The Rabbi's Cat

The transcription is about a book called "The Rabbi's Cat" by Johan Sfar. It is a graphic novel set in Algeria in the 1930s. The story is narrated by a cat who belongs to a rabbi. The cat talks about the dynamics in the rabbi's house, including his relationship with the rabbi, the rabbi's daughter, and a parrot. The cat expresses a desire to be recognized as Jewish and have a bar mitzvah. This leads to a disagreement with the rabbi's rabbi, who believes that a cat cannot have a bar mitzvah. Eventually, the cat is expelled from the rabbi's house and reflects on his newfound ability to speak. He also longs to see his mistress again. The story touches on themes of identity, religion, and the complexities of relationships. Hi everyone, this is a book called The Rabbi's Cat by Johan Sfar. I'm going to read it and every once in a while say what's in the pictures since it is a graphic novel. So let's begin. Jewish people aren't crazy about dogs, says the cat. He and his master are walking through the streets of Algeria in around the 1930s. The rabbi is walking and the cat is riding on his shoulder. The cat says, a dog will bite you, chase you, bark, and Jews have been bitten, chased, and barked at for so long that in the end they prefer cats. Well, maybe not all Jews, but that's what my master says. I am the rabbi's cat. I don't disturb him when he reads, and we see the cat sitting on the book that the rabbi is reading. The rabbi doesn't bother me either when I do things, and we see the cat wrecking the papers on the rabbi's desk. He says he has to respect my free will. He also says that my freedom ends where the freedom of others begins, but when he says that, I don't listen. I am absolutely free. The only thing that could curb my complete freedom would be if somebody slapped me around, but the rabbi says that the human hand is too subtle a tool to hit people or cats with. In the rabbi's house, there is a parrot, and we see it sitting on its perch. I don't like him because he's noisy. I never speak. To make the parrot be quiet, they put a shawl over his head. Then he thinks it's nighttime, and he sleeps. At night, I don't sleep, and we see a completely dark frame with two cat eyes, green. There is also my mistress, Vlabia, so now we see a different part of the house, more colorful, and a young woman sitting at the piano. She is the rabbi's daughter. Her name sounds like a honey-drenched pastry, and the piano goes clang clang. She takes good care of me because she doesn't go out much. The cat purrs. I go out every night. I have adventures. My mistress doesn't know anything about this. My mistress, Vlabia, says that if cats could talk, they would tell incredible stories. She also said that if the parrot could shut up from time to time, it would give us a break. The riches of the world should be better shared, she says. This bird, who has nothing to say, talks endlessly, while the cat, who roams the rooftops every night, never pipes up. The rabbi tells her it's better this way. I can't talk, but I know how to listen. When my mistress pets me, I listen to her for hours. I give her deep looks, tell her that I understand her. Sometimes I close my eyes to show that with her I feel safe. The parrot gets tiresome. The parrot, and we see it's empty perch. I ate him, and now I know how to talk. Yalma busiba! The parrot, cries the rabbi. Where's the parrot? The cat says. He left. An urgent errand. He said not to wait for him for dinner. Vlabia, my daughter, a miracle has happened. The cat can speak. Oh, father, that's wonderful. Yes, but there's a great misfortune, too. What is it? He only tells lies. That's not true. Is it my fault if the parrot decided to split? What can I tell you? The truth. The word exists to speak the world, not to falsify it. Maybe, but I didn't eat any parrot. And these feathers in your mouth? Ah, Cain, you lie, you lie. And even if he does tell lies, father, is it really so bad? It is terrible, my daughter. The rabbi no longer wants me to be alone with my mistress. He's afraid that I will put bad ideas into her head. So he keeps me with him. He wants me to study the Torah and the Talmud, the Mishnah, the Gemara. He wants to put me back on the straight and narrow. He tells me that I have to be a good Jew and that a good Jew does not lie. I answer that I am only a cat. I add that I don't even know if I'm Jewish or not. The rabbi tells me that of course I'm Jewish since my masters are Jews. I tell him that I'm not circumcised. He tells me they don't circumcise cats. I tell him I haven't had a bar mitzvah. He tells me that the bar mitzvah occurs at 13 years of age. So I tell him that I am 7 years old and for cats the years are multiplied by 7. Therefore it's as if I were 7 times 7 years old, which is definitely more than 13. I tell him that if I am a Jewish cat, I want to be bar mitzvahed. We go to the rabbi's rabbi to ask him if a cat that talks can be bar mitzvahed. The rabbi's rabbi says no, that bar mitzvahs are not for cats, tut-tut-tut. I ask him what the difference is between a human and a cat. He replies that God made man in his own image. I asked him to show me a picture of God. He tells me that God is a word. I say to the rabbi's rabbi that if man resembles God because he knows how to talk, then I resemble man. He says no, because my speech is evil, because I acquired it in an act of killing. I tell him that isn't true, that I didn't eat the parrot. He says that even worse, I am a liar. I say that with speech you can say what you want, even things that aren't true, that it's an amazing power, that he should try it. The rabbi's rabbi tells the rabbi that he doesn't want to see me anymore and that I should be drowned. The rabbi tells his rabbi that he won't drown me because he loves me and I don't like water. And I tell the rabbi's rabbi that I am God who has taken the appearance of a cat in order to test him. I tell him I am not at all satisfied with his behavior. I tell him that he was as dogmatic and obtuse with me as some Christians are with Jews. He gets on his knees and begs my forgiveness. I tell him that it was a joke, that I'm only a cat and that he can get up. The rabbi's rabbi says that I blaspheme and that I lie and that I usurp the name of God and that I should be drowned. The rabbi asks him if a rabbi shouldn't systematically accept contradiction from his students, if that isn't the very basis of Talmudic teaching. Contradiction, yes. Malice and malevolence, no, replies the rabbi's rabbi. Students should bite their master the way puppies do, says the cat. In Jewish tradition, the dog is a good animal, says the rabbi's rabbi, because it is honest, persistent, and prepared to suffer for the common good. As for cats, you can't trust a cat. And the cat says blah blah blah nonsense. A dog is a funny, simple-minded, moralistic, macho shithead. I asked the rabbi's rabbi where in the Bible he found this praise of dogs. He doesn't know, and the cat says, whereas I am nocturnal, unpredictable, and deeply ethical. He answers by talking about the oral Torah that wasn't fully written down. He speaks of the spirit of the law rather than the letter. And then he tells me that the Greeks believed the dog to be the epitome of the philosophical animal, the dog, not the cat. I reply that the Greeks destroyed the Temple of Jerusalem, and if a rabbi ends up calling on them for help, it means he has run out of arguments. He tells me that the Torah speaks more of humans than of dogs or cats, and that the question I've raised is pointless. I tell him that's enough. I want to have a bar mitzvah. I tell him I want to convert to Judaism. He asks me why. I tell him that if I am a good Jew, the rabbi will let me spend time with his daughter. I explained to him that the rabbi's daughter is my mistress, that I can't live without her because she is my joy, and love is a beautiful thing. He tells me that my motives for converting to Judaism are unsatisfactory, that my love of God isn't sincere. I never said anything about love of God. He explains to me that to become Jewish, you have to fear God and put yourself under his protection and cherish him. He says that Jew must see in all things the presence of God. He says that thinking of God fills even the youngest, even the grayest day with sunlight. He says that the love of God must be almost carnal. He tells me that it is an intellectual love, but you should always feel as though you are cradled in the arms of a master who is invincible, benevolent, and just. I tell him this is exactly what I feel for my mistress. He tells me that since I am an animal who walks close to the ground on all fours, I can't raise myself to the love of God. He says that I can only limit myself to secular and imperfect love. I answer that he blasphemes, that my mistress is true. He says that only God is true. I say that God is a reassuring myth. I say he doesn't have anyone to take care of him because he is old and his parents are dead. I say that I have my mistress and I will never be alone because I will die before she does. He throws my master and me out. Get out! So we end up on the street, my master and I, and I can tell that my master's a bit angry with me. Are you mad at me? He's your master and you love him and I just proved to you that he's not all-knowing. You're even realizing that for all the deference you feel for him, this master is less intelligent than you are. So you have no master, but you don't want to admit that, do you? Because you don't want to end up old and alone and without anyone to turn to when you don't understand anything. So you're going to do all you can to make the old man look good and the more foolish he talks, the more you'll call him my master, my master, my master, as if to convince yourself. The rabbi says, why are you so harsh? I'm just trying to tell you the truth to see how it feels. My master thinks I'm a bad animal, that I lie when I shouldn't and tell the truth only when it's hurtful. I tell him that I've been hurting too ever since I started talking. I tell him that I gained a power that I'd gladly do without, because when I was mute, I could spend days getting petted. I tell him that I'd do anything to see my mistress again. I add, meow, meow, meow. I don't talk anymore. I meow. I pretend I'm still a normal cat. Meow. The rabbi says, will you shut up? But he tells me to stop. He says it's obvious I'm faking. He says once you've left the Garden of Eden, you can't go back. I tell my master that if his rabbi does not want to bar mitzvah me, you'll have to find another rabbi. He tells me no sane rabbi will agree to instruct a cat in the precepts of the law. I tell him we could just find a rabbi who's crazy. He says he doesn't know any. I tell him that if he loves me, he should do the, he should be the one instructing me in the precepts of Mosaic law. You should teach me the Torah and then you can decide whether or not I'm qualified to have a bar mitzvah. It's a very heavy responsibility. No, I can't. But the rabbi's daughter cries because she no longer has her cat. So the rabbi, who doesn't like to see his daughter cry, takes me on his lap to give me my first lesson in Judaism. I want to study Kabbalah, I say to him. No, he answers, you're ignorant. You don't understand a thing. You have to start at the beginning. I want to study the Kabbalah. No, you have to be at least 50 years old to study it and you're only 7. 7 times 7 is 49, I tell him. 49 isn't 50, he says. And he says, get down off the shelf and don't be a mule. It's not true that you have to be old for the Kabbalah. That's just a trick of Talmud scholars to avoid competition for mystical doctrine, I say. How do you know that? I read it. How long have you known how to read? I always have. I learned at the same time as your daughter. But you didn't know because before I was mute. Teach me Kabbalah. Why the Kabbalah? Because I like starting at the end. No, with me you learn things in order. You'll do as I say. Okay. So we start at the beginning and my master teaches me that the world was created by God in seven days, 5,700 and some odd years ago. I ask him whether he's pulling my leg. He says he's not, that it's the truth. I tell him that's ridiculous and that with carbon-14 you can prove scientifically that the world has existed for billions of years. And the cat taps at his head as if to say hello. He tells me that carbon-14 can be wrong, that maybe the flood in Noah's time washed out the surface of the planet and made it seem like it was older. I answer him that even a kitten would not buy this nonsense. He says that's what his master taught him. I tell him what I think of his master. He tells me that maybe years only make sense if humans are there to count them. Maybe 5,700 years is actually the date of the first calendar. I like that explanation better. He tells me that Adam and Eve were the first humans. I ask him if Adam and Eve are a symbol. He tells me that no, that's the actual truth, that they are the father and mother of us all. I tell him that's a nice thought, that all humankind is one big family, but all the same it's just a symbol. He tells me that among Jews there are no symbols and no allegories. He tells me Jewish teaching works by analogy. He tells me I'm refusing to enter into it because my sight is clouded by Western thought. Western thought is a prehensile, predatory, and in the final analysis a destructive machine, my master explains. It puts names to things, labels, as if to say these things are part of my system. I have understood them, but by the time you've finished naming a thing it has already changed and the name you gave it is no longer defines it, so you end up with empty words in your mouth. Westerners want to resolve the world, turn multiplicity into oneness. That's a delusion, says the rabbi, but master doesn't Judaism also try to turn multiplicity into oneness? Yes, but not in the same way. Western thought works by thesis, antithesis, synthesis, while Judaism goes thesis, antithesis, antithesis, antithesis. I feel a bit guilty and I have to tell the rabbi. The other day when I let the rabbi's rabbi make a fool of himself because he couldn't come up with a biblical quote favorable to dogs, I was sneaky because I know a passage in the Bible that praises dogs. Exodus 11 7 says, not a dog shall snarl. This not a dog shall snarl makes the dog a supporter of the Hebrews liberation from Egypt. The rabbi is impressed that I know so many things. He says that I am indeed guilty of having hidden my knowledge when it didn't suit my purposes, but he also has a strange expression on his face. He tells me that he too has something to confess. He admits that while his master was looking for a passage in favor of dogs, he thought of Exodus 22 31. You shall be holy people to me. You must not eat flesh torn by beasts in the field. You shall cast it to the dogs. The passage likens the dog to a savage element that humanity must move away from, says the rabbi. It's a passage against dogs. I could have quoted this passage to prove my master wrong and help you out, cat, but I too deliberately concealed my knowledge. I did not want to contradict my master. I am as guilty as you are. Now we see the cat taking a nap. Before, when I couldn't speak, I had only simple dreams. In my dreams, I chased small animals. Sometimes I managed to cat them, catch them, and eat them. Bigger animals chased me. I'd run very fast to escape from them. At last, I'd find shelter in the arms of my mistress. She would pet me for hours to comfort me, giving me those sweet gentle caresses that only women can give. Then I'd fall asleep. A young cat's dream. Since I've been able to speak, everything's changed. I have nightmares. I dream that my mistress is ill and no one can cure her. I dream that one day I don't see her anymore, and I'm told that she's gone on a trip, and I spend dream years telling everyone that she's away on a trip, but is thinking about me, that she's coming back. I wonder what kind of gift she'll bring back for me, and one day it pains the rabbi too much to hear me repeating that my mistress is traveling. He takes me onto his lap and tells me the truth. She is dead. Now that I can talk, I often dream that my mistress is dead, that the rabbi is alone with me, and in this whole dream sequence, the rabbi and the cat are below the sea. They're at the bottom of the sea. Then the rabbi rejects religion. He no longer wants anything to do with a God who took his only child from him. He no longer believes in him, while I, who never believed in God, have to pretend I do to keep his spirits up. We have to believe in an adult God, I tell him, a veiled God who calls out to us by emptiness, by his absence. We have to detect in reality the inner presence of God. You have learned a lot, says the rabbi, but don't give me that garbage. I know that only too well, and in my dream the rabbi no longer wants to study the Torah or even to teach it. He renounces his master and dismisses his students, and we see the rabbi lounging with one elbow on a fish, and he's smoking a hookah. So I tell him that I want to have my bar mitzvah to motivate him so that he'll feel responsible for someone. What will be the point, he asks, now that your mistress, my only daughter, is gone? Exactly, it will make me think of her. It will be an homage or an homage. My master replies that I know as much as he does and that he doesn't know anything anyway. Enough with all of this, he says, and he adds that he can't understand why I want to be human when he would so much like to be a cat. So in this dream my master and I turn into cats, and we see a regular cat that we've seen all this time, which is a skinny, ugly cat with a long nose, and then the rabbi has turned into a nice, plump, fluffy, pretty cat. We roam the streets late at night. We rummage through the garbage of non-kosher butchers. Dogs chase us, but they don't catch us. There are female cats that meow. I grab one by the neck and teach her a thing or two. My master doesn't want to. Not like that. Perhaps some remnant of his humanity or Judaism, or just that he is old, and we see the pretty cat patting a skinny female black cat with his paw and saying, no miss, no. And as we go to see my mistress, but she's not in her piano, she's not in her kitchen, she's not reading any books, she is in her tomb, and we're not allowed to go inside. My master wakes up in a sweat. He says he has had a nightmare. I say, me too, and ask him to tell me his nightmare. I say that maybe we had the same dream, but he doesn't want to talk about it. He says his morning prayers. He says he preferred it when I didn't speak. I say, me too, but it can't be helped. My master goes to check whether Zlabia is all right. She's fine, but we startled her out of sleep. My master says, I'm giving you back the cat. You're allowed to have him. She asks, did he pass his bar mitzvah exam? The rabbi says, this bar mitzvah business is nonsense. You're allowed to keep the cat, but it mustn't speak to you anymore. I do as my master ordered. I behave like before, like a real cat. My mistress knows that I understand her, that I can talk, but she knows that I'll never speak to her again. That's the deal if I want to stay with her. It's worth shutting your mouth to be happy. Okay, now we change scenes again, and we're watching the young men who are the rabbi's disciples, the yeshiva bachers. The cat says, this guy kicks me when the rabbi has his back turned. I don't really like young men, especially when they're passionate about religion. They wield it as an instrument of power. The yeshiva bachers are arguing, and the rabbi comes and says, let's eat, and now they're all at the table, one of them standing up going. Scholarship, or no, the rabbi, the cat says, scholarship allows them to speak at the table, to get women's attention, to crush their rivals, to interrupt their father. Such animals. My master forbids me to show his disciples that I know how to talk. Here's the disciples talking. If the Jews have been massacred and persecuted, it's because that was God's will, the cat says. Jerk. He also forbids me from telling him what I hear them say when he has his back turned. If someone kills you, it's because you've been a bad Jew. If you move away from religion, you get punished, the cat says. Jerk. And he even forbids me to badmouth them, the yeshiva bacher says. If you feel hakadosh baruch hu, if you fear God, if you keep the Sabbath and say your prayers, nothing bad can happen to you. It's obvious. Jerk. If you practice lashon hara, speaking disparagingly of others, that is as serious as murder, says the rabbi. And the cat says, but all the same, master, I have to tell you, your disciple Pinchas is the worst. The rabbi says, nope, don't say another word. The commandment thou shalt not kill counts malicious gossip as a blood crime, the cat says. So? After all, he ate the parrot. And now the scene changes to this market street and there's women in fashionable dresses and hats walking around. There's this one who is always ogling women on the sly, all sweatily. He passes them on the street, keeping his neck stiff, and then once they've passed, he rolls his eyes and watches from under his arm. When he gets to my master's house, he tells us that these women are lost, that they should be forced to read the Guide for the Perplexed by Maimonides. And my master smiles. This guy adds that you could forgive non-Jewish women for showing their wrists and shoulders because they haven't received the Torah. The rabbi says, speak, but sit down. They're all at the table. Therefore, they don't know what makes the purity of a home. You can't blame those who are ignorant of the law, but with Jewish women who fall prey to these fashions, worthy of the Amalekites, we should be pitiless, he says. And one kid says, why? And Zlabi goes, yeah, why? Other women have decided to show everything, but a Jewish woman guarantees the purity of her home. Her table is a temple and she is its architect. She must save herself for her husband, the rabbi says. That's the more stew. We need, we don't need to leave any. It's with that kind of talk that he hopes to marry the rabbi. If, if it's with that kind of talk that he hopes to marry the rabbi's daughter, he's got another think coming. One day I asked my master whether he thought his disciples masturbated. He said, certainly not. Wasting the seed of life is an abomination. I told him I couldn't agree more. When I feel like doing it, I just do it. But since the disciples are meant to be virgins until marriage, and their testicles fill up every day, I don't know how they manage. The rabbi says, they don't need to manage anything. They're not like you. They're not animals, but good Jews. That cracks me up. My master is miffed and he explains that humans can transform their sexual urges into energy that they use to learn and to enlighten their souls. I'm sure that's true on some days, but I'll bet on other days they still jack off. But I don't dare say that to my master. Sometimes I follow my master's young disciples down the streets. Nobody notices me. I'm just a cat among thousands. I figure that when nobody's looking, they must go to prostitutes or something like that. Most of the time I'm disappointed that's not where they go. They go to the place of study, the yeshiva, where they go to the synagogue or the market, where they sit in the shade of a tree, drink tea, and talk about edifying subjects. I'm disappointed that there isn't even one who goes to see prostitutes in secret. That upsets my theories. I'm disappointed. Maybe my master is right. Maybe humans really are different from animals. Maybe they are able to sublimate their libidos, like he says. Ah, here's the one I don't like, the braggart who doesn't know a thing, but thinks he does, and talks loudly, and interrupts people, and wants to marry my mistress, the young guy. Where is he going? I'd like it if he went to the whorehouse. He's going, he's going. No, he turned right. The whorehouse is to the left. To the right is the Arab quarter. What's he doing there? Does he want his head to land up on the end of a stick? Where is he going? If he had an Arab friend or an Arab girlfriend, I'd find him a lot more endearing, but I don't believe it for a second. And now we see a picture of two women lounging in a doorway. I've got it. He's going to the whorehouse for Arabs. He figures that here at last, no one, here at least, no one will see him go in. Hehe, but I saw you, the guy who kicks me, and I'm not allowed to say anything. What torture. I could go out and check which girl he chose. I could spy on him, see how he does it, listen to hear whether he talks dirty during the act, that vindictive little saint, but I don't do it. He's in the doorway and the women are petting him, and it's not out of propriety. It's painful to admit, but I think I feel some compassion for the boy. Ever since I learned to speak, I've really turned into quite a funny creature. Here I am feeling sympathy for a human who kicks me. As long as I thought him unwielding and virtuous, I hated him. Now that I know him to be two-faced and hypocritical, now that I've seen him struggle between his hormones and his beliefs, I love him. Come to me, my little perplexed soul, says the cat, chasing after the young guy who's leaving the whorehouse, but the young guy kicks him. Bonk. And that's the end of the chapter.