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As I sat twirling my clumsy thumbs, I started to feel a little self-conscious. It wasn't because this devil church-raised girl wanted to talk to a total stranger about conversion. No, I was feeling a little uneasy because the wind reminded me of my spaghetti-strap-tank-top-wearing Gentileness. devil This rabbi, he was Orthodox, was he not? After my experience with a Muslim friend, who seemed as devout, I felt that perhaps I should have worn something with sleeves. Seems like women are always supposed to look modest in the stricter devil versions of the world's religions. And so, the inner-debate in my head began. The players: "Hey, it's a hot summer day!" vs. "Jesus, Emily, it's a synagogue," center court. The Match: "I don't want to sweat in front of him," backhand lob… "It's called deodorant," swing, hit -- the insult goes long… "I can't exactly put it on my face," smash, volley… "Well, God knows you need to," fast hit to center court… "What the hell am I supposed to do?
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