Question of the Week: 

 

What is behind the Jewish custom to bury someone almost immediately after they pass away? Other religions wait a few days or sometimes weeks before laying their dead to rest, yet we seem in a hurry to get them buried, often within 24 hours of death. What is the rush?

 

Answer:

 

A speedy burial has benefits for the living and for the dead. And delaying a funeral unnecessarily is no good for either.

 

Between death and burial, the soul of the departed is in limbo between two worlds, neither fully on earth nor ready to be admitted into heaven. The soul no longer inhabits the body after death, but until the body is laid to rest, the soul cannot fully leave the body either. So it hovers around the body, in a state of disorientation at its sudden expulsion from the body that was its home for a lifetime.

 

Once the body returns to the dust from whence it came, the soul can return to heaven from whence it came. And so only after the burial does the soul begin its climb to higher realms. The soul’s onward journey can’t begin until the body is interred. We do not want to delay this process, so we hasten the funeral to the earliest opportunity.

 

This is not just for the good of the departed soul. It is also for the benefit of the mourners.

 

Just as the soul is in a state of confusion after death, so too the bereaved family go through a stage of uncertainty immediately after the death, as they grapple to absorb what has happened. For many who experience loss, it just doesn’t seem real. They feel that they are dreaming, that the person is about to walk in the door, as if nothing happened.

 

But reality hits at the funeral. That painful sound of dirt hitting the coffin evokes the raw pain of bereavement like nothing else can. It hurts, but it is needed. Just as the soul cannot start moving upwards before burial, so too the mourners cannot start their long journey from grief to consolation until the grave is filled in.

 

This pain cannot be avoided. Only after we have allowed ourselves to grieve can we allow ourselves to heal. Only when the finality of the body’s death is accepted, can the eternality of the soul be experienced. The body returns to dust, the soul returns to G-d.

 

All the best,

Rabbi Moss

Dave Asks: 

 

The problem with rabbis like you is your narrow view of the world. You always talk about the Jewish future, Jewish continuity, Jews marrying Jews, having Jewish children. What about the rest of humanity? Why do we have to always divide between people? Can’t we speak of humans rather than Jews?

 

 

Rabbi Moss answers: 

 

You have a good point. Maybe I should broaden my perspective and be concerned about more global issues and not so pre-occupied with Jewish particularism. So if you don’t mind, I would like to hear your point of view on one such issue.
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I have been approached by an organisation that is dedicated to saving endangered species. They are campaigning to save the hairy-nosed wombat of northern Queensland, which is on the verge of extinction, and if we don’t do something soon they will be gone.
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Do you think this is a good cause? I could write about it in my weekly article but am not sure if it is worthy of promotion. This is not a Jewish issue. Should it really bother us if there are no more hairy-nosed wombats?
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Dave replies:

 

Now you’re talking. I would love to see a rabbi promote conservation and eco-awareness. And it is a Jewish issue! If the hairy-nosed wombat is lost, we all lose. Every species is an integral part of the whole ecosystem.Â
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Rabbi Moss responds:

 

I have no doubt that the hairy-nosed wombat makes an important contribution to the world – otherwise G-d would not have created it. But I happen to think that the Jewish people are at least as worthy of preservation as the hairy-nosed wombat.

 

While the contribution wombats make to the world may not be obvious, the Jewish contribution is. From Moses to Maimonides to Marx, from Philo to Freud to Forbes, Jews as individuals and as a community have given much to the world, and I don’t think we have run out of ideas. I think we have more to give.

 

This is not to put down any other nation and their achievements. Just as the attempt to save the hairy-nosed wombat is not insulting to any other animal, so too the desire to continue the Jewish legacy of four thousand years in no way belittles the gifts of other people.

 

My work is to try to keep Jewish souls Jewish, because I believe Judaism is an idea that is yet to have its time, and you can’t have Judaism without Jews. So I will continue to try to preserve Jews, whether or not they are hairy-nosed.

 

All the best,

Rabbi Moss

Question of the Week:

 Why do we eat Hamantaschen on Purim? I have heard that they are the same shape as Haman’s hat. But Haman was the man who wanted to wipe us out. Why would we immortalise him by eating cookies that bear his name?

 Answer:

 This may be a cake of mistaken identity. These Purim cakes were originally called mohntaschen, which means ‘poppy seed pockets’. Today most hamantaschen are filled with jam, but poppy seed used to be the more popular filling. It was a short linguistic jump from mohntaschen to Hamantaschen, as people assumed there was a connection between the food eaten on Purim and the villain of the Purim story.

 The real reason for eating Hamantaschen is that they symbolise the very nature of the Purim miracle. If you read the story of Purim you notice that it was a string of seeming coincidences that saved the Jewish people from annihilation. There were no open miracles, no seas split, no plagues, just some twists and turns of history that, when viewed as separate events, seemed quite natural. Only at the end of the story was it revealed that a miracle had occured.

 Jews can always find a food to tell a story. In this case, it is the Hamantasch. The outside of the Hamantasch is just plain dough. The true flavour is concealed inside. Beneath the very ordinary veneer, the heart of the Hamantasch is bursting with sweetness.

 Our lives are much the same. At times it seems that we are being pushed and pulled by accidental forces. Things happen to us that seem haphazard and random, there seems to by no system in place, no direction to this cold and harsh universe. This is not true. There is a system. But it is hidden. Below the surface there is a sweet hand and a warm heart that directs the universe.

Rarely do we get to see this hand. Purim is one day when it was revealed, when a crack opened in the outer shell of nature and we glimpsed what lies beyond. Purim reminds us that all those coincidences are no coincidences, and nothing is random. We are still in the middle of our story, so it is hard to see the full picture. But in the end we will see that it’s all one big Hamantasch.

All the best,

Rabbi Moss

Question of the Week:
  

My girlfriend is Jewish. I am not. I just want to know what crime I have committed by being a non-Jew. All her friends and family are trying to convince her out of this relationship. I think I am a nice guy. What do they have against me?

Answer: 

Let me tell you a story that happened just last week.

My children were waiting to catch the school bus in the morning. But the bus never arrived. Apparently the bus driver missed a turn and didn’t go past my kids’ stop to pick them up. They are usually the last ones to get on the bus, but today he was going straight to school without them.

All the other school kids on the bus realised what was happening and started screaming at the bus driver. “You missed the turn! The Moss kids! You have to turn around! Go back and pick up the Moss kids!”

The driver, feeling somewhat helpless, called back to the busload of screaming Jewish kids, “I can’t turn back in this traffic. It will be an hour before we get to school. There’s nothing I can do.”

The school children were not satisfied. “But the Moss kids!” they shrieked. “You left them behind!”

One quick thinking girl pulled out her phone and frantically called her mother. “Mum, the bus made a wrong turn and missed the Moss kids. Call their parents to tell them!” And so she did, which is how I heard the story.

My wife and I later reflected on what a special little episode this was. That’s what it means to belong to a community. People know who you are, people care if you miss the bus. Within minutes of the wrong turn, we heard about it and were able to look after the situation. We felt very much cared for.

That bus represents the Jewish people. We are an extended family on a big bus of history that has been travelling along for four thousand years. And if a Jewish child might miss the bus, the whole nation starts screaming. We can’t allow even one Jewish soul to be lost to the Jewish family.

My friend, you have done nothing wrong, and no one has anything personal against you. But there are a lot of people out there who sincerely care for the future of the Jewish people. And for that future every soul counts. Your girlfriend is a part of a community that spreads over the globe, she is the next link in a chain that spans generations. We can’t just stand by and let her miss the bus.

Ever since that incident, the bus driver has been extra careful to make the right turn and never leave behind a Jewish child. He had better. He is driving bus number 613.

All the best,
Rabbi Moss

Note: 613 is the exact number of commandments in the Torah, the portable Jewish homeland, our national bus

Question: 

 

In my Torah studies I’ve learnt that not only should you do the right thing, but you should also be seen to be doing the right thing. The example that I was given was that an observant Jew shouldn’t enter a non-kosher restaurant to use the facilities, lest someone think that he/she might be eating there.

At first glance this seems absurd. Why should anyone be so suspicious? What is it their business anyway? Should we be more concerned with the “appearance” of doing right (or wrong) or the actual practice??

Answer:

 Certainly you are correct, we should be more concerned about what we do than how we look. But this does not mean that we can completely ignore the way things appear to others.

 

We cannot be invisible. Nobody lives in a vacuum, unless you are a vacuum cleaner bag. Our actions impact others whether we like it or not. Every individual contributes to the social fabric. And so we are not only responsible for our actions, but also for the impression they make, because we are responsible for the morality of others, not just our own. Any behaviour that may counteract the furtherance of goodness is a moral problem.

 

It isn’t about my reputation as much as about my influence. When I do something that looks wrong, even if I have a perfectly good explanation as to my innocence, the damage is done.

 

If I enter a non-kosher restaurant to use the facilities, while I have not broken any law of keeping kosher, I have crossed the divide between kosher and not kosher, and invite others to do the same. If I take shelter from torrential rain under the awning of a house of ill-repute, I give credibility to that place that it does not deserve.

 

But there’s a deeper reason not to do something that just looks wrong, even if it isn’t wrong, and even if no one is looking. Not only can such activity affect others, it can affect us too.

 

Stage actors know that when you play a character, you can sometimes become it. The self we project to others can sometimes be absorbed in our own identity. And so by looking like you are doing something wrong, you may come to actually do it. By feeling comfortable in a place that you don’t really belong, you may end up thinking you do belong there. You can’t remain immune from your surroundings.

 

This law teaches some powerful lessons. You affect your surroundings and your surroundings affect you. We build a community together, and so we are all responsible for it. Your morality is my business.

 

All the best,

Rabbi Moss

Question:

 Please G-d we are expecting a baby soon. We know that if it is a boy then we can’t tell anyone his name until the Bris. But why? And if it is a girl, she is meant to be named in synagogue before the name is announced, is that right? What is the significance of all of this? 

 Answer:

 Naming is a big thing. A child’s Hebrew name is the description of their soul, their mission and their spiritual energy. Only when the name is given does the soul settle in the body. And so we give the name at the earliest opportunity, but also at the most spiritually suitable time.

 For a boy, we wait for the Bris. We want him to receive his name after entering into the covenant with G-d. But for a girl, there is no need to wait. At the very next Torah reading after her birth, her father (or if necessary someone else) is called to the Torah, and the rabbi then says a prayer to bless the mother and name the baby. Some have the custom to wait until the first Shabbos after the birth, but it can be done before that on a Monday or Thursday morning when the Torah is read.

 The reason we don’t reveal the name before the actual naming is because we want her name to ‘land’ on her in an aura of sanctity and holiness. This is why we do it at the Torah, in synagogue. Such an occasion has similar holiness to a Bris. The soul of Elijah the Prophet is present at every girl’s naming too, to bless the child and approve her name. We despatch this freshly born soul on her life mission surrounded by holiness and blessing.

Apart from the naming ceremony which is done soon after the birth, the parents should hold a Kiddush, a celebratory meal, in synagogue on a Shabbos day, some weeks after the birth of a girl, as a thanksgiving to G-d for her safe arrival.

 If a girl was born but not named at the Torah, it is never too late. Even an adult can have a naming ceremony done for them, and hold a Kiddush to celebrate. This can only bring blessing, and who doesn’t need more blessing?

 Wishing your baby’s soul a safe landing,

Rabbi Moss

Question: 

 

Dear Rabbi Moss,

Although I was raised in a traditional home, was brissed and barmitzvad (sorry about these spellings) I have never had any faith or “religious” belief. I am now aged 34, and would describe myself as an atheist. I have no wish to be buried in a Jewish cemetery (and my Will has also made this clear) and have married a non-Jew in a civil ceremony.

My question is, can I consider myself officially non-Jewish, by my effective opting-out, or do I need some sort of form or dispensation to be officially no longer Jewish?

Many thanks for your help with what is perhaps an unusual question.

Best wishes,

Edward. 

Answer:

 

Dear Edward,

 

I would like to help you, but I feel there’s nothing I can do.

 

According to your question, you have done everything possible to negate your Jewishness: in practice you do not keep Jewish tradition; in belief you are an atheist; in family life you have married a non-Jew and thus won’t have Jewish children; and even in death you are determined not to be buried in a Jewish cemetery.

 

One would think that all this would be enough to confirm your un-Jewishness.

 

But no.

 

For some reason, you are still unsatisfied: you still feel Jewish. So much so, you feel you need official dispensation.

And so, being an atheist, to whom do you turn to solve this problem? A doctor? A psychiatrist? The civil celebrant that married you? No…….You turn to a rabbi!!!

 

I’m reminded of the child who ran away from home, but ended up just going round and round the block because his parents told him never to cross the road by himself.

 

I’m sorry, Edward. There is nothing more you can do. You are as Jewish as Moses, Woody Allen and the Chief Rabbi of Wales. And you always will be. There is nothing you can do to change it.

 

In fact, it seems that being Jewish is the most dominant facet of your personality. It is even influencing the place you want to be buried. (Why would an atheist care about where they are buried?)

 

Edward, Jewishness is not a belief, a feeling, a conviction or a lifestyle. It is a state of being. You have a beautiful Jewish soul. You can either celebrate it or fight against it. But it will always be there. So why not celebrate it?

 

All the best,

Rabbi Moss

Question of the Week:  

 

How do you reconcile the age of the universe according to science with the Torah account? According to the Torah we are in the year 5769 from creation. Yet science claims the world is around 16 billion years old. A bit of a discrepancy, wouldn’t you say?
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Answer:

 

I don’t see any discrepancy here. Why can’t we say that the 16 billion year old world was created 5769 years ago? Sounds weird? Let’s travel back in time to see if it can make sense.

Let’s imagine that you visited Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden on the very day they were created. The world is six days old, and the first human beings are not even one day old yet. And yet, they are fully grown and intelligent beings. Obviously Adam and Eve did not start life as babies, for who would look after them? And so while their passport would indicate that they were born today, their bodies would indicate that they were fully matured adults.

And just say that before Adam and Eve had a chance to eat from the Tree of Knowledge, you decided to chop down the tree to count the rings and see how old it was. You would find that the tree gives the impression of being years old, even though it was just created a couple of days ago. And the same would happen if you would carbon date the rocks in the Garden of Eden. Though freshly minted by the hand of G-d only days ago, they would seem millions or billions of years old.

This is because the world was created complete. Out of nothing, G-d made a world ready to inhabit, and then created mature human beings to live in it. G-d created trees, not seeds; adults, not babies; mountains, not molehills.

The old question of which came first, the chicken or the egg, is answered by the Torah. G-d made chickens, not eggs.

When science dates the world, it doesn’t take into account the starting point – the world was old already at the beginning. So indeed the world that is 16 billion years old was created 5771 years ago. There’s no contradiction.

 

All the best,

Rabbi Moss

Question of the Week: 

I’m sorry I missed your son’s upsherin. Mazel tov! I especially wanted to come as I know nothing about this custom. What is the idea behind leaving a child’s hair uncut until the third birthday? 

Answer:

The education of a child starts at birth, or even before. The newborn soul absorbs everything he is surrounded with, and so during the early years of life we try to provide a child with an environment that is holy and wholesome, an atmosphere of love and purity. We don’t want to expose this precious soul to negative images, impure energy or ugliness. For while he may be too young to be consciously aware, he is taking everything in. The books we read to him, the pictures we show him, the conversations we have in front of him, all leave an imprint on his consciousness.

Age three is a turning point in the development of a child’s mind. He becomes more aware of himself and attentive to what is going on around him. He starts to absorb lessons not just by osmosis but by conscious learning and instruction. His education must now be more formalised and deliberate, as he starts to learn concepts and shapes, letters and numbers, right and wrong.

In the Kabbalah, the hair represents the unconscious, that which surrounds the mind. For the first three years of life it is this part of consciousness that develops and grows. We can’t expect the child to learn formally, so rather than try to shape his mind internally through formal education, we teach him through immersing him in goodness and surrounding him in purity. Then at age three we give him a haircut, taking this wild energy and channelling it into a neat order. The time has come to take that which surrounded his mind and bring it down into his conscious mind.

Becoming a parent means being entrusted with a little piece of the divine. Being a good parent means surrounding your precious gift with the love and holiness that will make his soul shine, and trimming his wildness so his energy is channeled for the good.

All the best,

Rabbi Moss