These two concepts contained in one pasuk clearly have a connection with one another. The prohibition against adding or subtracting mitzvos is understandable. How is it connected with the despicable worship of the Peor god-head? Horav Shimshon Pincus, zl, quotes his father, who explains that the avodah, service, performed before the Peor and the underlying motif of this service have one primary commonality with adding and subtracting mitzvos. They both apply to one who seeks to live an undisciplined life in which he is in charge, he makes the decisions, he determines right and wrong, important and insignificant.
One who adds or subtracts mitzvos is a person who observes mitzvos, but does not want them to control him. He rejects the idea that one must be wholly subservient to Hashem. Peor was served through acts of degradation, with the primary mode of worship being defecating before the idol. What, for any normal person, would be the ultimate act of disrespect was, in the Peor cult, its very form of reverence,
Maharal and other commentators explain that Baal Peor represents a farkerte velt, the ultimate inversion of values – an upside down world. It is the worship of hefkeirus, the abandonment of all human dignity. It blurs the acceptable boundary of human dignity and decency,
Chazal (Sanhedrin 64A) relate the story of a pagan woman who was gravely ill. She declared that, if she would be cured, she would worship every idol in the world. When she arrived at the Peor service station, the temple in which its adherents worshipped this god-head in the most disgusting, bane manner, she said, “Better I should return to my illness than to serve such an idol.” In other words, she felt nothing was as revolting as serving an idol in such a manner. What was it about Peor that generated such a reaction, stronger than the typical reaction to all the other vacuous stone idols?
Rav Shimshon Pincus explains that a person’s neshamah, his essence, is referred to as kavod. David Hamelech proclaims, Urah kevodi; “Awaken, my honor” (Tehillim 16:9). He is certainly not referring to external acclaim. He is addressing his innermost self – the Divine spark within him, the essence that binds him to his Creator – his kavod/dignity.
Kavod is not something one earns; it is something one is. The essence of a person, his deep-rooted awareness that he is a tzelem Elokim, created in the Divine Image, cries out to him, “Do not throw it all away. You are special; maintain your dignity. Do not fall into the trap that so many have fallen into.” Bushah – a natural sense of shame — serves as guardian over a person’s conduct. It whispers – do not; it begs – do not. Once you abdicate your sense of bushah, you have crossed the line. You are no longer what you were meant to be. Salvage what you still can.
A telling story is related concerning a simple Jew who had drifted far from religious observance. The issue is not why, as we are not here to pass judgment. It is what it is. His present life bore very little resemblance to the home and culture in which he was raised. Yet, he did not reject everything. We all have something that connects us with the source of our being – Hashem. Every Yom Kippur, without fail, he would enter a shul, sit quietly in the back, and cry. A friend asked him what it was that made him gravitate to the shul, “After all, you no longer observe anything.” The man answered with shocking honesty, “I have rejected much. My behavior is far from how I was raised to behave, but I cannot abandon myself completely. There is still a part of me – albeit small – that is ashamed.”
Regardless of how far one has distanced himself from religious observance, he still maintains some boundary – one last line that he will not cross. He is still ashamed of breaking off completely, because that sense of shame reflects who he is – his Jewish identity.
This is why the Baal Peor worship was so devastating. The service glorified the rejection of human dignity. Any service that would totally divest a person of his sense of refinement and obliterate all shame was commendable. Peor was not simply a sin; it was a philosophy that encouraged man to reject kavod, cast off all restraint and discipline to live without dignity. In other words, totally sever any relationship with Hashem. No kavod; no connection.
Peor celebrated shamelessness. It made an ideal of a lack of dignity. Without kavod, we can have no kedushah, and, without kedushah, life has no meaning. I know that these are strong words, but, when you think about it, what really is a life without purpose? When a person disconnects from that which gives his life its sanctity, he negates it of its value. When a person loses that last vestige of honor, little remains to prevent him from falling into the nadir of depravity. This woman came to her senses, realizing that death was better than a life of Peor.
At one time or another, we all have an encounter with our penimius, inner self, at times in which an innate sense of dignity perks up and refuses to let us descend. Even when one has drifted far, something within him whispers: “This is not you.” Our response must be: “I cannot betray who I really am.”
The following story has, Baruch Hashem, occurred a number of times with different men and women. They were the fortunate ones who listened to their inner selves and understood that, as Jews, we are different. We have a sense of bushah. A young Israeli man, having recently completed his army service, did like so many others – members of the secular stream – traveled to the Far East to see what their confluence of cultures and moral laxity had to offer. I underscore secular, because, when one adheres to the Torah way of life, he lives with purpose and ideals. He does not feel something missing in his life, as do those who sadly live outside of religious commitment and boundaries.
While in the Far East, he fell in with a group that sought a lifestyle without inhibition, not merely permissive, but openly vulgar. They were immersed in drugs, immorality and complete abandon of any semblance of personal dignity. Kedushah was not just an anomaly – it was an anathema. It represented everything that they disdained.
At one point, he described attending a gathering (where there were other young Jews in attendance) that prided itself on its total lack of boundaries. Unquestionably, they would have made the priests of Peor proud. He was told, “There are no rules. No judgment. You can do whatever you want.” It started out fine. This was what he had expected – this was what he had wanted. But then, right in the middle of the depravity, something unexpected happened. He related that he suddenly became acutely aware of himself. “I felt ashamed. This had never happened before. I did not care about what others would think, because the greater the depravity, the greater the approval rating. I was ashamed in front of myself!”
The former soldier could not understand why he felt so degraded. The question troubled him until he sat in on a class given by Horav Noach Weinberg, zl. The Rosh Yeshivah explained that a Jew possesses an innate tzelem Elokim, which recoils when one acts beneath it. The recoil is the neshamah cringing from the shame that he imposed on it. He now realized that the feeling he had experienced was the real him crying out, “Stop!” The recognition was the beginning of his return to religion.
