Mann traoch, Gott läuch.

That, my friends is Yiddish for "Man plans, God laughs," at least as far as google is concerned.

I'm pretty sure God's laughing at my Lenten Discipline.

Here I am, trying really hard to strictly abide by modesty rules and what happens on my pilgrimage to Lourdes? Of course, to get in the baths, everyone strips (in relatively discreet places, I might add). I was naked as the day I was born in front of at least 3 women who I'd never seen before in my life and will never see again. It was such a shock to my system after so much modesty that I was shaking even before I was plunged in the icy water.

However, this experience that was enabled by these moments of total immodesty was an amazing moment for me. I'm not sure I feel "cured." (I don't think I'd know what "cured" felt like, anyway.) However, being in the bath (albeit briefly), felt like walking into a Mass that I didn't know was going on-- this suprisingly wonderful reminder that I am part of something much larger than myself.

Being dunked in the water, I was reminded of my baptism (and every baptism I'd ever seen or heard of), especially Jesus's baptism, I was reminded of all the other people who had been dunked in this water, all the people who wash their hands in it (including St. Bernadette), I was reminded of all the people who bathe in the Ganges, but maybe coolest of all, I was reminded that God gives us these reminders not only in holy places, but every time we encounter water.

Christianity (and many other religions) picked some really basic elements to make holy. Water in baptism. Food and drink in the Eucharist. Oil in the chrism. Sticks, well, branches, in Palm Sunday. Although I'm a thorough believer in transubstantiation, I think Protestants got one thing right in the whole it's-a-symbol concept. It is supposed to be symbolic everytime we pick up a piece of bread anywhere. My pain au chocolat this morning? Symbolically, the body of Christ. A reminder of the Eucharist I will partake in this evening, which is the literal body of Christ.

Hijabi in France

So in light of my confession yesterday, I ended up going home and wearing the same outfit, but with my hijab over the top. I felt pretty, classy, modest and best of all... cool. (I mean that the air cooled me off, not that Justin Bieber would approve of my clothing choice.)

That feeling of finding the perfect clothes (which I get so rarely these days) evaporated after about 3 blocks. I was wandering around my hotel's quartier (neighborhood), doing some shopping and stopping in cafes. I was minding my own business. No one else was, it seemed.

As I stopped by jewelry stores and book stores run by Jewish men (I am, after all, in the Jewish quartier), I'd get distrusting looks as I stood in the window. The moment I crossed the threshold into their shop, I got outright glares. And followed. I don't know whether they expected me to plant a bomb or steal stuff or what! And this at just about every shop I went into, because, let's face it, why go into anyting besides jewelry and book stores? When I walked into stores that weren't Jewish-run, I got ignored. The shopkeepers would not greet me, although they greeted everyone else that walked in and out. Good thing I didn't want to buy anything because I would have had to jump up and down with money in my hand to get anyone to bat an eyelid at me.

I did get some headnods from women in hijabs, which made me smile, and even a headnod from a woman in a hijab-esq thing, wearing a hodgepodge of modest clothing-- she kinda looked like me actually: indefinably modest.

I wanted to wear a sign that said, "I'm Christian. I'm a feminist. I like my rights. I also like hijab." Or for the Jewish shops, maybe a sign that said, "Do your research. Hijab and tzniut are very similar!" Would that have made it better? I don't know. I felt like everyone was judging me-- and I think they were. It was totally isolating and, frankly, humiliating. I was embarrassed for me and for the French. This was a very touristy-area and there were people who noticed how these French shopkeepers were treating me. It was awkward for everyone involved. It can't have been good for business.

Interestingly, there was one exception to all this. And it made me hella proud. Near the end of my day, I stopped at a gay cafe. The waiter showed up almost the moment I sat down (which never happens in France, hijab or no) and took my order. It took him about 10 minutes to come back with my drink (not long, in France) after which he apologized profusely for being so slow (which he wasn't compared to everything else here). He was sweet, he checked on me frequently and he was prompt about everything. It was such a relief, because the afternoon in my hijab had been so incredibly draining!

Why did this one gay man treat me like a human being? Did I set his gaydar off? Did he recognize me as a fellow oppressed person? Is he just that nice to everyone? Whatever the reason, I hope he continues...

France's Niqab Ban and Me

So, I am joyously heading to France tomorrow to simultaneously reward myself for finishing my thesis and celebrate the last time I won't feel guilty about paying for something extravagent for a while because I am still a student until the end of this month.

Hijab, from alhannah.com.

Interestingly, France is very anti religious head coverings. Mostly Muslim ones, but in order not to be discriminatory, they have to be anti all of them. They banned the hijab in public schools in 2004. (Again, ostensibly they banned all large religious symbols, but it boiled down to banning the hijab.) This used to bother me --a lot-- but now it really touches close to home because I wear them on a regular basis. It irks me, but it is only in public schools... I haven't decided yet whether I shall wear a hijab in France or not.

Now, as of the 11th of April, 2011, the French are banning the niqab. Not in public schools. Everywhere. Now, I don't wear niqabs and have no interest in doing so. I mean, come on, turtlenecks make me claustrophobic-- I have no illusions about how trapped a niqab would make me feel. On the other hand-- the attachment I've developed towards covering my head in such a short time makes me very empathetic to women who might have developed a similar attachment for covering their face. Especially for people who grew up wearing the hijab or niqab. If you're with me on the hijab, but not on the niqab, let me offer an example.

Niqab, from alhannah.com.

I grew up in a meat-eating household. Nearly every meal we ate for my entire childhood had meat in it. I was always a little averse to meat, but was never "fanatical" enough to go vegetarian while living with my parents. Prompted by health reasons, I eventually stopped eating meat. To me, it's a small but important sacrifice to make for a variety of reasons. I've learned to make some wonderful meals that are vegetarian. Even my solidly ominvorous family likes some of my meals.

I have a friend, though, who grew up vegetarian. She's never eaten meat at all as far as I know and all her life her family cooked wonderful vegetarian things. Also prompted by health reasons, she became vegan. For her, it was a small sacrifice. For me, it would be an almost incomprehensible one. I just can't imagine my life without milk or cheese. Maybe it's a silly comparison, but that's how I look at the whole hijab/niqab thing. Wearing hijab for me is a big difference (from, say, no head covering), but I love it. I could see how forsomeone who had grown up wearing hijab, the niqab would be appealing and just another small step in their relationship with God.

So, here's a questions. For those of you who wear a head covering or have considered it, how do you feel about France's ban? (Definitely google it if you haven't heard of it before!)