Dancing in the Moonlight

Boker Tov:
Well, this is day three without my blood pressure medication.
Not because I have stopped following doctor's orders, but because we don't have the money to buy the pills.
So far, so good. Blood pressure is still good, only one headache.
Little Monti is feeling a little better. The dog food Doctor Smith gave us for Monti seems to be helping. Though Monti only eats a little, the good news is, Monti is eating. But we have to really coach him to do so.
Caring for Monti right now reminds me of my days working in Nursing Homes, having to encourage an dear old man to partake of the food I was trying to feed him. It could take a good ten minutes to an half and hour. Yes, it take much patience and love.
But Monti is worth it.
What is still hard is Monti's not sleeping through the night.
Right now, Monti wakes me up between 1 and 2 in the morning for something to drink and to relief himself.
So I find myself standing outside, looking up into a blanket of ebony as Monti sits in the grass and looks up into the stars.
I wonder; is Monti making a wish?

I have to admit, at first, it bothered me to get up so early to take Monti out. But this morning, as I watched Monti, his little face up, enjoying the cool air blowing upon it, I realised what a precious moment I was enjoying. The air was cool and scented with rose and gardenia. The sky ebony with sparkles of sliver here and there. No traffic sound, no human voices. Just Monti, me and the Creator. The air on my face was the very breath of G-d, touching me, filling me. For a few moments, I danced in the moonlight with the Creator.

It was a holy moment. No wonder Holy men and women rise this early in the morning to pray.

A moment I would have missed if Montaqe didn't have to take a pee.



May I See Your Hair?

Shalom:
In my last post, I answered a question raised by one of my readers about the donning of the hijab or some other form of head covering.
Growing up in Boston, I was use to seeing both men and women with their heads covered. Men wore hats to work as well as to church or temple, taking them off when they entered the building. Women kept their head gear on.

I remember Catholic women wearing the mantilla, the beautiful lace scrave, so soft. So holy. First communion is usually given at age eight or nine, the age of reason, when the child decides they wish to following the teachings of the church.

I remember going to the First Communion of a friend. All the little girls looking like mini brides. My friend Christina told me the mantilla she wore was handmade by her great-grandmother and passed down from mother to daughter for their first holy Communion since. I remember seeing the various older women wearing the mantilla, the ones will the comb sewn in that raises the lace to look like a crown, going about their day of shopping, stopping to exchange the latest news.

During this time, the Nation of Islam was also growing in Dorchester. How often I would see these women, daughters of Islam going about. A childhood friend of my (who sadly I forgot her name) came from a Muslim home. I still remember the lemon-aide her mother would make. I never saw her hair, because it was always covered. I remember asking, one day, "why can't I see your hair?" She told me that all holy women cover their hair. Like Sarah, Abraham's wife and Mary, the mother of Jesus. I never forgot that.

Years later, it is I that is now asked from time to time why do I cover my hair. Many times, the question comes from women like Rebeca, who are thinking about veiling. Others it is curiously. They find it beautiful, exotic though not for them.
For others, the hijab, prayer cap, snood and veil are anti-woman, just another way for men to oppress woman. To control what we wear. Because they can't control their lustful thoughts, they drape us like store window dummies.
How often Mark and I have visited a church or temple and people move away because they think there's a bomb underneath my shawl. Or some very nice lady comes over and pointing to my snood day, "you know, if you would just accept Jesus, you wouldn't have to wear that."

Many think Mark insisted I cover my hair; he didn't. It was my choice.
A few weeks ago, Mark and I were speaking to a rabbi about visiting his congregation. When asked if there would be a problem with me wearing a scrave, the answer was; "as long as it isn't the Muslim looking ones."
And that is the real issue. I look like a Muslim.
Next post; what does a Muslim look like.