Zokef Kefufim – The Blessing That Straightens the Bent

“Sit straight!”

"Your shoulders are slouched!”“

Do you want to grow up with a hunchback?!”

These were the refrains of my childhood in Melbourne. Teachers. Parents. Adults with rulers in hand and concern in voice, trying to mold a straight-backed boy. It annoyed me. Grated on me.

But those words came rushing back decades later—not as echoes of discipline, but as signs I had missed.

Melbourne, 2025.

I was just back home for a beautiful few weeks. Reconnecting. Reflecting. Spending time with my father.

He’s nearly 80. Still sharp. Still full of life. But hunched. Fragile. Walking with careful, hesitant steps.

And it hit me: when you’re bent, people can’t always hear you.

When you can’t stand upright, the world feels heavier. Treacherous.

That visual unearthed something in me. A memory. A moment. A collapse.

Brooklyn, 2015.

Greenpoint, boutique hotel. The kind where the room is more “design choice” than functional space.

I was there building TwinMed’s New York operation. Late-night steak dinners. 18-hour days. Gorging. Grinding. Selling. Smiling.

On the surface: success.

Inside: exhausted, overweight, stretched far beyond my limits.

My alarm rang at 6:00 a.m.

I swung my legs out of bed.

And collapsed.

My back seized. I was stuck. Face pressed into the floor. Paralyzed. The pain was instant and total.

I reached for my phone.

“Avigayil? It’s Boruch. I’m in a hotel in Greenpoint. I can’t move. My back’s gone. I need a chiropractor—fast. Who do you know?”

She was shocked.“Wait, you’ve been in New York this whole time?!”

I had been. For weeks. I hadn’t made time to see her. I hadn’t made time for anyone.

She called back minutes later with a name. A time. An address.

7:30 a.m.

The hotel door opened.

A manager and a large, strong man walked in. My UberXL driver.

By then, I had managed to shuffle into sweatpants and a sweater.

Still couldn’t stand. Still couldn’t move.

“I got you,” he said, and this angel of a human hoisted my 300-pound frame like it was nothing. Helped me into the cramped elevator. Into the car. Onto the road. To the chiropractor.

8:00 a.m.

Wythe Avenue. Williamsburg. Cold. Misty. Bleak.

Chassidic men all around. Some coming from the mikveh, towels around their necks. All of them hunched. Bent over. As if the weight of centuries rested on their shoulders.

I looked up. Williamsburg Chiropractic.

“Well,” I muttered, “that’s some top-tier demographic targeting.”

Inside, the receptionist greeted me warmly. The office looked sharp. Young doctor. Jewish. Educated. Credentialed. All the right frames on the wall.

He walked in.“What brings you in today?”

“Doc, I can’t move. My back’s gone.”

“Let’s get you on the table.”

“I can’t lie down.”

He paused. “Bring the machine,” he said to the assistant.

While we waited, I made small talk. “Have you thought about incorporating CCM? CMS just rolled out new reimbursement models for chronic care management.”

He looked at me like I was speaking a different language. I handed him my business card.

Moments later, I was strapped into a vertical gurney—yes, like Hannibal Lecter—slowly rotated into a horizontal position.

E-stim. Ultrasound. Gentle massage. He worked until I could just barely get off the table.

As I got dressed, he paused and looked me in the eye.

“Can I ask something—and I don’t want you to be offended…”

“How does a man like you end up in a state like this?”

I couldn’t answer.

Tears. Uncontrolled. The dam burst. I was completely undone.

I had to get home.

I called the company travel agent.

“I need a business class ticket. I’m injured. I can’t fly upright.”

“You’re not authorized for business class,” he replied. “Let me see if I can get permission…”

He couldn’t. I hung up.

Called my wife. Told her to book it. Personal card. We’d figure it out later.

Then I called my friend John.

“John, I need a joint. I’m in agony. Can you pick me up, bring it to me, and take me to JFK?”

He did.

3:00 p.m. JetBlue Mint. JFK.

Lying flat in traction. Two-hour delay on the tarmac.

I stared at the ceiling. No work. No noise. Just stillness. And pain.

39 years old. Four kids. A mortgage. Spiraling health. Burnout. Rage. Regret.

“Boruch… what are you doing?”

Back in LA, I shut off my phone for 48 hours.

Went to my chiropractor. My therapist.Got quiet. Got real.

Rabbi Josh Gordon had passed away. A giant. I went to the funeral.

It was held just miles from TwinMed’s headquarters.

Afterwards, I drove to the office. Walked into the CEO’s room. A towering man—politically connected, powerful, polished.

“Kerry, I’m resigning. I can’t do this anymore.”

He stood up. Towered over me. His face twisted.

“There’s no f---ing way I’m letting you leave this company.”

I stood up. Heart pounding. Adrenaline surging.

“If you ever threaten me like that again, I’ll make sure you don’t walk out with a single red cent.”

I walked out. Into my car. Hyperventilating. Terrified. Free.

That was the first break. I left fully in 2017.

That collapse wasn’t a fluke. It was a message. A consequence.

I had put myself there.

Misaligned. Overextended. Spiritually slouched. It was no one else’s fault.

And that’s when I understood:

Zokef Kefufim.

Blessed is He who straightens the bent.

Why do we say it every morning?

Because life bends us.

With pain. With pressure. With stories that aren’t ours to carry.

When we’re bent, we can’t see what’s ahead. Only the ground. The hurt. The guilt. The weight.

But when we’re straight—shoulders back, eyes forward—we see the sky. We see vision. Dignity. Possibility.

The spine isn’t just physical. It’s spiritual. Moral. Ethical.

It helps us stand up for what’s right.To see details we once missed. To say “no” when the world screams “yes.”

Zokef Kefufim isn’t a passive blessing. It’s a divine reset.

A daily reminder that we can walk tall again. No matter how far we’ve fallen.

Reflection

• Where are you misaligned?

• What’s bending you over?

• What would it take to stand upright again?

  
  

Author’s Note: This post is a personal reflection, not intended to disclose confidential information or disparage any individual or entity. It is shared as part of a spiritual series on Jewish blessings in the Business of Soul Series.