It was 1 a.m. at a synagogue in Midwood, Brooklyn, and Isaac Schonfeld had to keep correcting people who called him a rabbi.

"I'm not a rabbi," he said. "I just play one on TV." But just minutes later, someone made the same mistake: an easy enough error, since everything about the sexagenarian signaled the wisdom and dignity of a beloved rabbi straight out of central casting, from his big honey-colored eyes to his long gray beard and the fact that almost everything he said in his quiet voice fell into one of two categories: parable or witticism.

If Schonfeld is playing a rabbi on TV, he is owed an Emmy. On Sunday night, the Hasidic Borough Park resident settled for another award instead: a “righteous frum person” award, given to him during a conference at the YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, an organization in Manhattan focused on the study of East European Jewish history and culture.

Organized by Naomi Seidman and Schneur Zalman Newfield — scholars who grew up in Haredi communities — the “After Orthodoxy” conference focused on the study of people who leave Haredi communities. While there’s no single way to refer to this diverse set of people, they are often described as “ex-Orthodox” or “off the derech” or off the traditional path.

The idea of the “righteous frum person award,” whose name plays on the moniker given to “Righteous Gentiles” who rescued Jews during the Holocaust, was “to celebrate an Orthodox person who has been supportive of the ex-Orthodox community,” Newfield wrote in an email to Shtetl.

Luzer Twersky, an actor who grew up Hasidic, presented the award to Schonfeld, citing Schonfeld’s yearslong work as the host of Chulent, a late-night event series named for the traditional Ashkenazi stew that is served there. It welcomes not only OTD people but also disabled Jews and others drawn to the free food and varied cultural programming, including people who struggle with housing and food insecurity.

“Nothing says righteous like dragging a hidden tzaddik into the spotlight against his will,” Twersky said, using a Hebrew word for a righteous person. Addressing Schonfeld by his Hebrew name, he described Chulent as “Borough Park’s strangest social experiment.”

“Every week, Jews, ex-Jews, converts, ex-converts, and anyone who feels like 8 p.m. is way too early for anything to start, gather around Yitzchak’s table to do what he politely refers to as ‘human behavior.’” Twersky handed Schonfeld a golden trophy modeled on the Oscar statuette, but clad in tzitzit and a black hat. The trophy’s self-deprecating inscription calls the people who awarded Schonfeld the prize “shkutzim,” a Yiddish word that often refers to less religious Jews.

Standing at the edge of the stage, Schonfeld thanked the audience then related a story about a teenager who came to his friend hoping to learn more about apikorsus — forbidden knowledge. The friend — who was apparently known for his expertise on the subject — told the boy that only once he learned more about religion could they discuss apikorsus.

Schonfeld punctuated his parable with a witticism. “Thank you very much for this honor given to me by a bunch of bona-fide apikorsim.”

Experts say the way Haredi people relate to their OTD counterparts has changed for the better in recent years. Still, within the Haredi world, communal reactions to OTD people can range from mildly condescending to outright hostile, and often include efforts to win the person back, or at least show them what they’re missing.

Past and present attendees of Chulent said that Schonfeld’s approach was different. “He never tries to make anybody other than what they are,” Basya Schechter, a singer who grew up in Borough Park and used to attend the events, told Shtetl. “It’s a safe space where you can be whoever you are.”

Volvi Fleischman, a doctor who grew up Hasidic, said Chulent was a “lifeline” for him in his earlier life. "When I was struggling with fitting into the community that I grew up in, I found a sense of community, I found friendship, and I found people going through similar struggles,” he told Shtetl. “For 30 years, Yitzchak has provided… [community] with warmth and love and Jewishness -- and food of course, in the Jewish tradition.

A previous iteration of Chulent began in the 1990s, when “freethinkers and misfits” began gathering at an electronics store Schonfeld owned in Borough Park. Since then, Chulent has grown, had several different iterations, and been held in a multitude of synagogues in different neighborhoods. But despite its growth, Schonfeld said, the event still flies under the radar of most Borough Park residents.

Thursday’s Chulent was held in the basement of a small synagogue on Avenue H. It featured live klezmer music and didn’t end until after 2 a.m. One attendee, Daniel Lazarus, commented on both the weekly Chulent event and similar events, such as Shabbat dinners and other holiday meals, that Schonfeld hosts in his home. “In the frum Jewish world, people wouldn’t have someone who’s trans hanging out in their house,” Lazarus said. “It doesn’t dovetail with that lifestyle. Isaac has no problem doing that.”

But Schonfeld’s generosity transcends the bounds of Chulent. Yehuda Jacobowitz, who also grew up Haredi, said that when he was getting divorced, Schonfeld was an invaluable emotional support. “I spoke to the guy every day for hours.”

While he has always been open-minded, Schonfeld told Shtetl that his view of OTD people evolved when, years ago, a woman got upset with his reaction to her leaving Orthodoxy.

He remembers telling the woman, “I support you. I’m very proud of you. You went out and fought the battle to realize your own identity.”

“But for me, being a religious person and seeing you drop that, it hurts me a little,” Schonfeld said. “Here you are, this person who I can identify with as a religious person, and now you’re a bacon-eating, Shabbos-descrating person. It made me feel a little uncomfortable. It had nothing to do with you.”

The woman seemed upset by Schonfeld’s reaction. “So the next time I saw her, I said, ‘I’m unreservedly proud of you, for having to do without the approval and comforts of family, the approval and comforts of community, of friends. Your desire or your consciousness to be who you think you should be is so strong. That’s very admirable.’”

In an interview with Shtetl, Twersky compared Chulent with Footsteps, a nonprofit organization that provides assistance to people who leave Haredi communities.

“At Footsteps, you’re expected to start the next stage of your life, whether it’s by going to college, getting a job, transitioning into a woman or a man,” Twersky said. “Chulent never asked that of you.”

“I was homeless at the time, bouncing between places, sleeping here, sleeping there, crashing with this friend, crashing with that friend. I had no money, no friends. My family, at the time, had completely cut me off,” he added. “I had nothing, and nobody, and here was this community that, unlike Footsteps, didn’t ask anything of you.”

Twersky thought back on the honoree. To him, Schonfeld is the “nicest guy in the world.”