Steve Feinzig, a wisecracking Jewish guy from Brooklyn, walks into the studio in gym shorts and a T-shirt. The space he enters has an aura of sanctity — gleaming wood floors, high ceilings, low light, curtained walls. Steve is perfectly at home. He and his wife, Darlene, built this place. He sits cross-legged and starts discussing his die-hard love of the Gators. He talks about his 3-year-old son, Sammy. He paces between the rows of mats and muses about the musical talents of the Police and the heart-opening properties of back bends. He makes fun of every student in the kindest possible way. He makes one woman giggle in upward dog. While the blood rushes to another, handstanding student's head, Steve reminds her of the things she cares about most in the world — her kids or the dog she just rescued. "Go deeper," he says, and she does. As a chiropractor, he knows precisely how to rearrange hips or press lightly on a lower back to bring grace to a pose. As a student sighs with relief, Steve smiles. "Welcome to yoga," he says.