American Dream Mall Faces Lawsuit Over Alleged Blue Law Violation

By:  Ariella Haviv

When the American Dream megamall finally opened its doors in East Rutherford, New Jersey, in 2019, it was hailed as a $5 billion vision of consumer escapism: three million square feet of retail, indoor ski slopes, a DreamWorks-branded water park, and roller coasters within a half-hour bus ride of Manhattan. Yet just five years later, the glittering complex finds itself ensnared in an old and uniquely local controversy—New Jersey’s enduring blue laws.

As The New York Times recently reported, the borough of Paramus filed a lawsuit this week in New Jersey Superior Court, accusing American Dream’s operators of deliberately and repeatedly violating Bergen County’s centuries-old prohibitions on Sunday retail. At issue is whether the mall’s more than 120 tenants are permitted to sell clothing, furniture, appliances, and other restricted goods on Sundays, despite prominent signage on the New Jersey Turnpike declaring “ALL STORES OPEN SUNDAYS.”

The clash between one of North America’s largest shopping centers and a vestige of 18th-century moral regulation exposes a deeper cultural tension: the push-and-pull between commercial ambition and community preservation, between a county’s appetite for tranquility and the relentless economic drive of a retail giant.

Blue laws have their origins in America’s Puritan past. New Jersey’s specific statute descends from the 1798 Act to Suppress Vice and Immorality, legislation designed to preserve the Sabbath by restricting commerce and leisure. Bergen County’s version is particularly stringent: under state law, its residents cannot purchase clothing, furniture, household appliances, or building materials on Sundays. Violators face fines of $250 to $5,000 and even potential jail time.

While most counties abandoned such restrictions during the late 20th century, Bergen County voters chose in 1980 to uphold them, primarily out of concern for traffic. Paramus, in particular, is a retail epicenter, boasting three major malls and miles of strip malls along Route 17, where Saturday congestion is legendary. A quiet Sunday, free of mall-induced gridlock, became a cherished respite.

As the NYT report noted, generations of Bergen residents have defended the policy as a civic blessing. “It’s so wonderful driving around without all that traffic,” Judy Fitzpatrick, a 73-year-old retiree, told the paper. For many, blue laws are less about morality than about quality of life.

The Paramus lawsuit argues that American Dream has flouted these restrictions from the start. The complaint lists “tens of thousands” of alleged violations across at least 29 Sundays, accusing the mall of permitting its tenants to sell restricted merchandise without restraint.

Paramus officials insist this is not mere oversight but willful disregard. In 2012, as Triple Five—the Canadian conglomerate behind American Dream—sought state approvals, its development president Tony Armlin promised regulators that the mall would honor Bergen County’s Sunday rules. Yet in practice, mall operators now argue the opposite: that because American Dream sits on land owned by the New Jersey Sports and Exposition Authority (a state entity), county laws do not apply.

“The lawsuit is a meritless political stunt driven by private competitors’ interests,” said mall spokesman Gregg Schwartz, asserting that “Bergen County’s blue laws do not apply to property owned by the State.”

This pivot in legal interpretation, the NYT report observed, highlights the murkiness of enforcement. While the laws are clear, who has jurisdiction to enforce them—the county, the state attorney general, or the sports authority—remains unsettled. “They certainly don’t have blue law police running around,” remarked James Cassella, former mayor of East Rutherford, who helped negotiate the project.

The lawsuit does not target American Dream alone. It also names Bergen County, East Rutherford, and the New Jersey Sports and Exposition Authority, arguing that all have abdicated responsibility. Paramus Mayor Christopher DiPiazza accused county leaders of turning a blind eye. Bergen County Executive James J. Tedesco III said he had repeatedly asked State Attorney General Matthew Platkin and the sports authority to intervene but was ignored.

“When American Dream was preparing to open, its operators personally assured me and the state that they would honor the Sunday closing law,” Tedesco told reporters. “They broke that promise.”

The sports authority declined comment, while the attorney general’s office also remained silent. This institutional ambiguity has left enforcement in limbo, enabling the mall to operate freely despite what local leaders insist is a clear violation.

Inside American Dream itself, opinions are split. For some, the blue laws are archaic barriers to convenience. “Staying open on Sunday is more convenient,” said Yaritza Nieves, a 25-year-old receptionist from Elizabeth, to the NYT. “You need to get things done.”

Others argue that the mall, after years of delays and billions in subsidies, needs full operating freedom to generate revenue. Jake Starmer, a Manhattan resident visiting with his family, told the paper that American Dream “needs to continue to provide jobs. It’s an investment that needs to be paid for.”

Yet for many Bergen County residents, the benefits of a quiet Sunday outweigh the mall’s economic needs. The community’s support for blue laws has endured even as neighboring counties abandoned them. As one resident put it: “It’s one day of peace, and we’re not ready to give that up.”

American Dream is not just a mall; it is a financial experiment. As the NYT has chronicled, its development spanned more than 15 years, absorbing $5 billion in public and private investment. Its fortunes have been rocky, marked by construction delays, bankruptcies, and the pandemic. Today, the mall’s operators are under pressure to generate cash flow, making Sunday sales particularly attractive.

The lawsuit’s potential outcomes could significantly impact the mall’s trajectory. If Paramus prevails and the mall is forced to shutter key retail operations on Sundays, it risks losing substantial revenue. If the mall succeeds in asserting state exemption, it could fundamentally undermine Bergen County’s long-cherished blue laws, sparking fierce local backlash.

As The New York Times report observed, this fight reflects a broader cultural debate. Blue laws across America were once ubiquitous, policing everything from alcohol sales to sporting events. Today, they survive in only a handful of counties, relics of a more restrictive era. Yet in Bergen County, they have become less about morality than about lifestyle—protecting residents from traffic, over-commercialization, and seven-day consumer culture.

American Dream, by contrast, represents the globalized, 24/7 retail model—an entertainment and shopping juggernaut designed to rival Dubai or Las Vegas. Its collision with Bergen’s idiosyncratic laws dramatizes the tension between local tradition and global commerce.

The case now before the courts could reshape not only American Dream’s operations but the future of Bergen County’s blue laws. Should judges affirm that the mall’s state-owned land places it beyond county jurisdiction, other operators could push to erode the restrictions. If, however, the court compels enforcement, American Dream may face substantial fines and forced closures.

For now, the mall’s operators remain defiant, the county leadership frustrated, and residents sharply divided. What is certain, as the NYT reported, is that the debate touches more than just shopping: it touches how a community defines its rhythm of life.

American Dream’s clash with Paramus is a test of values as much as law. Will Bergen County preserve the quiet Sundays its residents have long cherished, or will economic pressures from a $5 billion megamall tilt the balance toward perpetual commerce?

As The New York Times report emphasized, the issue goes beyond jurisdictional squabbles: it is a confrontation between a community’s desire for peace and a retail empire’s demand for profit. The outcome will determine not only the fate of one mall but the endurance of one of America’s last surviving blue laws.