Nearly six years ago, I was in a car with my boyfriend, who was driving down Big Beaver. Suddenly, I spotted a Jewish family; clearly, they were frum — one carrying a lulav, another an etrog, with the baby carriage in tow. “Pull over!” I commanded, “Jews in Troy!” He pulled into the nearest gas station, at which point I jumped out of the car and ran over to the family to introduce myself.
That’s when we met Rabbi Menachim Caytak and his delightful wife Chana, among others. Turns out, he was starting a Chabad of Troy. They couldn’t have been kinder or more haimish. So welcoming were they that I wasn’t worried that they were judging how out-of-the-box I am (or we are, for that matter, as a couple). Thus began a most fulfilling relationship — and a place to go when we needed a “home group” for holidays and when family was elsewhere.
It's a diverse group to say the least — an Iranian Jewish medical student who couldn’t openly practice his religion growing up; a black-and-Jewish woman who discovered through DNA tests that her great grandmother, from Germany, was 100% Ashkenazi; and a bunch of people from all over who fit no mold. As a nonconformist, I felt right at home. Rabbi Menachim is filled with love for his people, has a deep sense of kindness and a keen sense of humor. He is fully invested in his immediate family and his Jewish family-at-large.
The thing that constantly amazes and impresses me are the attitudes of such self-starters — innately positive, focusing in the true Jewish way on action, and about living with profound kindness in a world of rancor, where often I feel my spirit’s abraded by sandpaper. The distinct cruelty that has evolved along with the internet hurts me time and again, even as I have come to expect its slings and arrows. Right now, you expect me to say that someone specific unleashed it, which is true, but I say it’s been there all along.
“People accuse me of being overly sensitive!” I confided to my beloved cousin Adiva. “That’s a compliment, Cindy — they just don’t know it,” she responded. That line was like being given the winning lottery ticket.
It is so easy to be misunderstood, and I see the way people carry matching sets of resentment luggage about their past. I love that Judaism mandates that you judge people favorably. When I was younger, I held onto a lot of anger rather than speaking up when I saw (or was privy to) mean behavior. Now, at 66, I appreciate how life is fleeting and that means I understand much more that it is a miracle to wake up, get dressed, and start the day with food. Despite our country’s division, for today, these remain huge gifts that I do not take for granted.
Adiva’s father lost most of his family in Warsaw. My grandmother’s cousins were gassed. My family didn’t talk about any of this — they built, they looked forward, and they grieved, often silently, a huge dark shadow hovering above us. October 7th was a pivotal point for many Jews — a reminder that even peacenik civilians are hated only because they are Jews. There is nothing justified about burning families alive, beheading a baby or putting another in an oven, filming atrocities with gleeful celebration.
Let the peaceniks continue their work — the Caytaks of the world — the true ones, who know that everywhere there are people of good will who simply want to live out their lives with the decency we all deserve. And the fanatics? Let them be shown other ways.
Meanwhile, I will continue to gravitate towards those spreading light — and recall Judaism’s definition of wealth:
“He who is happy with what he has.”
Right now, just for today, we’ve got a new Jewish gathering place coming to Troy — and a group of unlikely, like-minded people coming together to build up, stay close, and spread kindness.
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