This new mindset of openness and sharing, and whether or not Yiddishkeit embraces it

ON Purim, Yidden around the world don masks and costumes, hiding their faces in joyful celebration. But as the seforim teach, this minhag is more than just playful dress-up; it reflects one of Purim’s deepest themes — hester, hiddenness. Just as Hashem’s miracles were concealed within the natural order of events, we, too, wear masks as a reminder that things are not always as they seem. Even the name Megillas Esther hints at this idea — Esther from hester panim (Hashem’s hidden presence).

In life, we also wear masks — not just on Purim, but every day. We choose what to share and what to keep private, what to reveal and what to hold close. But in today’s world, there is a growing push to remove these masks, to exhibit full transparency and raw authenticity. I’d like to explore this new mindset of openness and sharing, and whether or not Yiddishkeit embraces it.

Is Openness Always Appropriate?

Over the past several years, I’ve noticed something fascinating. I give shiurim on hilchos Shabbos to a variety of groups — men, women, bochurim, and seminary girls. Part of the curriculum focuses on refuah on Shabbos — when taking medication is permitted, and which types of pills are allowed.

When I first began giving these shiurim, no one mentioned their personal experiences. But over time, something changed. Slowly, more and more people started opening up, asking detailed questions about their personal pill regimens — right there, in front of the entire group. Discussions about different therapies also became more common, shared without much hesitation or discomfort.

As I began noticing this shift, I started asking others about it — and I learned that it was reflective of a broader cultural change. One rebbi shared that it’s no longer uncommon for him to see talmidim openly taking pills during or right after class — something that would have been unheard of in the past. Menahalim have told me how different things used to be; convincing parents to seek necessary support for their children was often an uphill battle because of the heavy stigma surrounding these issues. But over time, that resistance has softened. Today, getting the right help has become far more accepted, as people recognize that addressing these challenges can make a real and lasting difference in a child’s success and well-being.

The stigma around seeking help has been lifted in a way that allows more people to access the support they need — and that is something to be grateful for.

People today feel less ashamed of their struggles and less restricted in finding a solution. Instead, they’re seeking the help they need — and getting it. Issues that were once kept secret are now discussed with openness and acceptance, creating an environment where those in need feel supported and safe.

This is, in so many ways, such a beautiful thing, and we can be proud of ourselves as a community for embracing this openness and providing safety and acceptance to those in need of help. Today it’s a badge of honor to be honest, open, and vulnerable. It makes you come off as “authentic” and “real.”

But the question is: How do we balance this newfound openness with the privacy, tzniyus, and boundaries that are integral to Yiddishkeit? Isn’t discretion a value we’ve always been taught to uphold? What is the proper mindset for us, as a frum community, in navigating this new cultural landscape?

Chazal’s Guidance

The wisdom of Chazal (Sotah 32b) offers us guidance in navigating this delicate tension. The Gemara notes a seeming contradiction in Rabi Shimon bar Yochai’s teachings. In one instance, during the reading of mikra bikkurim, he encourages a person to proclaim his shame (g’nus, “discredit”) publicly. Yet elsewhere, he teaches that it was instituted to recite Shemoneh Esreh silently, to protect the dignity of those seeking atonement. So which is it? Is preserving dignity paramount, or is publicizing one’s faults appropriate?

The answer, says the Gemara, is that there’s a difference between exposing shame and revealing personal hardship. One should never announce one’s sins to invite shame. However, revealing a personal hardship is appropriate when it serves a higher purpose — to inspire empathy and invite heartfelt tefillah. When others know about a hardship, they can offer help and daven for you.

The message is clear: Vulnerability is a powerful tool — when it’s guided by intention and purpose. Sometimes, sharing a personal challenge might be necessary to receive moral support. Other times, sharing how it was overcome can provide comfort and strength to someone going through something similar.

When vulnerability is shared thoughtfully and deliberately, it can be a tremendous source of connection. But when personal details are shared without direction or purpose, it risks becoming mere exposure, leaving us feeling drained and diminished rather than empowered. This doesn’t mean we should bottle up our pain or avoid sharing struggles. Sometimes, opening up is exactly what we need. But when sharing beyond our closest circle — or in a public space — it should be done with great care.

Oversharing may put us at risk. It can invite manipulation or leave us vulnerable to those who don’t have our best interests at heart. At times, it can make others uncomfortable — not because they don’t care, but because they simply don’t know how to respond. Instead of fostering connection, unfiltered openness can backfire, leaving us feeling misunderstood.

Venting with a Cause

We all need to unload sometimes. Life can be overwhelming, and carrying the weight of our worries alone can feel unbearable. But when it comes to venting, not all sharing is created equal. There’s a fine line between expressing frustration in a constructive way and venting in a way that causes harm.

Even in halachah, we find that sharing personal pain can be not only permissible but beneficial — when done with mindfulness and care. Lashon hara is a severe prohibition, yet the Chofetz Chaim (see Hilchos Lashon Hara, klal 6, se’if 4) teaches that if someone speaks about their struggles solely to ease their burden — without any intention to harm another — there are times it may be allowed, provided the halachic conditions are met (the listener won’t further spread the information, won’t personally believe it to be true, etc.). This idea is rooted in a pasuk (Mishlei 12:25) interpreted by Chazal: “Da’agah b’lev ish, yashchenah l’acherim” — one who carries anxiety in his heart should share it with another. Sometimes, verbalizing pain is what allows a person to move forward.

The Chiddushei HaRim (cited in Likkutei Yehudah on Mishlei 12:25) offers a beautiful insight into this concept: At times, Hashem may lift a person’s distress not because he himself deserves relief, but because the one listening to him — who is sincerely taking on his pain — does not deserve to suffer. This underscores the power of compassionate listening: It’s not just an act of kindness, but a spiritual force that can help alleviate another’s burden.

Still, sharing must be done with integrity. The one venting should ask himself: Am I speaking to seek comfort and clarity, or am I allowing my emotions to damage someone else’s reputation? If the goal is to soothe a troubled heart, then halachically appropriate venting can be a tool for healing. Sefer Chassidim even writes that when someone truly needs to unburden himself, it is not only permissible but even a mitzvah to listen with compassion.

This principle applies in marriage as well. While the halachos of lashon hara apply fully between husband and wife (see Chofetz Chaim, Hilchos Lashon Hara, klal 8, se’if 10), there are times when open communication is not only permitted but necessary. A strong marriage is built on emotional honesty when both spouses know they can sometimes share their struggles — within halachic boundaries — and be met with love, validation, and understanding. In fact, talking through frustrations early on can prevent minor grievances from festering into resentment. (The Chofetz Chaim, on the other hand, adds a bit of marital advice. He says that if a husband habitually complains to his wife about the slights and indignities he perceives have been heaped upon him, it is a bad idea, since he then actually lowers himself in her eyes. She begins to believe that others do not respect him, and that perhaps he is not really worthy of respect....)

The key is intentionality. Before opening up, ask yourself: Why am I sharing this? Will it help me process my emotions and emerge stronger? Will it bring me clarity or allow me to approach the situation with more resilience? Will it offer the listener meaningful support or insight? If so, then speaking up can be a positive act of growth and benefit.

Vulnerability doesn’t mean unfiltered transparency — it means thoughtful, purposeful sharing. It’s about knowing when to be open, whom to open up to, and ensuring that our words serve a constructive goal. It’s this balance — authenticity combined with discretion — that gives vulnerability its true power and deepest beauty.

Rabbi Aryeh Kerzner is the rav of Agudas Yisrael of Montreal and a noted posek and popular speaker. Many of his shiurim and speeches are available online. He is the author of the sefer Halachah at Home, published by ArtScroll/Mesorah

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1054)