replete with spacious homes, a strong sense of community and maintenance fees that are considerably less than in comparable buildings, the property stands in a sleepy corner of Washington Heights, at 800 Riverside Drive. It also rarely has openings

A six-room unit in Washington Heights’ most under-the-radar co-op building just listed for $1.85 million.

The three-bed, two-bath corner unit is located on the fifth floor, with communal rooftop access to views of the Hudson River and George Washington Bridge. The corner apartment features a lacquered entry gallery and an airy, east-facing living room with hardwood floors and high ceilings.

Located at 800 Riverside Drive, the Grinnell takes up a full triangle-shaped block between West 157th and 158th Streets. Just six other units there have sold across 2023 and 2024, according to StreetEasy records, meaning savvy house hunters who are on the prowl now have a prime shot at entry into a building where residents tend to live for decades. What’s more, contrary to its luxe appearance — with its porte-cochere entryway to a private courtyard — the nine-story building is actually a part of the city’s affordable housing stock.

No matter how much buyers are willing to shell out for the 115-year-old building’s old-world charm and Hudson River views, buyers must meet special criteria to purchase there. That’s because the Grinnell is one of the city’s 1,100 HDFC co-ops — otherwise known as Housing Development Fund Corporation units. These dwellings come with strict income requirements designed to keep homeownership in the city affordable.

“Affordable,” is a relative term, however. Under HDFC rules, each building has its own income restrictions, and the Grinnell represents the gold standard. Long known as the most expensive of HDFC co-ops in the city, its units can list for more than $1 million; income restrictions can hover around $750,000 per year.

Still, its residents can live like a royalty without paying the princely sums that other prime co-op owners have to cough up. Thanks to a real-estate tax abatement, residents enjoy very low maintenance fees. While the Grinnell has been dubbed “the Dakota of the North,” this listed unit’s $1,695 maintenance fees pale in comparison to the more than $9,700 in fees that a similar owner at the Dakota — on the Upper West Side — would pay.

Grinnell residents tend to stay put, not only for the charm and deep sense of community, but also due to a flip tax that applies when they sell. The caveat of the co-op requires sellers to split the proceeds between themselves and the HDFC, the latter of which goes into capital repairs and building needs.

Many pics w/ article: 

Exclusive | Rarely available unit in a secret -- and storied -- Upper Manhattan...

NYPOST.COM

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Located on a quiet corner of Riverside Drive, the Grinnell is a little-known pre-war co-op made up of 83 units that...

 

[Lotus-eater]

"'Affordable' is a relative term." You can say that again. $1.85 million qualifies as "affordable" housing?

[samhexum]

Now these are railroad apartments!

The southwest-facing pads on the corner of Broadway and Melrose Street in Brooklyn are so close to the Myrtle Avenue subway station platform that tenants can practically reach out the window and touch the J, M and Z trains that rumble past.

“I never open my windows,” said Armpit Ahluwalia, 26, who lives on the four-floor of the apartment in Bushwick and can see directly into subway cars from his bedroom.

“I feel like, if I open the windows, I can walk right onto the track,” said Ahluwalia, who splits the $4,000-a-month rent with two roommates.

The platform barriers are barely 5 feet from the building and when a train pulls in, it’s about 10 feet away, according to measurements taken by The Post.

Luckily, the new building was designed to muffle some of the outside commotion, Ahluwalia added, and after six months in the Big Apple from Philadelphia, the trains have become “white noise.”

Many of the new tenants share his nonchalance, according to Diego Luna, manager of Maya’s Snack Bar, which sits right below the apartments.

“About a month ago, they were having a full blown conversation from the window with a guy that was on the other side of the platform,” Luna said.

A Brooklyn realtor shared a video of a $4,000 a month third-floor walkup directly opposite the tracks on social media in December and it has since gone viral with over 7 million views.

“My clients were looking for an apartment within a seven-minute walk from the train,” said Simply Brooklyn realtor Zalman Simpson. “I showed them this one and they signed on the spot.”

The unit has since been rented, but the tenants didn’t respond to a Post reporter — possibly because they couldn’t hear her knocking.

For many — the tracks are way too close for comfort.

“He’s up-selling the train being right outside your window as a good thing,” an incredulous New Yorker commented on Instagram.

“$4K to hear a train all day and night … pass,” said another.

Construction on the corner apartment building, which is on the border of Bushwick and Bedford-Stuyvesant, wrapped up in late 2023 and tenants have been moving in since then.

The location was a vacant lot until 2007 and then a smaller, abandoned building for several years, records show.

About 5 feet separate the edge of the platform from the nearby buildings.

Some bedrooms look out directly onto the subway platform. Curtains are a necessity.

The building, opened in 2024, is just steps from the Myrtle Avenue subway station.

Trains pulling into the Myrtle Avenue subway station are merely feet away from third- and fourth-floor apartments on the corner of Broadway and Melrose Street.

Edited February 22 by samhexum
to maintain the incredibly high standards he has established here

[samhexum]

Carlota America Ruiz stood outside Congregation Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom with a locksmith and a court order.

Ruiz had prayed at the Williamsburg synagogue since the 1980s. It’s where she completed her Jewish conversion, and where her husband served as the board president for years. But a few weeks earlier, she said, a group purporting to be the temple’s board had locked her and other long-time worshippers out of the modest brick building and secured the doors with padlocks and chains. On this sweltering September afternoon, Ruiz was back with permission from a judge to re-enter the sanctuary.

Police, bodyguards and feuding worshippers lined the sidewalk outside the shuttered entrance. As officers studied the court papers and deliberated with each side, Ruiz and the other ousted members were anxious to see their beloved sanctuary. The last time they were inside, the walls had patches of peeling paint, but the room was airy and bright, with 20-foot ceilings and multi-colored stained glass windows. There were rows of vintage oak pews dedicated to congregants who donated to the synagogue over the years, some of whom were Holocaust survivors.

Israel Leichter, the synagogue’s secretary, urged police not to open the door for Ruiz and the other locked-out worshippers. He said they weren’t true members and that they could bring their grievances to court. But after two hours of deliberations, the NYPD allowed a locksmith to slice off the padlock, and Ruiz and other long-time members rushed into the sanctuary. There, they found the benches demolished into a pile of jagged planks. A woman knelt on the floor and cried.

“I have no words,” Ruiz said . “It’s not the benches. It’s the lack of humanity.”

Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom is the oldest Orthodox synagogue in Brooklyn and the only one in Williamsburg that isn’t Hasidic, according to long-time members. The congregation’s building stands on the dividing line between drastic gentrification to the north and an insular Hasidic Jewish community to the south. Until a few months ago, the synagogue followed Orthodox customs, like separating male and female worshippers, but not all of the practices observed at nearby Hasidic congregations. Unlike the many Hasidic synagogues in the neighborhood, the congregation has historically been known for welcoming different kinds of Jews to pray.

Hundreds of worshippers used to pack into Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom’s sanctuary on major holidays, Ruiz said. But as many of those congregants died or moved away in recent years, a small group of Hasidic Jews started to pray alongside the mostly non-Hasidic, long-time members. While the two groups co-existed in relative peace at first, in the last few years they have become estranged. Now, the mostly non-Hasidic long-timers and the Hasidic newcomers are suing each other for authority over the synagogue and its building. On Friday, a judge is expected to hear arguments in the case. But the legal dispute is likely to continue for months to come.

The specifics of the strife range from petty arguments over hoarded water bottles on a hot day to profound disagreements about what it means to be a Jew. But the patterns at play in this case underscore broader questions about the fate of New York’s revered houses of worship, as religious membership dwindles and property values soar. At the center of the dispute is the congregation’s most valuable asset: its building. Each side is accusing the other of plotting to sell the property, raze the temple and construct condos in its wake.

Selling or renting a house of worship can offer monetary salvation for a congregation struggling to stay afloat, like Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom. But such deals can also invite predatory redevelopment and displace or dissolve sacred communities. Dozens of churches, synagogues and other religious institutions from the Upper West Side to Flatbush have sold their properties in recent years. Sometimes the congregation doesn’t survive the real estate sale.

At Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom, the Hasidic members said they tore up the benches last summer because they leased the sanctuary to a religious school and wanted to renovate the room to better serve students. But some long-timers alleged in court papers that the Hasidic group’s real goal is to shut down prayer services so they can steal the congregation’s property. They say the group shouldn’t be trusted, because at least two of its leaders have been convicted in fraud schemes in the past.

The Hasidic group, meanwhile, says the mostly non-Hasidic long-timers are the ones with plans to sell. The Department of Finance estimates that the synagogue’s corner lot across the street from the subway is currently worth about $1.5 million, but its value could skyrocket if it were converted into housing. The value of a similarly sized property across the street increased tenfold when it was flipped into a luxury high-rise.

For months, the two warring factions have been stuck in limbo while their legal challenges slowly play out in the courts. In the meantime, the Hasidic group has claimed that the court case has disrupted classes for the yeshiva renting out part of the building, while several long-time members say they’ve lost their sanctuary. Both groups have spent an exorbitant amount of time litigating the case. Ruiz said the legal battle has also been expensive.

“It’s coming from my savings, my loans, and getting loans and loans to pay for the lawyers,” Ruiz said. “But I’m not giving up.”

Several members of the Hasidic group declined to comment for this story or did not respond to phone calls. Abraham Rubin, who said he used to work in real estate but is now retired, said he helped to facilitate the lease with the yeshiva and is now a congregant of the synagogue. He denied any plans to sell the building or stop holding services.

“You will have your place, the yeshiva will have our place,” he said. “No big deal. It’s big enough.”

Ruiz and her husband, Martin Needelman, attended services at Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom for more than 40 years before they were barred from the property last year, they said. Now, the group who kicked them out is arguing that Ruiz doesn’t even have the right to call herself Jewish, according to court documents.

Ruiz is an Ecuadorian immigrant with a Catholic mother and agnostic father who came to the United States to study economics at Columbia University’s graduate school. In 1980, she was teaching a Spanish class for professionals to earn some extra money, and Needelman, a lawyer, was one of her students. She said Needelman kept inviting her to explore the city with him. A year later, they were married.

Needelman grew up Orthodox in East New York. Ruiz said she started to study every week with a rabbi so she could convert to Judaism and raise their future kids in the Jewish faith. Little by little, she said, their growing family became more religious. They sent their son, Joseph, and their daughter, Laura, to a Jewish school. They kept kosher and observed the sabbath. They also remarried each other twice, each time in more observant Jewish ceremonies.

When the couple decided to join an Orthodox synagogue, Ruiz said, Congregation Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom’s rabbi at the time, Joshua Fishman, embraced them in spite of her unconventional background. Needelman felt unwelcome at other synagogues for his own reasons. He worked as a prominent tenants’ rights lawyer in Williamsburg, often advocating for Black, Latino and other non-Jewish residents who accused the local Hasidic community of housing discrimination. Many Hasidic Jews in the neighborhood resented his work, he said. But not the rabbi at Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom.

“ That's why we came here,” Ruiz said. “It was the only place that accepted us.”

Over the years, Needelman, 78, and Ruiz, 76, became leaders at the synagogue. Needelman was the president of the congregation until 2020 and served as the first vice president before that, according to court papers. Ruiz used to be the treasurer.

Ruiz said the congregation wanted to extend the welcoming spirit when, several years ago, a small group of Hasidic Jews asked if they could pray at the synagogue. At the same time the number of Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom’s non-Hasidic congregants was diminishing, Ruiz said, Williamsburg’s population of Hasidic Jews — who speak Yiddish and follow strict religious doctrines — was growing. Even though Hasidic Jews have different customs, she said, it seemed like this group wanted to help to revive the shrinking congregation.

“We trusted anybody who came, and we were open to anybody who came here,” she said.

Ruiz and other long-time members now worry they may have been too open. They say the Hasidic group co-opted board elections to put their allies in power and remove those who disagreed with them. At one election in 2022, Ruiz said, they wouldn’t let several long-time congregants cast their ballots, including Needelman, because he didn’t bring a utility bill.

“Who walks on Sundays out of your house with a utility bill,” Ruiz remembered thinking in disbelief the day of the vote.

The same group that she welcomed into the synagogue is now accusing her in court papers of not being a real Jew, which they say makes her ineligible to be a member. They say she and Needelman are “impostors” and shouldn’t have any power over the building, because they pose an “imminent threat and immediate danger.”

Today, there are two rival boards claiming to govern the congregation — one representing the Hasidic group, the other represents the mostly non-Hasidic long-timers. Each refuses to recognize the other’s legitimacy. The Hasidic board claims a yeshiva is renting the sanctuary for $5,000 a month, according to court records, and giving the space “major upgrades and a facelift.”

“It’s very run down,” said Rubin, who said he helped to bring in the religious school. He said the Hasidic group wanted to stop rain water from leaking through the ceilings and walls.

“They figured, very peacefully, very normally, that they will rent out the upstairs and the yeshiva will put in money,” he said.

Each side has lobbed a slew of allegations at the other during contentious meetings, in legal papers and in various Brooklyn courtrooms. The accusations range from vandalism and mismanagement to violence and embezzlement. But the central dispute is over the building, which the congregation owns, according to property records.

“The location is prime real estate,” said Keith Kohn, a non-Hasidic member who was removed from the board last year after the Hasidic group accused him of conspiring to sell the building, which he denies. “So, it’s become a target.”

An attorney for the Hasidic group did not respond to questions about why long-time worshippers were removed from the board and barred from the building, or whether the board plans to sell the building. The lawyer also did not respond to questions about whether yeshiva students have actually been studying at the synagogue. The Hasidic group claims classes have been in session since last summer, while the long-timers say there’s no evidence that students have been in the building.

For many congregations grappling with declining membership and mounting costs, selling their building to a developer can cover their expenses for decades to come, said architect Esther Sperber.

“ They own this incredibly valuable real estate, but many of them are very cash poor,” she said. “If their air conditioning system breaks, they don't always have the funds to just fix that. And any kind of upgrade that the building needs even beyond basic maintenance is not something that they have the funding for.”

Dozens of religious organizations across the five boroughs have sold their buildings in recent years, including at least 68 in 2024, according to data from the New York attorney general’s office. A luxury condo building with a fitness center and a pet spa replaced Lagree Baptist Church on West 125th Street in Harlem, which sold its building to a developer for $28.5 million. Other houses of worship, like the Bronx Pentecostal Deliverance Center in Soundview, have been transformed into affordable housing.

Sperber advocates for an option she calls the “SynaCondo”: a condo building with a synagogue or other religious space inside. Several congregations have opted for this model, including Shaare Zedek on the Upper West Side, which now occupies the bottom floors of a luxury condo building on 93rd Street.

But Sperber said these redevelopment deals come with risks. The Fort Tryon Jewish Center in Washington Heights, for instance, sold its building to a developer who defaulted on a loan after partially demolishing the synagogue. The congregation now meets at a nearby church. Sperber said others may struggle to keep congregants engaged without a regular gathering place while they wait years for construction to be completed.

New York not-for-profit law aims to address disagreements amongst congregants and prevent misconduct. The law requires congregations to seek approval for long-term leases and property sales — first from the institution’s board, and then from either the state attorney general’s office or the local supreme court.

But Jason Lilien, former chief of the attorney general’s charities bureau, said the state doesn’t have the capacity to get involved in every argument between worshippers.

”Unfortunately, neither the law nor the regulatory system, as it's currently set up, is capable to address all these issues,” he said.

In most cases, he said, religious organizations are expected to work out their disputes amongst themselves. Often, as in the case of Congregation Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom, those conflicts end up in court.

Congregation Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom, established in the 1860s as Beth Jacob, is a relic of Williamsburg before Hasidic Jews descended on the neighborhood after the Holocaust. Property values skyrocketed in later decades, as artists, hipsters and young professionals moved into the neighborhood. The synagogue’s current building, constructed in 1956, is a rare holdout of both pre-Hasidic and pre-gentrification Williamsburg.

Ruiz said members of the Hasidic community have expressed interest in the synagogue’s building for years. She said the long-timers have considered selling the yard next to the building or leasing out the basement, but so far those options haven’t come to pass.

While the Hasidic group that's taken control of Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom denies any plans to sell the building, some long-time worshippers worry about its leaders’ histories. Several people at the center of the deal with the religious school have been accused of wrongdoing and at least two have been convicted of crimes in the past.

Elozer Porges, the namesake of the yeshiva, pleaded guilty in 2018 to federal charges that he stole millions of government dollars that were supposed to be spent on student lunches at a different yeshiva. Rubin, who said he advised with the lease negotiations, pleaded guilty to two counts of making false statements to lenders after federal prosecutors indicted him and several relatives in a scheme to fraudulently obtain loans, including for mortgages. Jacob Jacobowitz, who claims to be the leader of the yeshiva renting out the sanctuary and denied comment for this story, has been accused in civil court of trying to lease one of the religious school’s other properties without authorization and then locking the tenant out. At least two civil cases related to the dispute are still underway in Sullivan County Supreme Court.

Porges did not respond to a phone call seeking comment and his attorneys did not respond to emailed questions. Rubin said his criminal history shouldn’t cast doubt on his credibility for the rest of his life.

“I’m very trusted in the community. Very much. People trust me with everything,” he said, adding that there’s “no reason to believe” anyone on his side wants to shut down religious services.

“We need it to stay a synagogue and a Jewish place, not to sell it, not to make money, not to make a profit,” he said.

With each side accusing the other of allegations they wholeheartedly deny, Justice Richard J. Montelione will soon decide which group he believes.

If Needelman and Ruiz prevail in the legal battle, there will be challenges ahead for Beth Jacob Ohev Shalom. They’ll need to find a way to repair the building. They’ll also need to repair a ruptured holy community. And like many worshippers at congregations across the city, Needelman and Ruiz are getting older. Needelman is recovering from a heart attack he suffered the day after the Hasidic group secured a restraining order against him. The couple won’t be able to keep the temple going by themselves.

But Ruiz said she’ll keep putting all her energy into saving the synagogue. For her and Needelman, she said, there’s no other option. This is the only place in Williamsburg where they can pray.

“I have faith,” she said. “God is not going to allow this synagogue that has lasted for so many years to be destroyed.”

Carlota America Ruiz, right, and her husband, Martin Needelman, speak with friends at a Shabbat lunch in their home in January.

At a historic Williamsburg synagogue on valuable land, dueling groups fight for control - Gothamist

GOTHAMIST.COM

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Congregation Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom is a rare holdout of both pre-Hasidic and pre-gentrification Williamsburg.

 

 

[CuriousByNature]

19 hours ago, samhexum said:

Carlota America Ruiz stood outside Congregation Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom with a locksmith and a court order.

Ruiz had prayed at the Williamsburg synagogue since the 1980s. It’s where she completed her Jewish conversion, and where her husband served as the board president for years. But a few weeks earlier, she said, a group purporting to be the temple’s board had locked her and other long-time worshippers out of the modest brick building and secured the doors with padlocks and chains. On this sweltering September afternoon, Ruiz was back with permission from a judge to re-enter the sanctuary.

Police, bodyguards and feuding worshippers lined the sidewalk outside the shuttered entrance. As officers studied the court papers and deliberated with each side, Ruiz and the other ousted members were anxious to see their beloved sanctuary. The last time they were inside, the walls had patches of peeling paint, but the room was airy and bright, with 20-foot ceilings and multi-colored stained glass windows. There were rows of vintage oak pews dedicated to congregants who donated to the synagogue over the years, some of whom were Holocaust survivors.

Israel Leichter, the synagogue’s secretary, urged police not to open the door for Ruiz and the other locked-out worshippers. He said they weren’t true members and that they could bring their grievances to court. But after two hours of deliberations, the NYPD allowed a locksmith to slice off the padlock, and Ruiz and other long-time members rushed into the sanctuary. There, they found the benches demolished into a pile of jagged planks. A woman knelt on the floor and cried.

“I have no words,” Ruiz said . “It’s not the benches. It’s the lack of humanity.”

Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom is the oldest Orthodox synagogue in Brooklyn and the only one in Williamsburg that isn’t Hasidic, according to long-time members. The congregation’s building stands on the dividing line between drastic gentrification to the north and an insular Hasidic Jewish community to the south. Until a few months ago, the synagogue followed Orthodox customs, like separating male and female worshippers, but not all of the practices observed at nearby Hasidic congregations. Unlike the many Hasidic synagogues in the neighborhood, the congregation has historically been known for welcoming different kinds of Jews to pray.

Hundreds of worshippers used to pack into Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom’s sanctuary on major holidays, Ruiz said. But as many of those congregants died or moved away in recent years, a small group of Hasidic Jews started to pray alongside the mostly non-Hasidic, long-time members. While the two groups co-existed in relative peace at first, in the last few years they have become estranged. Now, the mostly non-Hasidic long-timers and the Hasidic newcomers are suing each other for authority over the synagogue and its building. On Friday, a judge is expected to hear arguments in the case. But the legal dispute is likely to continue for months to come.

The specifics of the strife range from petty arguments over hoarded water bottles on a hot day to profound disagreements about what it means to be a Jew. But the patterns at play in this case underscore broader questions about the fate of New York’s revered houses of worship, as religious membership dwindles and property values soar. At the center of the dispute is the congregation’s most valuable asset: its building. Each side is accusing the other of plotting to sell the property, raze the temple and construct condos in its wake.

Selling or renting a house of worship can offer monetary salvation for a congregation struggling to stay afloat, like Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom. But such deals can also invite predatory redevelopment and displace or dissolve sacred communities. Dozens of churches, synagogues and other religious institutions from the Upper West Side to Flatbush have sold their properties in recent years. Sometimes the congregation doesn’t survive the real estate sale.

At Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom, the Hasidic members said they tore up the benches last summer because they leased the sanctuary to a religious school and wanted to renovate the room to better serve students. But some long-timers alleged in court papers that the Hasidic group’s real goal is to shut down prayer services so they can steal the congregation’s property. They say the group shouldn’t be trusted, because at least two of its leaders have been convicted in fraud schemes in the past.

The Hasidic group, meanwhile, says the mostly non-Hasidic long-timers are the ones with plans to sell. The Department of Finance estimates that the synagogue’s corner lot across the street from the subway is currently worth about $1.5 million, but its value could skyrocket if it were converted into housing. The value of a similarly sized property across the street increased tenfold when it was flipped into a luxury high-rise.

For months, the two warring factions have been stuck in limbo while their legal challenges slowly play out in the courts. In the meantime, the Hasidic group has claimed that the court case has disrupted classes for the yeshiva renting out part of the building, while several long-time members say they’ve lost their sanctuary. Both groups have spent an exorbitant amount of time litigating the case. Ruiz said the legal battle has also been expensive.

“It’s coming from my savings, my loans, and getting loans and loans to pay for the lawyers,” Ruiz said. “But I’m not giving up.”

Several members of the Hasidic group declined to comment for this story or did not respond to phone calls. Abraham Rubin, who said he used to work in real estate but is now retired, said he helped to facilitate the lease with the yeshiva and is now a congregant of the synagogue. He denied any plans to sell the building or stop holding services.

“You will have your place, the yeshiva will have our place,” he said. “No big deal. It’s big enough.”

Ruiz and her husband, Martin Needelman, attended services at Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom for more than 40 years before they were barred from the property last year, they said. Now, the group who kicked them out is arguing that Ruiz doesn’t even have the right to call herself Jewish, according to court documents.

Ruiz is an Ecuadorian immigrant with a Catholic mother and agnostic father who came to the United States to study economics at Columbia University’s graduate school. In 1980, she was teaching a Spanish class for professionals to earn some extra money, and Needelman, a lawyer, was one of her students. She said Needelman kept inviting her to explore the city with him. A year later, they were married.

Needelman grew up Orthodox in East New York. Ruiz said she started to study every week with a rabbi so she could convert to Judaism and raise their future kids in the Jewish faith. Little by little, she said, their growing family became more religious. They sent their son, Joseph, and their daughter, Laura, to a Jewish school. They kept kosher and observed the sabbath. They also remarried each other twice, each time in more observant Jewish ceremonies.

When the couple decided to join an Orthodox synagogue, Ruiz said, Congregation Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom’s rabbi at the time, Joshua Fishman, embraced them in spite of her unconventional background. Needelman felt unwelcome at other synagogues for his own reasons. He worked as a prominent tenants’ rights lawyer in Williamsburg, often advocating for Black, Latino and other non-Jewish residents who accused the local Hasidic community of housing discrimination. Many Hasidic Jews in the neighborhood resented his work, he said. But not the rabbi at Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom.

“ That's why we came here,” Ruiz said. “It was the only place that accepted us.”

Over the years, Needelman, 78, and Ruiz, 76, became leaders at the synagogue. Needelman was the president of the congregation until 2020 and served as the first vice president before that, according to court papers. Ruiz used to be the treasurer.

Ruiz said the congregation wanted to extend the welcoming spirit when, several years ago, a small group of Hasidic Jews asked if they could pray at the synagogue. At the same time the number of Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom’s non-Hasidic congregants was diminishing, Ruiz said, Williamsburg’s population of Hasidic Jews — who speak Yiddish and follow strict religious doctrines — was growing. Even though Hasidic Jews have different customs, she said, it seemed like this group wanted to help to revive the shrinking congregation.

“We trusted anybody who came, and we were open to anybody who came here,” she said.

Ruiz and other long-time members now worry they may have been too open. They say the Hasidic group co-opted board elections to put their allies in power and remove those who disagreed with them. At one election in 2022, Ruiz said, they wouldn’t let several long-time congregants cast their ballots, including Needelman, because he didn’t bring a utility bill.

“Who walks on Sundays out of your house with a utility bill,” Ruiz remembered thinking in disbelief the day of the vote.

The same group that she welcomed into the synagogue is now accusing her in court papers of not being a real Jew, which they say makes her ineligible to be a member. They say she and Needelman are “impostors” and shouldn’t have any power over the building, because they pose an “imminent threat and immediate danger.”

Today, there are two rival boards claiming to govern the congregation — one representing the Hasidic group, the other represents the mostly non-Hasidic long-timers. Each refuses to recognize the other’s legitimacy. The Hasidic board claims a yeshiva is renting the sanctuary for $5,000 a month, according to court records, and giving the space “major upgrades and a facelift.”

“It’s very run down,” said Rubin, who said he helped to bring in the religious school. He said the Hasidic group wanted to stop rain water from leaking through the ceilings and walls.

“They figured, very peacefully, very normally, that they will rent out the upstairs and the yeshiva will put in money,” he said.

Each side has lobbed a slew of allegations at the other during contentious meetings, in legal papers and in various Brooklyn courtrooms. The accusations range from vandalism and mismanagement to violence and embezzlement. But the central dispute is over the building, which the congregation owns, according to property records.

“The location is prime real estate,” said Keith Kohn, a non-Hasidic member who was removed from the board last year after the Hasidic group accused him of conspiring to sell the building, which he denies. “So, it’s become a target.”

An attorney for the Hasidic group did not respond to questions about why long-time worshippers were removed from the board and barred from the building, or whether the board plans to sell the building. The lawyer also did not respond to questions about whether yeshiva students have actually been studying at the synagogue. The Hasidic group claims classes have been in session since last summer, while the long-timers say there’s no evidence that students have been in the building.

For many congregations grappling with declining membership and mounting costs, selling their building to a developer can cover their expenses for decades to come, said architect Esther Sperber.

“ They own this incredibly valuable real estate, but many of them are very cash poor,” she said. “If their air conditioning system breaks, they don't always have the funds to just fix that. And any kind of upgrade that the building needs even beyond basic maintenance is not something that they have the funding for.”

Dozens of religious organizations across the five boroughs have sold their buildings in recent years, including at least 68 in 2024, according to data from the New York attorney general’s office. A luxury condo building with a fitness center and a pet spa replaced Lagree Baptist Church on West 125th Street in Harlem, which sold its building to a developer for $28.5 million. Other houses of worship, like the Bronx Pentecostal Deliverance Center in Soundview, have been transformed into affordable housing.

Sperber advocates for an option she calls the “SynaCondo”: a condo building with a synagogue or other religious space inside. Several congregations have opted for this model, including Shaare Zedek on the Upper West Side, which now occupies the bottom floors of a luxury condo building on 93rd Street.

But Sperber said these redevelopment deals come with risks. The Fort Tryon Jewish Center in Washington Heights, for instance, sold its building to a developer who defaulted on a loan after partially demolishing the synagogue. The congregation now meets at a nearby church. Sperber said others may struggle to keep congregants engaged without a regular gathering place while they wait years for construction to be completed.

New York not-for-profit law aims to address disagreements amongst congregants and prevent misconduct. The law requires congregations to seek approval for long-term leases and property sales — first from the institution’s board, and then from either the state attorney general’s office or the local supreme court.

But Jason Lilien, former chief of the attorney general’s charities bureau, said the state doesn’t have the capacity to get involved in every argument between worshippers.

”Unfortunately, neither the law nor the regulatory system, as it's currently set up, is capable to address all these issues,” he said.

In most cases, he said, religious organizations are expected to work out their disputes amongst themselves. Often, as in the case of Congregation Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom, those conflicts end up in court.

Congregation Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom, established in the 1860s as Beth Jacob, is a relic of Williamsburg before Hasidic Jews descended on the neighborhood after the Holocaust. Property values skyrocketed in later decades, as artists, hipsters and young professionals moved into the neighborhood. The synagogue’s current building, constructed in 1956, is a rare holdout of both pre-Hasidic and pre-gentrification Williamsburg.

Ruiz said members of the Hasidic community have expressed interest in the synagogue’s building for years. She said the long-timers have considered selling the yard next to the building or leasing out the basement, but so far those options haven’t come to pass.

While the Hasidic group that's taken control of Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom denies any plans to sell the building, some long-time worshippers worry about its leaders’ histories. Several people at the center of the deal with the religious school have been accused of wrongdoing and at least two have been convicted of crimes in the past.

Elozer Porges, the namesake of the yeshiva, pleaded guilty in 2018 to federal charges that he stole millions of government dollars that were supposed to be spent on student lunches at a different yeshiva. Rubin, who said he advised with the lease negotiations, pleaded guilty to two counts of making false statements to lenders after federal prosecutors indicted him and several relatives in a scheme to fraudulently obtain loans, including for mortgages. Jacob Jacobowitz, who claims to be the leader of the yeshiva renting out the sanctuary and denied comment for this story, has been accused in civil court of trying to lease one of the religious school’s other properties without authorization and then locking the tenant out. At least two civil cases related to the dispute are still underway in Sullivan County Supreme Court.

Porges did not respond to a phone call seeking comment and his attorneys did not respond to emailed questions. Rubin said his criminal history shouldn’t cast doubt on his credibility for the rest of his life.

“I’m very trusted in the community. Very much. People trust me with everything,” he said, adding that there’s “no reason to believe” anyone on his side wants to shut down religious services.

“We need it to stay a synagogue and a Jewish place, not to sell it, not to make money, not to make a profit,” he said.

With each side accusing the other of allegations they wholeheartedly deny, Justice Richard J. Montelione will soon decide which group he believes.

If Needelman and Ruiz prevail in the legal battle, there will be challenges ahead for Beth Jacob Ohev Shalom. They’ll need to find a way to repair the building. They’ll also need to repair a ruptured holy community. And like many worshippers at congregations across the city, Needelman and Ruiz are getting older. Needelman is recovering from a heart attack he suffered the day after the Hasidic group secured a restraining order against him. The couple won’t be able to keep the temple going by themselves.

But Ruiz said she’ll keep putting all her energy into saving the synagogue. For her and Needelman, she said, there’s no other option. This is the only place in Williamsburg where they can pray.

“I have faith,” she said. “God is not going to allow this synagogue that has lasted for so many years to be destroyed.”

Carlota America Ruiz, right, and her husband, Martin Needelman, speak with friends at a Shabbat lunch in their home in January.

At a historic Williamsburg synagogue on valuable land, dueling groups fight for control - Gothamist

GOTHAMIST.COM

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Congregation Beth Jacob Ohev Sholom is a rare holdout of both pre-Hasidic and pre-gentrification Williamsburg.

 

 

These sorts of things are happening in the big Canadian cities too, where congregations of churches and synagogues are aging and shrinking, and the land has skyrocketed in value.  I knew a family years ago that attended a church in Vancouver, and that congregation ended up partnering with a developer to construct a high-rise condo building adjacent to the church.  This way the city was able to provide more housing, the developers made money, and the congregation also benefitted by either subdividing or leasing the land - I'm not sure which.  

Edited March 11 by CuriousByNature

[samhexum]

He’s keeping it real!

A Brooklyn real estate agent gave prospective tenants a brutally honest assessment of a Bushwick landlord during a recent tour.

“Frank is a s–ty-ass landlord,” Theo Eastwind told the group touring a Willoughby Avenue two-bedroom pad in a hilarious video that has since gone viral.

“He does not like to do anything,” Eastwind added, walking around the empty bedroom as people inspected the apartment and peered out its windows.

“He has a goon that does, you know, some of his work … The guy’s a shinebox,” he said, using a phrase from the mob hit “Goodfellas.”

If there’s a serious issue, like the boiler breaks or there’s a leak in the ceiling, the landlord will fix that, the Capri Jet Realty agent added. 

“But if you’re expecting to call the landlord and say, ‘Hey, I saw a roach,’ he’s gonna be not even responding to you.”

Bait traps could be seen strewn along the wall behind Eastwind.

He emphasized that the rent stabilized spot, which is going for $2,240, means it’s a “win-win” for the tenant.

“Rent stabilized! Rent stabilized,” he exclaimed, clapping for emphasis.

“Everybody know what that means? It means you win and the landlord loses … it’s almost as though you own the place,” Eastwind said.

He would tear down the drywall to expose the brick walls underneath, for example, and put some money into the tiny kitchen, Eastwind mused.

He assured the spot, which boasts a backyard accessible through the bedroom window, is a steal for the neighborhood.

Eastwind told The Post his goal is to be honest with renters and to make sure they know what they’re getting.

“I’d rather be up front … Some people want a really hands-on landlord, others want a really hands-off one,” he said. “I make sure I place the right tenants with the right landlord — that is my job.” 

The landlord does everything “by the book,” he insisted.

“Everyone I work with does everything required by law, but that doesn’t mean that a landlord is a good fit for everybody.”

Before becoming an agent, Eastwind was a subway busker for 16 years and is even writing a book about it. He said he is a performer at heart, which is why he wants to entertain prospective tenants on tours.

“I love what I do,” Eastwind said. “I love people. I love New York City. And now I’ve gone viral, it’s great. It was amazing to see the outpouring of love that came from it.”

Nearly 3 million TikTok users viewed the clip, which was shared with the popular New Yorkers account by one of the attendees.

Many were indeed entertained and appreciated Eastwind’s frankness.

“I respect his honesty,” commented one woman. “And rent stabilized is the selling point.”

“I seriously wish all realtors were like this,” said another person. “Anything to live in NY,” added another.

Exclusive | Brutally honest NYC realtor goes viral for hilarious apartment tour:...

NYPOST.COM

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A Brooklyn real estate agent gave prospective tenants a brutally honest warning about a Bushwick landlord...