There's nothing like a flea market to bring out the religious sectarianism in people. Last night, the Queen of All Saints Church in Fort Greene held a meeting — the third of its kind — to discuss how the Brooklyn Flea was destroying the community. Racked's Paul Caine was there (he wasn't supposed to be; see picture) and reports that the issues before the house included the pile-up of garbage, parking and bathroom headaches, and the strange fact that Jews never seem to get inconvenienced on their days of rest. Kathleen Walsh, one church parishioner said: "Sunday is a very special day for us, [and] we look forward to that day. It is a day that has been impeded on by the commercialism and hubbub of the flea... I muse aloud, would such an entity be allowed across from a synagogue?" And then they came for the antiquers, and I did not speak because I wasn't an antiquer. More seething Bronze Age hatred couched in Brooklyn gentrification worries after the jump:

The religious double standard meme returned with a vengeance soon after this moment of civility. A commentator called the Brooklyn Flea "abjectly disrespectful to the Christian sabbath," and then declared that "You better not believe this would happen with Hasidic Jews." Boos. She ignored them, though, and raised her voice. "If it can't happen on a Jewish sabbath, it can't happen on a Christian sabbath!" A combination of boos and cheers followed. A man stood up and said he'd been in the neighborhood since 1987, when he "was attending Pratt and saw a fellow student get shot in the face in front of [his] dormitory." He called out the previous commentators for antisemitism, said he loved the flea market, and then began to sit down. Someone shouted, "where do you live?" He didn't say anything, and the shouts got louder. "Where do you live? Tell us where you live! Do you live around here?" It was absurd. Finally the guy stood up and said, "I live three doors down from here," and everyone grew quiet.

In Field of Dreams Iowa, you get called a Nazi cow for threatening to ban a 60's peacenik novel. In the outer boroughs, for harshing on the tchotchke vending. [Racked]