When the Masks Come Off

“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s probably worse.” That is how Auggie Pullman introduces his face to the reader in Wonder. 

Auggie Pullman, a fictional ten-year-old boy, is just like anyone you know.  He sees what you see, hears what you hear, eats ice cream, rides his bike, plays ball, and has a great sense of humor.  But the moment older people look at him they avert their eyes, and little kids get scared and start screaming or saying something nasty and hurtful.  Auggie, it is explained, was born with numerous genetic abnormalities, and even after 27 surgeries, Auggie bears facial disfigurations so pronounced that people who see him for the first time quickly look away as they try to manage their shock and horror.

Auggie begins his tale by introducing himself:

I know I’m not an ordinary ten-year-old kid.  I mean, sure, I do ordinary things… and I feel ordinary.  Inside.  But I know ordinary kids don’t make other ordinary kids run away screaming in playgrounds.  I know ordinary kids don’t get stared at wherever they go.  If I found a magic lamp and I could have one wish, I would wish that I had a normal face that no one ever noticed at all.  I would wish that I could walk down the street without people seeing me and then doing that look away thing.  Here’s what I think:  the only reason I’m not ordinary is that no one else sees me that way.

But then he describes the one day a year that he gets to wear a mask. 

For me, [that] is the best holiday in the world… I get to dress up in a costume.  I get to wear a mask.  I get to go around like every other kid with a mask and nobody thinks I look weird.  Nobody takes a second look.  Nobody notices me.  Nobody knows me.   I wish every day could be [just like it].  We could all wear masks all the time.  Then we could walk around and get to know each other before we got to see what we looked like under the masks.   

This was written for a children’s novel yet it captures one of the deepest truths about human nature. We are, whether we admit it or not, creatures of appearance. In an instant, before a word is spoken, we decide: is this person likeable or not, trustworthy or suspicious, impressive or forgettable.  A face, clothing, posture, and age all become evidence in a trial that lasts seconds.

Chazal diagnosed this tendency long ago by telling us, “Al tistakel ba-kankan elah b’mah she-yesh bo,  don’t look at the jug but rather look at what’s inside.” (Avot 4:20).  If only we could look into the contents of the jar instead of making assumptions based on looks and appearances, how much better and more civilized would our society be?

Modern psychology echoes this concern. In 2003, the Princeton psychologist Alexander Todorov wondered if the reasons we vote for particular candidates could have less to do with politics and more to do with our perception of that candidate. 

To test his theory, Todorov showed pairs of portraits to roughly a thousand people and asked them to rate the competence of each person. Unbeknownst to the participants, they were actually looking at candidates for the House and Senate in 2000, 2002, and 2004. In study after study, participants’ responses to the question of whether someone looked competent predicted actual election outcomes at a rate much higher than chance—from 66 to 73% of the time.  Todorov found that even looking at the faces for as little as one second yielded a snap judgment that generally identified the winners and losers.  Appearances, the research concluded, “were heavily overweighted in any judgment” and prevented people from seeing the rest of the person, from seeing the real person. 

Too often, even as adults, we tend to focus and judge people on their externalities.  We make decisions about whether or not we like a person or trust a person based solely on how the person looks and with complete disregard for who that person truly is. 

And suddenly Auggie Pullman’s wish no longer feels naïve, but prophetic. What might change if we were forced to look beyond appearances? If we listened before judging? If we suspended assumptions? If we trained ourselves to see essence instead of exterior?

Imagine a community where integrity mattered more than image, kindness outweighed charisma, and depth eclipsed decoration.  How many people would feel more seen? How many relationships would deepen? How many extraordinary souls would no longer be overlooked?

Perhaps this is one of Purim’s quiet invitations. On Purim we wear masks, costumes, and disguises. Identities blur and appearances deceive. For one brief day, the external becomes unreliable. But maybe the purpose is not merely playfulness. Maybe Purim asks something far more demanding.

When the masks come off, will we continue to look past them? We may not literally wear masks during the year. But every interaction presents the same choice. Will I look at the container or what is inside?