a lost soul

a The Rabbi’s Cat by Joann Sfar.

           What an interesting tale indeed. A sarcastic raunchy cat and did i mention ugly? I want to speak a little about the cover of the book. When i first   glanced at the image of the book... it seemed like such an innocent little book perhaps something children in grade school might read. However, it wasn't till i got to the raunchy part where i went "whoa, did not see that coming”. How misleading of the cover? This kitty annoyed me in the beginning and i honestly thought this was going to be such a drag to read. But i couldn’t find myself putting this book down, it was so interesting. The pictures, the lessons learned by the rabbi from the cat.

      First and foremost i just want to give a shout out to the kitty for giving up his voice in honor of the rabbi being able to pass the French test. In other words the little kitty made a trade off with God (of whom the kitty did not believe in at first) saying that you can take away my most precious gift (the ability to talk as a cat) just so his rabbi could pass the test. And then on the other hand we have the rabbi taking a test in French just so he can continue being the rabbi in his own little town in Algeria. Why does the Jewish Hebrew speaking rabbi need to take a test in French to prove that he’s capable to be a rabbi!? I mean as far as i learned Hebrew is the language/context for Judaism. Pathetic of how things were not considered well enough unless it was the French way or French approved.

     And the best lesson out of this, questioning of ones faith. Without questioning anything a person is never going to be able to grow and become stronger from the experience.  The ability to questions ones faith allows them to have a greater understanding of their own religion, it allows them to learn and think deeper and understand something fully. I can easily connect myself with this because with in the past year i went through a huge religious phase. I started to question my own faith. I started out with the journey of really wondering the importance of covering my hair. I started doing my own research to find my answer and i kept at it till i found a complete answer to satisfy myself. By finally understanding the answer to my question i was able to progress and grow within my own religion. I then decided i had the answer to why i should cover my hair and it was from then i started to do so. Perhaps if it was not from that question i never would have been able to have the opportunity to progress.

        I love how the kitty was able to question the Rabi and the Rabbis Rabbi about religion. Although i was super disappointed in the behavior of the rabbi, for example when the rabbi decided to eat everything against his religion and in the end simply saying that “see I’m still alive" kind of attitude irritated me. Or when he first said to God to forgive him for what he was about to do and that he would start back tomorrow by being a good Rabbi. To my understanding of religion.. You cant just quit when you want to indulge in something that your religion prohibits you from. What’s the point of religion then?! In my opinion religion teaches one self control. It was sad to see the rabbi’s attitude change, it was sad to see the rabbi forget who he was and what he once believed in. I agree completely that one should always question their religion and do research about it in order for them to become stronger in their faith. But we can’t just quit and pick back up as soon as we want to do something that’s forbidden. Maybe this experience helped the rabbi loosen up a bit. But if that’s the attitude and point  then religion slowly by slowly will start to change and lose its original meaning.

    Good book indeed

I am Nyasha and Tambu is my cousin.

 

             This past summer my family and I made a trip back to Karachi, Pakistan for my sisters wedding. After 10 long years we finally decided it was time to go back, visit family and have a nice big wedding there.  I don't even know how to explain... the  exact same feeling Tambu had of Nyasha... was the feeling that me and all my siblings had wondered if that's how our cousins viewed us. You see.. my dads dad passed away when my dad was 12 years old, after that my father became head of the house hold. He went on to take care of his siblings as if they were his children. Eventually when he had kids he decided it was best to move to America for a better education ( just like big daddy decides to move to Britain, just like big daddy decides its best for the children) My family came here in 1993... we left everyone behind. uncles aunts and cousins. Since then we have made 2 trips back. each ten years apart.  This time being allot older I was allot more aware of how my  cousins treated us or how we felt. I remember when my dad would tell my siblings and i to talk to our cousins we would often look at my dad and tell him .. "we didn't know how to communicate well and make them understand us" ( as our Urdu was a bit rusty even though we speak it with our parents) . ( just like in the story where Nyasha and her brother are rusty with shona and the culture) I quickly placed my self in Nyashas shoes... I felt the same way she did when they arrived back after Britain. Her relatives viewed her as if she was this big thing.. as if she thought she was better... as if she knew everything...    I know I'm jumping all over the place.. but you see its hard... its really hard to tell you how well this story fits right into how I felt being surrounded by  cousins uncles and aunts in Pakistan. I'ts hard to hold back my excitement of how much this story fits in my life. I remember how all my relatives would ask me what it was like in America... asking me silly questions that most little kids in America would ask . Looking at me in a way as if they thought I was some great big thing... I felt as if they thought I was too good to speak Urdu with them... that wasn't the problem.. the problem was... it was hard for me to communicate. it was hard for me to know what to talk to them about... after being away for ten years... it was hard to just hang out with my cousins and be cousins again. They treated us differently.. my relatives. They treated us like king and queen... I hated it.. deep down inside I could see how angry this would make some of my other cousins jealous or bitter. Just because we were more educated or came from America our uncles and aunts treated us differently then they did with the other kids. I hated it... just the way Tambu hated Nyasha in the start.. ( I just want to add that this story really makes me miss Pakistan and my summer there and therefore its a really hard blog for me to write this week)      

          My cousins in Pakistan all viewed us as the  rich kids from America and they viewed my dad as the  respected  well educated of the house. When big daddy arrives from Britain all the relatives tell him that if it wasn't for him they wouldn't be where they are today.  I would often see my cousins going up to my dad and telling him that if it wasn't for him they wouldnt be where they are today . I also remember when we went back this summer my dad would have everyone in the house sit down for family meetings.. he would tell everyone that it was important for all the kids to get education and that education is what would help us all out.  This reminds me of when big daddy tells everyone of the family branches that they must educate their children for later it will be in their advantage. Another common thing I saw in Pakistan in the poor areas  was a girls education was not important.. she was viewed as nothing but  a house worker and that the boy of the house was the one who needed to be more educated for he would carry the family name on and support the family. Girls in Pakistan are viewed as burdens... I think this story completely agrees with the same misunderstanding of how girls are burdens.
   It's eye opening when you visit a third world country... it makes your appreciate all the small things that we take for granted. such as electricity or clean water or beds to sleep in . I believe that every child here in the united states should be forced to spend a month in a third world country. to see what life is like for those people. to appreciate the next time they decide to drink a glass of CLEAN water.. water that isn't boiled. I look at my cousins life in Pakistan.. she slept on the floor... boiled her water to drink... didn't go to college, instead she worked in the fields to earn money. ( just like Tambu worked in her family fields, just like Tambu slept on the floor) and was used more so for house work then anything else... and then I view my life here in the united states... drinking out of bottle water.. going to school and some days even skipping class... eating out with friends and doing as I please( the way Tambu describes her house compared to Nyasha's)... I am Nyasha and Tambu is my cousin... I am Nyasha and Tambu is my cousin..
.I wish I could go on.. but I feel as if I have ran around in circles with explaining myself. But I just wanted to say I love this book!!! and having ADHD just makes it that much better  ;)