The Story of Tony Cellini
When Kiryas V’Yoel Moshe — Satmar Bungalows — opened in Sullivan County more than 20 years ago, the Thompson town supervisor was an unabashed, raging anti-Semite named Tony Cellini. As chief executive of the municipality, he had full control over most important town functions, and made no secret of his intent to block Jews at every turn. Cellini explicitly declared his contempt of Jews numerous times, and flexed every form of interference he could — preventing applications to open a grocery or even denying permits for minor repairs.
A group of leading askanim gathered to strategize removing Cellini from office. At the meeting, a young Moishe Indig asserted that political opposition was the wrong approach. “It’s impossible to get rid of him, he’s too well-liked in town,” he told the others. “The only solution is to work on winning him over.”
Indig was laughed out of the room — the idea was as farfetched as convincing Yahya Sinwar to open a kollel.
Indig took matters into his own hands.
He went to the municipal building to try to talk to Cellini, and stood in the doorway of his office like Esther Hamalkah waiting to be noticed. When Cellini looked up, he began screaming and cursing at the young chassid, shouting about who let the Jew in. He personally threw the visitor out of the entire complex, shouting obscenities all the way.
Undeterred, a few days later, Indig waited for Cellini in the parking lot and tracked him to Walmart, where he schemed a “chance” encounter in an aisle.
The town supervisor didn’t recognize the Jew he had recently kicked out of his office, and Indig launched into his spiel without hesitation. “Hey, aren’t you Tony Cellini, the Tony Cellini, town supervisor?” he said, with obvious excitement. “So nice to see you here… the Jewish community here owes you such a big thank-you!”
Caught off guard, Cellini asked, “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Indig plowed ahead, “it’s all thanks to you that we can enjoy summers with our families in this beautiful environment. You work so hard to keep the town nice and pleasant. All the surrounding towns are slummy dumps, but this one is gorgeous. Thank you! And you recruited Walmart to come here, which is so helpful….”
Who doesn’t warm up to a little flattery? Cellini sure did. “Yeah, and I got Home Depot to open here as well, and wait till you see what I’m working on next!” he agreed.
Pressing his advantage, Indig moved in for the snare. “You know, I think you should run for governor,” he said. “If you can accomplish so much on the local level, you are the right person the state needs to fix all the problems. Why waste your time in this little town? Our community will get behind you.”
Indig kept this up for a while, buttering up the nonplussed politician, until he was ready for the hook. “We must make an event honoring you for your accomplishments,” he said. “In our community, gratitude is mandatory. Let’s celebrate and break bread together!”
Moments later, Cellini was ushering Indig into his office — the same one he had tossed him out of days before — so that he could check his calendar and plan the party. He gave the askan his personal cell number, and set about inviting the sheriff and other officials to the event.
Indig walked out and called the other askanim. “In two weeks, we’re having a breakfast at my place honoring Tony Cellini.”
“Who?”
“Tony Cellini. You know… the anti-Semite?”
Cellini loved the breakfast gala, and barriers began to come down one after another. Indig took him to the local camp, where carefully prepped kids serenaded the supervisor. Next, they went to the Bobover institutions for similar pomp and circumstance.
One thing led to another, and Cellini became the greatest ally and oheiv Yisrael in town history. For the next twelve years, he eagerly helped wherever he could. After retiring from public office, he became a consultant for the Jewish community. He would freely start sentences with phrases like, “back when I was an anti-Semite…” or “We have to talk to so-and-so, he’s still an anti-Semite….”
Cellini’s close friendship with Indig continued until the former supervisor died several years ago. When Indig’s late wife was hospitalized, he chauffeured Indig’s family to and from the hospital, constantly offering to help in any way possible. During Tony’s own terminal illness and hospitalization at Mount Sinai Hospital (where Indig served as chaplain) for months before he died, the askan visited him daily. Cellini noticed that no one else visited or called — not even the current Thompson town supervisor, whom he had installed in office. “Moishe, I only have three true friends in the world,” he said one day. “You, Rabbi Hager, and David Walter, my three rabbis.”
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Jewish Family Weekly, Issue 1088)
