I turned 35, which is not that big a deal.

Well, it is to me, because my back hurts. And I’m at an age where, whenever something hurts, I wonder, “Is this how it’s going to be from now on?”

I’m also apparently at an age where I use the expression, “I’m at an age.”

I hurt my back over Pesach. I didn’t hurt it preparing for Pesach, like you’d think. At least I don’t think so.

It was the first day of Chol Hamoed, and I was sitting and eating breakfast, which was dry matzah, and then I got up and my lower back hurt. That’s what did it. Eating breakfast.

Well, actually, I couldn’t get up. I was on my feet, but the entire upper half of my body was locked in a sitting position, so that, when I walked, it looked like I was trying to lean into the wind for aerodynamic reasons.

For the next few days, this happened whenever I tried to get up. It also happened every time I bent down to get something off the floor, which was often, because I live in a house that is mostly occupied by short people.

But at least my short people are coming through for me. I’ve been lying down on the floor and having them walk on my back. Although “them” isn’t really the right word. I prefer one at a time, or else they push each other, and there’s not much I can do but wince and yell empty threats into the floor. So I prefer having one kid on my back, and it makes me feel better—at least until I try to get up—and the only downside is that afterwards, my back smells like feet.

My wife, meanwhile, suggested some stretches. Like she suggested one stretch where I plant my feet on the floor and slowly bring my arms up over my head. And for a while, that actually worked. Though I had to do it every time I got up. So it was pretty embarrassing in shul. Especially when my tallis fell off. And I had to bend down to get it. And then I had to do the stretch again.

That was how I lived through the end of Pesach. I figured if I could make it through Pesach, I was okay.

But I forgot about Motzoei Pesach.

The night after Pesach is not the best night for people with back issues. In our house, it consists of bringing massive boxes of pots down to the basement.

So I brought the first big box down the stairs, careful to lift with my legs so I wouldn’t hurt my back. Worse. And then when I got to the basement, I bent over and lifted the box into a corner to make room for more.

Bad move.

I spent the next 20 minutes in a tiny room full of boxes, trying to find an uncomfortable position in which I could try not to die. Then I had to grit my teeth and somehow make it up the stairs to finish this job, because I knew that at this point, there was no way I was going to be able to lift anything tomorrow.

So I did the rest of the work bent over, looking like a soldier sneaking around in the cover of night before the enemy wakes up the next morning, beats him down the stairs, and eats chometz on his Pesach plates. And when I got up the next morning, I found that I couldn’t actually get up. I couldn’t even sit. It turns out that your back, or at least my back, is, um, load-bearing. Every little move puts new pressures on your back. I found that by walking really really slowly, I could limit the pain a little by dragging it out over longer periods of time.

I definitely didn’t want to get out and see anybody. Back injuries stink, because no one knows that you have a back injury. If you break your foot, people see you wearing one of those big open-toed slippers, and they know. When your back hurts, you look totally normal except that you’re making faces. And people don’t think, “His back must hurt.” They think, “What’s wrong with his face?”

Then we got a call, that night, that one of my siblings was engaged, and I was expected to come to the l’chaim. And I couldn’t just pop in and out. As a brother, I have to be there basically the whole time, because the kallah and my parents need my grimacing moral support. I can’t even support my own body.

I hope we’re not expected to dance.

We are expected to stand around and schmooze, which is what you do at a l’chaim. Turns out it’s very hard to talk to people when you’re not breathing. Especially when you’re trying not to let them know that you’re not breathing.

So I let them know. At least my back pain gave me something to talk about.

“Mazel tov! How are you?”

“Well, my back hurts.”

That’s not how you’re supposed to answer that question. You’re supposed to say, “Fine, b”H.”

It’s social protocol.

But with all these back problems, I’ve come to a real understanding of why a lot of older people do a lot of the things we associate with old people: They have back problems. That’s why they move so slowly, hunched over, constantly stopping to lean on things. It’s why they drive slowly, don’t always hear you, forget half of what you say, answer everything bluntly, and answer, “How are you?” with health issues.

But at least they get to sit down at simchas.

By Mordechai Schmutter

Mordechai Schmutter is a freelance writer and a humor columnist for Hamodia, The Jewish Press and Aish.com, among others. He also has five books out and does stand-up comedy. You can contact him at [email protected].