There’s a common stereotype that Orthodox Jews live in a bubble—insular, focused only on their own community, and uninterested in the broader society around them.

However, one member of the Stamford Orthodox Jewish community (who wishes to remain anonymous) breaks that stereotype … he recently worked with others in the broader Stamford community to shovel snow from their neighbors’ sidewalks and encourage others to help out.

A few weeks ago, after a massive snowstorm paralyzed much of the Northeast, he teamed up with another Stamford resident to organize a group of volunteers. Nineteen people showed up with shovels in hand to help clear snow from sidewalks and driveways for neighbors who simply couldn’t do it themselves.

They spent hours digging out walkways and pushing aside towering mounds of snow.

“We rely on the sidewalks,” he explained. “We have kids in strollers. The idea really came from the frustration of walking past houses with these huge sidewalks out front that you just couldn’t get past.”

Stamford actually has a city ordinance requiring property owners and condominium associations to clear snow and ice from adjacent sidewalks within 12 hours after a storm ends. If the snow falls overnight, it’s supposed to be cleared by 10 a.m. the next day.

But, of course, life doesn’t always follow city ordinances.

Some residents simply aren’t physically able to shovel. Others can’t afford to hire someone with the equipment to do it. And when sidewalks remain buried, pedestrians often end up walking in the street—which can be dangerous.

For members of the Orthodox community, who typically walk to synagogue on Shabbat, clear sidewalks are more than a convenience—they’re a necessity.

The Stamford effort wasn’t about helping “their own.” Volunteers cleared paths for anyone who needed help.

And in Stamford, this kind of civic spirit isn’t unusual.

For the past several years, several Orthodox families have started a unique Thanksgiving tradition. On Thanksgiving morning, they visit local first responders to express their appreciation.

The group begins at the Stamford Police Department. From there they head to the Stamford Fire Department, and finally to Stamford EMS. They spend about 45 minutes at each stop.

The families come bearing cake, cookies, and handwritten thank-you cards. It’s a small gesture, but a heartfelt one.

Later that day, photos and videos often appear on social media—not to boast, but to encourage others to spread a little kindness of their own.

The idea came from Rabbi Daniel Cohen, the spiritual leader of Congregation Agudath Sholom in Stamford. Several years ago, he launched an initiative called The Elijah Moment, encouraging people to perform small acts of kindness every day.

“In the Tanach, Elijah is a prophet who appears throughout history to spread light in moments of darkness,” Rabbi Cohen once explained. “Our hope is that people will simply do something generous to help someone else each day. We may not be able to change the whole world—but we can certainly change the world for one person. One act of kindness can create a ripple that lasts forever.”

There are other examples as well. Every Christmas Day, volunteers from Agudath Sholom’s Men’s Club cook meals and deliver food to residents at Pacific House, a local homeless shelter. It’s a project that has quietly continued for decades.

And, of course, Stamford has produced one of the country’s most prominent Orthodox Jewish public figures: Senator Joseph Lieberman. Born and raised in the city, Lieberman was openly observant—proudly keeping Shabbat even while serving in the United States Senate and running for vice president.

Given examples like these—not just in Stamford but in many Orthodox communities—why does the stereotype of Orthodox insularity still persist?

Part of the answer is visibility. Some Hasidic and Haredi communities intentionally limit their engagement with secular culture. Their distinctive clothing and close-knit communal structures make them highly visible, and outsiders sometimes assume that all Orthodox Jews live the same way.

Another factor is that Orthodox communities often build strong internal institutions: their own schools, kosher food networks, charitable organizations, and religious courts. From the outside, that tight community fabric can look closed—even when its members interact with the broader world every day.

Media coverage plays a role as well. News stories tend to focus on conflict—zoning disputes, education battles, or pandemic tensions—rather than on the everyday examples of cooperation and civic engagement that happen quietly all the time.

There’s also history to consider. For centuries in Europe, Jews lived in semi-autonomous communities, not by choice but because discrimination and legal restrictions forced them to. Some traditions of communal self-reliance carried forward even after those restrictions disappeared.

And finally, certain religious practices—Sabbath observance, dietary laws, or distinctive dress—can unintentionally create social boundaries that outsiders interpret as deliberate separation.

The reality, however, is much more nuanced.

Orthodox Jewish communities span a wide spectrum—from very insular groups to professionals, educators, and civic leaders who are deeply engaged with the broader society around them.

And in places like Stamford, that engagement sometimes looks very simple: a group of neighbors showing up after a snowstorm with shovels in their hands.

Sometimes it looks like homemade cookies delivered to a firehouse on Thanksgiving morning.

And sometimes it looks like small acts of kindness that ripple far beyond the community where they begin.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)