Story continues I can relate to rebelling against my community's standards of modesty—and to finding a middle ground.
When I was about 9, growing up in Piscataway, New Jersey, my father, a wonderful but traditional man, told me I couldn't bare my legs anymore, so I slipped on pants below the frocks my mother had hand-stitched.
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As a 21 year old, I staged my first act of awrah disobedience on my college graduation day as an undergrad from West Virginia University: for the time since my youth, I wore a skirt and blouse, borrowed from my independent thinking mother's clothing boutique.
Her parents are rightly outraged by her shameless behavior….
Only a confident civilization anchored in natural law and its Judeo-Christian roots can prevail over radical Islam.