ברעיקינג: געז עקספלאזשען ביים ציון אין קרית יואל

KIRYAS JOEL — Hundreds of boys and young men in dark coats and hats stood in the blazing sun at the cemetery gate, awaiting a Brooklyn rabbi they either adored or – didn't adore.

Rabbi Zalmen Teitelbaum, leader of one of two warring factions in the Satmar Hasidic movement, came to pray Wednesday afternoon at the grave of Satmar founder Joel Teitelbaum on the latest anniversary of his death – a sacred occasion that draws tens of thousands of visitors to Kiryas Joel each year.

Cars and busloads of worshippers began showing up on Tuesday. Most were came from Orthodox communities in New York and New Jersey, but some traveled from as far away as Toronto and Montreal. Village officials estimated a crowd of 40,000 by the time the event peters out Thursday.

In past years, Rabbi Zalmen's arrival on the old rebbe's yertzheit – as it's known in Yiddish – had stoked tensions, since Kiryas Joel is the home base of his older brother and rival, Rabbi Aaron Teitelbaum.

This year was no different. When Rabbi Zalmen's black GMC Denali pulled up to a cemetery side entrance about 2 p.m. Wednesday, spectators had been jockeying for position for nearly an hour, as at least a dozen state troopers and Kiryas Joel public safety officers stood guard.

As the grey-bearded rabbi and his entourage exited and pushed through a sea of black hats, a shushing sound went up – an apparent reminder from Rabbi Aaron's young supporters to stifle any shouts or jeers.

Then, as the procession made its way to the cider-block mausoleum, the hissing seemed to hit a crescendo. Boys scattered, kicking up dust. An acrid smell wafted through the crowd.

''Gas!'' people shouted. Troopers and public safety officers herded onlookers away as the odor and hissing continued.

Was it tear gas? A broken gas line? No, someone had snapped a valve on a rusty, partially buried propane tank, once used to heat the mausoleum. Firefighters exhumed and carted away that tank and another tank. The spectacle resumed.

Rabbi Zalmen and his followers prayed for about an hour and then ran the gauntlet again. Beefy officers leaned into the surging crowd like a football practice sled as the visitors came through. But no violence except pushing took place.

Minutes later, after the SUV pulled away and the dust literally settled, Moses Witriol, the village's public safety director, sat in a golf cart and rated the crowd control a success.

''Super,'' he said. ''Better than I thought.''