• The Arab League’s mandate to monitor Syria expired yesterday. Activists hope the U.N. Security Council will step in. [WP]

• Rabbi Dov Linzer reads the Talmud and shows that it is up to men to deal with sexual urges prompted by women rather than, as in Haredi communities, to force women to dress modestly to prevent such urges. [NYT]

• The Chinese premier finished his Gulf trip, signing new energy deals potentially in the hopes of avoiding future U.S. sanctions over buying oil from Iran. [WSJ]

• Hamas leader Khaled Meshal will reportedly not run for re-election. [Haaretz]

• The recent spate of anti-Semitic vandalism in Borough Park, Brooklyn, has traumatized the community. [NYT]

Outside, on Kingston Avenue, religious men wear black hats and white shirts. The women have on floor-length jean skirts and long-sleeve solid-colored T-shirts. It is easy to understand why they dress this way: Jewish modesty laws are strict, requiring women to cover their elbows, knees, collarbones, and, if married, their hair. But the Frock Swap caters to a different set: religious women who believe they can dress modestly without sacrificing individual panache.

“People want to feel like they look normal, not a frummy religious nerd,” says Chaya, 27, who wears a bold floral top that complements her long, wavy wig. She and Simi, dressed in a two-tiered black sheer top with a skirt that stops just past her knees, hand-pick used, stylish clothes from their friends and sell them once a month either in a rented store or someone’s apartment. A percentage of the money goes to the consignors, and the rest they use to expand their business. Eventually, they’d like to have a pop-up store and perhaps warehouse space to house clothing from a larger network of buyers.

Chaya Chanin (left) and Simi Polonsky. (Shayna Denburg)

At the sale, Chaya welcomes customers into the store with a glass of wine, and Simi suggests looks. “Can I put a shirt underneath this dress?” asked a customer holding up an emerald, satin, short-sleeved dress. “Let’s try this,” says Simi, who had a brief career as a personal shopper for her mother’s friends in Australia, rushing over with a sharp black blazer, “You’re going to look gorgeous.” Simi says she has to resist the urge to tweak strangers’ outfits. “How could you wake up in the morning and think that you actually look OK?” she admits to thinking of some people she sees on the street.

According to Jewish tradition, explains Sara Labkowski, the director of Machon Chana, a Crown Heights yeshiva program for young women, helping girls dress well is an admirable pursuit. “When we feel well dressed, we can do much more,” she says. “We can be better mothers and wives and community members.”

But that’s where Labkowski’s approval ends. Frock Swap offers clothing that fits a variety of comfort levels: form-fitting dresses, shirts that are too low on their own but can have fabric sown into them, red lace bras that a young woman might (or might not) feel comfortable wearing in front of her husband. While the store does not sell items such as mini-skirts or pants, Labkowski believes that some of its clothing isn’t modest enough. “We have a lot of teenagers, a lot of kids, looking for guidance. They are falling prey to things that are wrong, thinking they are right,” she told me. She believes girls with non-modest clothes might be tempted into following their yetzer hara, or evil inclination.

But for Simi and Chaya, letting women make their own choices about clothing is only natural. They grew up in Sydney, Australia, where girls walked around in bikinis and revealing summer dresses. While they strictly adhere to Jewish law, their father, who is a rabbi, encouraged them to be open to people who practice religion differently.

Liat Rubin, Simi and Chaya’s childhood friend from Australia who visits the Frock Swap sales when in town, is a recent convert to modest dressing. After acting “like everybody that lived by the beach,” she realized she was attracting what she called the wrong type of attention from men. She switched to wearing modest clothes and feels good about the choice: “When I feel like I put an outfit together that looks great and it’s working within the boundaries I am more proud of myself.”

Others say there are clear downsides. “If you ask me if it restricts me, totally!” says Mimi Hecht, who writes a blog about being a mom in Crown Heights. “I can’t say how many times I went shopping with a friend and I’m like ‘It’s so crazy, this is so stupid.’ ” Chaya wishes she could go for a jog without putting on a wig or a hat. “For me it’s challenging to keep being inspired about the way I live and what I do,” admits Simi. “No matter how strong you can feel about something, the world is tempting.”

It is easy to spot an Orthodox man, modern or otherwise, by his yarmulke. But unmarried women don’t have one thing that clearly conveys themselves to others as religious. Instead, they must think holistically about their outfits: Long sleeves won’t do the trick if they’re paired with shorts or jeans; a long skirt with spaghetti straps means you could be just another hippie chick.

So for a couple of years after I stopped believing that I had to wear long skirts, I continued to do so. As a result, I enjoyed the knowing looks from other similarly clad women on the subway; being approached on the street to be asked where the nearest kosher restaurant was; and being greeted with a hearty “chag sameach.” These little nods, gestures, and words make you feel a little less anonymous in the largeness of New York.

Eventually, though, being easily identified as frum was no longer enough of an inducement to continue doing something I didn’t believe in. These days, I take full liberty with my wardrobe: Tank tops, booty shorts, and, for my shyer days, jeans and t-shirts. And though I can still easily spot Orthodox girls in their long skirts and three-quarter-length sleeve shirts, they pass me without giving me a second look.

However, if Leandra Medine is correct, this fall’s fashion might confuse those possessed of even the best Jewdar. Her site is dedicated to clothing that is fashion forward yet so unappealing and unflattering that it will cause men to start calculating minimum safe distance. Medine, a former day-school student and writer for several fashion sites, observes that the design community has seemingly drawn inspiration for its autumn styles from the Orthodox community.

While I don’t understand why anyone would wear these skirts if they didn’t have to, I do hope that a memo is being circulated at the yeshivas regarding this development. At least for the next few months, approach women in long skirts and sleeves with extreme caution. They may not be Jewish.

This Fall, Fashion Channels Yeshiva School Girls [The Man Repellent]

I had been wearing slouchy clothes since long before I had kids. I favored men’s oversized garments that hung loosely from my body and had never much cared for fashion or trends. For the most part, I spent little to no time on my appearance. From the time I was 19 until I turned 32, I devoted my time to studying, writing a thesis, and starting a family. But the acting itch never completely abated and I had decided to pursue it again rather than stay in academia. The actor’s life I want to pursue gives me more time to raise my children, rather than hand them over to a nanny. Getting a makeover seemed like a great opportunity to put together a new look that I could use on future auditions.

The WNTW producers asked if I have any clothing restrictions. Deep breath. “I don’t wear pants,” I told them. “I prefer skirts.” You see, I am what I guess you’d call a Conservadox Jew. I started embracing certain aspects of Jewish modesty, or tzniut, before my second son was born, and although I know many Orthodox women who don’t observe tzniut, the boundaries and framework of privacy it provides appealed to me.

I was raised in a traditional Reform household, the grand-daughter of poor Orthodox immigrants from Eastern Europe. For them, success in America came at the seemingly small price of relative assimilation. Growing up, I lived a pretty normal life; I had my own prime-time network TV show from the ages of 14 to 19, which meant my physical appearance and clothing choices were dissected on a weekly basis in gossip magazines and on television. I was pretty impervious to media critiques of my style. I had no real sense of my own physicality and took for granted the feminist idea that I should be able to walk around naked without harassment. But I soon learned that not everyone was a feminist.

After graduating from public high school in Los Angeles, I went to college at UCLA, where I met the man who’s now my husband. Knowing we wanted a traditional wedding ceremony, we started studying Judaism together to prepare for it. At first my lessons with an Orthodox instructor were almost anthropological—I was curious as to how Judaism viewed marriage and sexuality, but I did not really intend to increase my level of observance. The more I learned, however, the more my previous distance from traditional Judaism disappeared. I was also a serious person in general, and chose a wedding dress that reflected my serious attitude about marriage. Entering a sacred covenant before G-d, I wore an ankle-length, high-necked Victorian dress with sleeves past the elbow and a heavy veil, reminiscent (I hoped) of the matriarchs Leah and Rebekah.

During the days of the sheva brachot, the seven traditional feasts celebrated in the days after the chuppah ceremony, I tentatively covered my head with scarves and crocheted hats, trying on my new status as a married woman. Beyond wearing a ring, my lifestyle didn’t have a means of representing the change from single to married, and I was cautious about challenging the feminist ideals I’d previously embraced. But I liked feeling a physical representation in my new life as a married woman. In synagogue, I began covering my head with tichels (decorative scarves) from trips to Israel—just as my Orthodox cousins who I used to consider submissive and trapped in an archaic lifestyle taught me to wrap them—and fashionable hats. No flowers allowed. Too Blossom-y.

As my life progressed, tzniut became a bigger part of it and I started appreciating what it means to keep your sexual appeal for yourself and for your partner. I came to see that not everything that makes me beautiful, sexy, or desirable needs to be on display.

In the world of acting, though, maintaining a degree of modesty has been a challenge. I stopped wearing pants outside of the home in November 2007. (I still wear them at home or under dresses.) These days, I am more comfortable in skirts rather than the baggy saggy pants I used to wear. Personally, I feel more attractive and more put-together in a skirt. Tzniut doesn’t mean making yourself less attractive; it means highlighting your strengths within limits.

But my definition of limits and that of the folks at WNTW differed. On and off the set, I discussed my skirt preference with the show’s producers. When the hosts showed me pants as a possible option in my wardrobe, I pointed out that I don’t much wear them. I didn’t claim to be the spokesperson for tzniut; after all, I still wear shirts above the elbows and don’t cover my head regularly.

I got wonderful new clothes, jewelry, and vegan shoes (one of my other preferences). When we filmed me revealing the final outfits they picked, I gently pointed out that skirts above the knee are not something I’d wear, and that I wouldn’t wear sleeveless shirts or dresses without something to cover my arms once I left the set. When the show aired, I saw that my qualifications and explanations did not survive the cutting room.

I don’t wish to claim that there is an “immodest agenda” on WNTW. It’s a show for the average American, who is most likely not Jewish, and if she is Jewish, she’s most likely not observant. In spite of the fact that the hosts kept telling me that I needed to be “sexy” and not “hide” in my clothing, I loved being a part of the show. They were right to encourage me to wear clothing that was my size, and to emphasize my figure where it needed emphasizing. But sexy doesn’t necessarily mean scantily-clad.

The week after WNTW was filmed, I auditioned to play a Hasidic woman on Saving Grace. When the call came in, I laughed, pulled a salvaged Israeli ankle-length dark denim skirt from the floor of my almost bare closet, threw on a WNTW-purchased tank, cardigan, and simple flats, and applied some lovely understated make-up. I booked the part.

Mayim Bialik starred in NBC’s Blossom from 1990 to 1994. More recently she has appeared on Curb Your Enthusiasm and Saving Grace and, this fall, will have a recurring role on The Secret Life of the American Teenager.

Click here to view the poster

An outsider visiting Crown Heights might be forgiven for thinking that the women in the ultra-Orthodox neighborhood represent the height of modesty. But some in the Brooklyn community, where the Chabad-Lubavitch movement is based, are concerned that modesty standards are slipping, and have launched a campaign to counter the trend.

Thus far, the effort—organized by a woman named Sheyna Goldin, with the approval of Chabad’s women’s organization, N’Shei Chabad—has involved putting up 500 posters encouraging adherence to modesty laws. But not everyone in the organization agrees with Goldin’s approach, and a frisson of disagreement has broken out over it”and whether the declining standards are even anything new.

“It’s Not Just a Good Idea, IT’S THE LAW!” proclaim the posters, which appeared recently on Kingston Avenue and other neighborhood thoroughfares. The fliers go on to list the laws of tznius, or modesty (modest dress must begin at age three; shirts must cover collarbones; skirts must cover knees) and their talmudic sources. Fine print at the bottom explains the spiritual rewards for modest dress and the consequences for disregarding it.

Even in Crown Heights, such public pronouncements of religious law are unusual—which was the point, Goldin argued.

“Everything is out in the street now; it’s kind of corresponding to the times,” she said, in an interview with Nextbook. “In the shuls, not everyone would see it. It’s more emphatic, like we really mean business.”

“You have to set the standard, not lower yourself to it,” echoed Esther Rochel Spielman, who coordinates subscriptions for N’Shei Chabad’s newsletter. Spielman said that she was seeing more short or slit skirts and tight clothing on young women in the community.

“There is a decline in the men also, the teenagers,” she added. “A lot of them will think it’s cool to go without tsisis [ritual fringes].”

But even some who agree that modesty standards are slipping find Goldin’s approach too aggressive.

“Modesty standards have been declining for decades,” said Bronya Shaffer, a mother of 10 who teaches and lectures in the community on Jewish family life. Shaffer, who was sitting in her dining room surrounded by hundreds of religious books, picked up a copy of the New York Times Magazine that was lying on the table beside a copy of a Chabad magazine and gestured disapprovingly at a risqué Chanel advertisement on the back cover. But the posters also made her wince.

“The medium itself is antithetical to the very essence of modesty,” she said of the posters. “It’s not the Chabad way. I cringe at the specter of kids, young boys and girls, reading in huge letters, in bold technicolor, about uncovered legs and necklines and tight clothing.”

Goldin said that the posters are directed toward both Lubavitchers who live in the neighborhood and visitors to the community.

“The darkness in the world is very great and influences everybody,” Goldin said. “The posters are a fortification and a reminder that this is really not just a nice thing, but a total law from the Torah.”

Sara Labkowski, the dean of a school for young women in the process of becoming more religious, said that because Crown Heights, unlike more isolated ultra-Orthodox enclaves, is “a very open community” located in the heart of Brooklyn, the posters would help to remind young Lubavitchers in the neighborhood of the modesty laws. She helped to distribute flyer-sized versions of the poster at a vigil for the Chabad emissaries killed in the recent terrorist attack on Mumbai.

For Spielman, the decline in modesty is just another sign of what she believes is directly on the horizon.

“I guess we’re getting very close to the moshiach,” she said, using the Hebrew word for messiah. “The satan [devil] tries to attack in any ways he could.”