Behind The Curtain

In his final address to the Jewish people, Moshe repeatedly warns against the lure of the pagan cultures awaiting us in Eretz Yisrael. For forty 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 Hashem’s voice at Sinai, we fashioned the Golden Calf. Four decades later, our encounter with the Midianites drew many into the worship of Peor.

Moshe 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, Moshe’s 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?

This view is deeply anachronistic. The ancient world was far less predictable and secure than our own. People lived at the mercy of drought, famine, disease, war, and natural disasters. Their survival depended on forces they could neither control, predict, nor fully understand.

It was only natural to seek the favor of the higher powers they believed governed these forces. The sun and stars regulated the seasons, while the sea inspired both awe and terror. Nature appeared to possess mysterious and overwhelming powers. The idols were not worshipped as deities 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.

{The Mystery Of Peor

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 be possibly 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 of 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. Hashem 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 avodat Hashem.

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

Certain aspects of life belong behind a curtain, not on public display. Every healthy society distinguishes between what is publicly shared 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 a curtain.

Parashat V’etchanan itself highlights the importance of these boundaries. It recounts the awe-inspiring moment of Matan Torah at Har 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 appears in the Beit Hamikdash. The Kodesh HaKodashim stood behind a curtain and entry was permitted only to the Kohen Gadol once each year. The Torah repeatedly surrounds its holiest moments and 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 and eroded any healthy, natural boundaries.

The erosion of values coupled with 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 (even when this went against basic societal values) itself increasingly became an ideal.

Mass media introduced another shift. The emergence of celebrity culture blurred the lines 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 our 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 about distinguishing between the public and the private, and recognizing that not every part of life belongs on display. Some of our deepest experiences derive their meaning precisely because they are reserved for the 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 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. At Sinai, the people were instructed to remain outside the boundary. In the Beit Hamikdash, the holiest place stood behind a curtain. Tzniutis about preserving those boundaries of decency and privacy in a world that increasingly erases them. 

Rabbi Moshe Taragin is a rabbi and educator at Yeshivat Har Etzion (Gush) in Israel. His latest book, “Reclaiming Redemption, Vol. II: Faith, Identity, Peoplehood, and the Storms of War” is available at mtaraginbooks.com.