In contemporary culture, hunchbacks are rarely portrayed with dignity. Literature and theater have long cast the figure of the hunchback as a symbol of moral decay or tragic misfortune, and at best, an object of pity. A straight spine has come to represent strength and integrity; no spine at all suggests cowardice. But a crooked spine? That, we're told, is the mark of someone crooked within—morally twisted and deviant.
Yet, like much of what modern media promote, this symbolism is superficial and misguided.
Most are familiar with the revered Rabbi Yaakov Yosef Herman, the inspiring figure immortalized in the beloved biography All for the Boss, a man who dedicated every fiber of his being to avodas Hashem (serving G-d) and kirvas Elokim (closeness to G-d). Less well-known, however, is Rabbi Chaim Yerucham Fishel Dov—also known as Philip Kaufman—who married Rabbi Herman’s daughter, Freida. Tragically, Freida passed away in the prime of her life, leaving her husband with young children to raise on his own.
It was no small task. Remarkably, he rose to the challenge, raising a family that carried his legacy far beyond what he may have imagined.
His son, Rabbi Shmuel Kaufman, went on to become a legendary mechanech in Detroit, Michigan, guiding generations of students and later becoming the subject of the recent biography, An Eternal Fire. The book recounts a poignant episode from Rabbi Shmuel’s life.
In his later years, Rabbi Fishel Dov suffered from severe spinal curvature, stooped so deeply that his appearance resembled that of a hunchback. Wanting to help, Rabbi Shmuel and his sister Ruthie, despite limited means, sacrificed greatly to purchase an expensive, custom-fitted brace to help their father stand upright.
Yet, to their surprise, Rabbi Fishel Dov rarely wore it.
Puzzled and disappointed, Rabbi Shmuel asked, “Why don’t you wear the brace? We worked so hard to help you stand straight again.”
At first, his father avoided the question. But Rabbi Shmuel, never one to give up easily, gently persisted. Finally, Rabbi Fishel Dov replied, “Shmuel, my whole life I davened that I should not have my eyes wander and look beyond my daled amos, my immediate vicinity right in front of me. Now that Hashem has granted me that request—made it easier for me not to see beyond my own four cubits—should I give that up just to stand tall and look out into the world?”
I cannot tell you with certainty how to raise a child like Rabbi Shmuel Kaufman, a man who educated thousands of students, raised astronomical sums of tzedakah for many Torah institutions, and embodied chesed in every fiber of his being. But I have a strong suspicion that it had something to do with the quiet greatness of a father—stooped in body, yet towering in spirit.
Then again... it’s only a hunch.
