And after spending so much time seeking approval from the public sphere, do we even have anything left to give in private?

T

he problem with discussing social media is that the term is so hard to define. Some limit it to just Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram; others include Snapchat and other apps. Some even consider WhatsApp to be social media, because if you constantly revise your status and picture, then you’re using the app to send an ever-updated story about yourself to the public. For our purposes, let’s take a broad view of the topic: Regardless of which specific app you use, when you circulate a specifically chosen message or image to an audience, you’re on social media.

First, the obvious: When we constantly scroll through pictures of everyone’s clothes, social life, delicious food, beautiful homes, and adorable children, our own lives start to look shabby in comparison. Some people insist this is not a reason to stop — it’s a matter of personal weakness, and you should be able to look at other people’s glorious lives without feeling like you need to measure up.

But the reality is that by choosing to post — and view — blessings all the time, we inevitably create a culture of comparison and feelings of lack. Social media’s pervasiveness foments a permanent state of teen angst. We’re constantly being fed the message that other people are having a better time than we are. More than one psychological study has found that Facebook users are less happy than non-users. That result would probably hold true for Instagram and other similar apps. Even if we’re not posting, but rather merely scrolling, checking, and perusing, we are nevertheless contributing to the culture.

I once witnessed an elderly zeide being shown a post of a beautiful restaurant dish. This man simply could not figure out why anyone would take a picture of food and share it with other people. He was in equal parts amused and horrified. It was an “emperor’s new clothes” moment, where the only sane person in the room pointed out the obvious insanity of the situation to others who were thoroughly enmeshed.

And then there’s the age-old concept of tzniyus. Walking privately before Hashem is one of the fundamentals of Judaism. Our nation was lauded for taking care to position our tents so they did not face each other, and now we open windows wide to give lavish views into every house. Social media encourages you to announce every thought and to share every move you, your spouse, and your children make. The underlying motivation is to promote yourself — in direct opposition to tzniyus, for both men and women.

There’s another issue with all this sharing: Turning every third person into a minor celebrity brings upon us all the problems inherent in the celebrity lifestyle: image is everything, the goal is to look good and showcase a life of success and pleasure. But when you look behind the mask, what do you find?

Kol kevudah bas melech penimah means that who we are in private is what truly defines us. Our parenting behind closed doors when our children look less than delicious, the way you talk to your spouse when no one is watching. The actions that count the most are the ones we don’t submit for “likes.”

And after spending so much time seeking approval from the public sphere, do we even have anything left to give in private?

The stronger our core, the less we’ll need to seek approval from others. But first we must break the habit of automatically posting, sharing, and evaluating the feedback we get for every move we make.