Rabbi Gidal had a practice that scandalized some of his contemporaries. He would sit at the entrance to the women's bathhouse, directing traffic, showing women where to go. Day after day, he sat there while women in various states of undress passed by.
A woman named Tabillat confronted him directly. "Are you not tempted by what you see?" she asked, the question that was on everyone's mind.
Rabbi Gidal's answer was disarming in its simplicity: "They appear to me like white geese." Not as women. Not as objects of desire. Not as anything that provoked his passions. White geese — harmless, unremarkable, no more arousing than barnyard fowl.
The sages debated whether Rabbi Gidal's claim was credible. Could any man truly achieve such a state of detachment? Some accepted it. They pointed to the long tradition of sages who had mastered their physical desires through decades of spiritual discipline. Rabbi Gidal's eyes had been trained by Torah to see differently than ordinary eyes. Where others saw temptation, he genuinely saw nothing.
Others were more cautious. They did not doubt Rabbi Gidal's sincerity, but they warned against anyone else attempting the same thing. What was safe for a sage of Rabbi Gidal's caliber could be catastrophic for a lesser person. The fact that one man can stand in fire without being burned does not mean the fire is cool — it means the man is extraordinary.
The story endured as a study in the outer limits of spiritual mastery. Most people must flee temptation. A rare few can sit in its presence and feel nothing at all.