Parashat Va'ethanan: Behind the curtain

For 40 years we lived in the isolation of the desert, sheltered from the powerful religious influences of the ancient world. Yet even there, we twice fell into the worship of idols. Just weeks after hearing God’s voice at Sinai, we fashioned the Golden Calf. Four decades later, our encounter with the Midianites drew many into the worship of Peor.

Moses could only imagine how much greater the danger would be, once we settled among the local Canaanite nations, surrounded by temples, carved images, and pagan rituals.

For the modern reader, however, Moses’ fear raises an obvious question: what made idolatry so attractive in the first place? We live in a modern world shaped by science, technology, and reason. The lure of idolatry seems almost incomprehensible. Who, in their right mind, would bow before a statue of wood or stone?

It was only natural to seek the favor of higher powers believed to govern these forces. The sun and stars regulated the seasons, while the sea inspired both awe and terror. Nature appeared to possess mysterious and overwhelming power. The idols were not worshiped as gods in themselves, but as tangible representations of these unseen forces.

Once we step into the world of the ancients, the appeal of idolatry no longer seems so mysterious.

This explains most forms of pagan worship. The worship of Peor, however, stands apart, defying ordinary explanation. Its adherents expressed their devotion by defecating before the idol. How could one of the most private and undignified human acts possibly be transformed into an expression of reverence?

Yet the cult of Peor exerted a powerful attraction. Twenty-four thousand Jews perished after being drawn into its seductive worship. Whatever lay behind this bizarre ritual, it possessed an extraordinary power to captivate thousands of people.

My Rebbe, Harav Yehuda Amital, explained that the underlying ethos of Peor was the belief that everything natural is holy precisely because it is natural.

Defecation was chosen not because the act itself expressed reverence, but because it served as the ultimate expression of this philosophy. By elevating one of the most private and undignified human functions into an act of worship, Peor proclaimed – through deliberate hyperbole – that every aspect of nature is inherently sacred. Every living organism must eliminate waste; it is indispensable to life. By defecating before their idol, the worshippers of Peor were declaring that whatever is natural is, by definition, holy.

Judaism flatly rejects this notion. The fact that we possess a natural impulse or inclination does not mean it should be expressed whenever it arises. God gave us a moral will and a system of mitzvot to guide us in discerning which desires should be cultivated and which should be restrained. Something is not holy merely because it is natural. It becomes holy only when it is elevated through mitzvot and the service of God.

But Peor’s philosophy carried a second implication as well. If every aspect of nature is equally holy simply because it is natural, then nothing deserves concealment. Privacy itself becomes meaningless. The distinction between the public and the private collapses.

Certain aspects of life – and surely everyone would agree that the elimination of bodily waste is one of them – belong behind the curtain, not on public display. Every healthy society distinguishes between the “front stage” and the “back stage,” between what is shared publicly and what remains personal and private. Once an act is performed before an audience, we inevitably become aware not only of the experience itself but also of how it is being perceived. We begin, even subtly, to perform as well as to live. Experiences that should simply be lived become performances. That is precisely why some parts of life belong behind the curtain.

Parashat Va’ethanan highlights the importance of these boundaries. It recounts the awe-inspiring moment of the Giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, where the mountain was surrounded by firm boundaries and the people were instructed to remain at a distance. The holiness of the moment demanded separation rather than unrestricted access.

The same pattern appeared in the Sanctuary. The Holy of Holies stood behind a curtain, and entry was permitted only to the high priest, and only once each year. The Torah repeatedly surrounds its holiest moments and holiest places with boundaries.

Modern culture has gradually eroded many of these boundaries, making far more of life public than previous generations would have imagined. This shift did not occur overnight, nor can it be attributed to any single cause. It emerged through a series of cultural developments that steadily expanded the public sphere.

The rise of modern individualism encouraged people to place greater value on expressing their authentic inner selves. Increasingly, self-expression came to be viewed as a moral virtue, often taking precedence over conformity to inherited social norms.

Modern psychology, particularly the influence of Freud, deepened our understanding of the human psyche and highlighted the value of speaking openly about thoughts and emotions that had previously remained hidden.

This development brought enormous benefits, fostering greater emotional awareness and helping remove the stigma surrounding many forms of personal struggle. At the same time, it also encouraged a culture in which openness itself increasingly became an ideal. The assumption gradually took hold that openness is almost always healthier than concealment.

Mass media introduced another shift. The emergence of celebrity culture blurred the line between achievement and publicity, creating a fascination not only with the accomplishments of public figures.

Reality television pushed that boundary even further, transforming private relationships and family life into entertainment.

Social media completed the process by giving everyone a stage. Increasingly, experiences seem incomplete until they are shared, and publicity has become the natural setting for much of modern life.

The curtain has fallen, and with it something precious has quietly slipped away. We have lost the ability to leave parts of life behind the curtain, untouched by the gaze of others. The spirit of Peor is still alive. We have forgotten that not every part of life is meant for public view.

Recovering that forgotten instinct is one of the deepest meanings of tzniut.

This trait of tzniut is often misunderstood. It is not limited to women, nor is it confined to standards of dress.

At its core, tzniut is the ability to distinguish between the public and the private, and to recognize that not every part of life belongs on display. Some of our deepest experiences derive their meaning precisely because they are reserved for a private realm shared only with those to whom they truly belong.

The more we preserve that private space, the richer and more profound those experiences become. When everything is made public, even life’s most meaningful moments can lose their intimacy and depth.

The Torah’s vision of holiness differs fundamentally from that of Peor. Holiness is not created by exposing everything. It is created by knowing what belongs behind the curtain.

Tzniut is the determination to preserve those boundaries in a world that increasingly erases them.