When a Latte is Just a Latte

Dear friends,

There was a period in my life when, for one reason or another, I was feeling a bit directionless. I wasn’t sure what I needed to work on, or where my energy was meant to go. So I did the only thing that seemed to make sense at the time: I threw out all my makeup, went shopping, and bought myself a whole new face.

And guess what? It worked — for a bit. I felt better. Lighter. Renewed.

There were just two small problems. First, the thrill faded. And second, I forgot an important detail: I’m actually not much of a makeup wearer to begin with. (Does the first have to do with the second? Probably, but who knows?)

That experience gave me language for something I see again and again — in myself, and in the women I teach. When something inside feels unsettled, it’s often far easier to reach for an external reset than to pause and ask what the soul is missing. Sometimes that reset is makeup. Sometimes it’s clothes, home projects, or other aesthetic upgrades. Retail therapy is a thing. And sometimes it even comes wrapped in the language of “holy gashmius.” This is where the line between beauty that expresses the soul and beauty that tries to replace it becomes critically important.

When we were little, it all seemed so simple.
Gashmius = bad. Ruchnius = good.

Then we learned a little more, and arrived at a more nuanced (and super exciting) piece of knowledge:
“If you use the gashmius for the ruchnius, then it’s all good!”

How beautiful! How Jewish! Food becomes avodah. Clothing becomes kavod habriyos and tznius. Tablescapes become oneg Shabbos. Even vacations can be sanctified l’maan Hashem. What a gift it is to belong to a Torah that does not ask us to reject the physical world, but to elevate it.

Wouldn’t it be nice if it was that simple?

As we get older, we find that life teaches us in ways classrooms never fully could. We begin to realize that we only have so much headspace and heartspace. And no matter how holy our intentions may be, there is only so much time one can spend immersed in recipes, home magazines, malls, and aesthetics before it quietly begins to take over our inner lives.

But….but….
A  frum person’s gashmius is really ruchnius… right? Kedushas Hachomer and all that??

This question feels especially relevant right now, after spending a week celebrating the defeat of the Greeks — a culture that stood for empty externality, beauty severed from soul.

If you know me well, you know that this balancing act is something I think of often. And I thought of it yet again when a young woman learning through my tznius course sent me the following question (can we pause for one second to stand up for a young mother who takes the time, money and effort to feed her soul? I know she’s not the only one and I need to give you all a shout out. When I was a young mommy my goal was twofold: don’t die, and don’t let the kids die. Anything more was extra credit. To all you women in the thick of raising babies and also reading deeper Torah content, I am in awe. Now back to her question):

“(In the last class) you were saying that too much externality does not allow internality to blossom. As a wife and mother, I do many externally focused things — buying clothes for my family, making my home look nice, managing practical details. Does that mean this is taking away from my internality? Or is it only when one is hyper-focused on it?”

External action itself is not the problem. A woman does not lose her internality by caring for her home, dressing her family, or surrounding herself with beauty. On the contrary — when these actions flow from inner values, they strengthen the soul. Preparing a home for Shabbos, choosing clothing with dignity, creating order and warmth — these can all be expressions of your neshama when they emerge from love and purpose.

The question is not what you are doing.
The question is where you are living.

There is a beauty that is an expression of the soul, and there is a beauty that is a form of grasping — an attempt to fill holes in the soul. These two can look identical on the outside, but they come from very different inner places.

The Tanya teaches us that ta’avah is a klippah of ta’anug. Ta’anug is deep, settled pleasure — a quiet fullness that comes from alignment, meaning, and connection. Ta’avah is its shell. It reaches outward, grasping for stimulation, admiration, or control, hoping that something external will finally soothe an inner restlessness. The klippah is subtle. It doesn’t announce itself as hollow. It promises pleasure — but it cannot nourish.

When a person’s sense of calm, worth, or identity becomes dependent on externals — how things look, how one is perceived, how perfectly everything is curated — then the soul has quietly been displaced. At that point, the external is no longer serving the internal; it is replacing it. That is where ta’avah slips in, dressed up as beauty.

A woman with a tended inner world — nourished by Torah, tefillah, self-awareness, and emotional truth — can engage deeply in the physical world without being overtaken by it. Her externality becomes a vessel, not a substitute. But when the inner life is neglected, the externals grow louder and more demanding, because they are trying to do a job they were never meant to do.

The avodah is not to eliminate gashmius and/or beauty.
It is to redeem it — to allow beauty to be an expression of ta’anug, rather than a klippah of it.

I’m still working on it. But I suppose that’s the whole point. 

Do you have a minute to actually apply this to your life? (When you interact with the content, you automatically integrate it more #teacherhacks). 

Think of a moment in the past month when you focused on something external — like organizing your home, buying clothes, or preparing a special meal. Did it make you feel more nourished inside, or did it leave you feeling restless? I’d love to hear your experience- just hit reply!

Stay warm,
Mrs. Aliza Feder