But I was so bored. I’d heard about frum women-only offices where everyone became best friends. But this office had a hushed silence that made it awkward to do anything remotely noisy: drink a Frappuccino, cough, or (as I discovered during one excruciating hour) get the hiccups. No one schmoozed here. Sometimes, I’d have a chat with someone in the kitchen while prepping lunch, and I’d think, Maybe we could be friends. But there was always pressure to get back to the computer before ten minutes passed, so conversations never got past the polite chitchat stage.

I never asked anyone what I was desperate to know. How did they maintain their concentration for eight straight hours? Did they have more interesting work from me, or was I completely unsuited to this job? I was too embarrassed to bring it up when they made it look so easy.

A few weeks in, Leah sent me an email inviting me to a review meeting with HR. This seemed to be the perfect opportunity to ask for more interesting work, and I spent some time googling (at home, of course!) how to handle the conversation professionally.

I went in with a little speech prepared, but Leah had planned a completely different agenda.

“Shani, we’ve called this meeting to discuss why you’ve consistently failed to meet your quotas. You can understand that we’re very concerned about your performance.”

I was flabbergasted. I hadn’t heard anything about quotas. But Leah kept talking, brandishing a printout documenting all the mistakes I’d made since joining the company. She accused me of not listening to her instructions, but she had barely given me any and I’d had to figure out most of it on my own. I’d been so proud of that, thinking that I’d shown initiative and resourcefulness, and here they were interpreting it as irresponsible.

I knew that I wasn’t a natural at office work, but I’d been trying really hard and thought I was doing quite well. How could I have been so incompetent without realizing it? I sat there silently, fighting back tears, as the HR representative started talking about reviewing my targets and increasing my supervision. The excruciating discussion came to an end, and I went back to my desk without saying anything in my defense.

I felt awful, but by the time I got home, I recovered my fighting spirit. The whole meeting felt off to me. Wasn’t it expected that an employee would make some mistakes in the beginning? This meeting seemed more drastic than necessary. In fact, maybe I should complain to them about how they treated me!

But my husband disagreed. “It definitely sounds unpleasant, but it’s not worth making waves. Let’s wait and see if anything improves when you get on top of all your emails and checklists.”

I had to force myself back to the office. Just the thought of my husband’s learning and our rent got me there the next day, and I firmly ignored Leah as I walked past her desk.

And I did it. I summoned up superhuman concentration skills that I didn’t know I had, and I even felt a sense of accomplishment as I met Leah’s quotas. I was still bored and lonely, but at least I wasn’t incompetent.

And then, Leah’s next email came in. I hadn’t heard from her since the meeting, so I wondered if she would acknowledge how I’d improved. But no, it was a note that I’d been checking my phone too much that day. She cc’d HR as well.

I was mortified, but also at a loss to understand Leah’s hostility. Had I somehow provoked her unintentionally? Why was everyone else happy while I was so miserable? Was it my personality that ruined everything?

My husband didn’t think so. “Shani, this isn’t normal. You should go to HR and tell them your side of the story.”

“But why would they believe me?” I wailed. “I’m the incompetent employee who can’t follow instructions and spends all day on her phone!” I wasn’t interested in trying to convince anyone that I was a good worker when the office felt like jail.

Instead, I handed in my notice. Leah avoided me during my last few days, and I was fine with that. I didn’t need a confrontation. I just wanted to get out of there and move on with my life. As I left the office for the last time, it felt like a physical load was lifted off my chest. We moved away shortly after, and that office became a blessedly distant memory.

If I could go back in time and tell myself one thing, it would be this:

Everyone’s career has to start somewhere, and mistakes are natural and expected. If you are open to learning new skills, you should never feel bad about not being an expert right away.

A manager is there to help a new employee grow in their position and develop those skills. If they are making you feel bad about your performance, that’s not a reflection on you, but a sign that there’s something wrong with the situation. There are toxic people out there who will undermine and gaslight you at every opportunity. If someone in your life keeps making you feel like you’re the problem when you haven’t done anything wrong, then you know that you’re dealing with one of those people. Seek advice on how to cope with them or leave.

Expert Take

Situations like Shani’s can feel rife with red flags, and it’s easy to get so caught up in helplessness that we can’t imagine how to empower ourselves. Industrial-organizational psychology practitioner Amy Cooper Hakim, author of Working with Difficult People, says that sometimes it’s appropriate to manage our managers. “If we’re not getting the type of leadership or direction that we expect or need in order to do well in a job, we need to ask for it.” She encourages workers to inquire directly what’s expected of them in order for them to be productive, or what items to prioritize. “In my field, I see a lot of conflict in the workplace. And it always, always, comes back to communication.”

Someone who’s new to a job might not feel comfortable speaking up or might be afraid that they won’t be heard or will sound incompetent. But Amy notes that this is exactly what HR is for. And at the end of any meeting with HR or a manager, she says, it’s vital to create an electronic paper trail. Thank them for the meeting in an email and rephrase what you understood was explained during that discussion. “That puts it on record and helps hold everyone accountable: the employee, the manager, and anyone else involved.”

In Shani’s case, Amy thinks that it sounds like she was being micromanaged. “That isn’t necessarily toxic,” she explains. “It’s just a certain style that might not work with everyone else’s personality. Some people need that hands-on micromanagement, and some really do better with more freedom.” She reminds us again of the importance of communication. A worker can sometimes ask for daily updates instead of updates every ten minutes. “Shani didn’t have that option because that was the standard in the office. But often, if the manager is more open to some type of dialogue, a worker can suggest alternatives in a tactful manner.”

Leaders must understand that each worker, much like each child in a family, might have different needs and works well in different ways. “But when we’re not getting that, then that’s when we need to ‘manage up,’ and ask to get the direction needed,” Amy says.

The Problem Is Your Attitude

I had no idea what people meant about in-towners being more reserved than out-of-towners. I came from Cincinnati to New York when I was 26, and everything was perfect. My roommates were easygoing. I interviewed for a job as an afternoon secretary in a local school, which would mean plenty of flexibility to do my own things (read: date) as well. Everyone at the school seemed overwhelmingly nice, and the principal sounded so positive about me joining the team. This was going to be easy. Right?

On my first day, I met my coworker, Chaya*. She was a bit younger than me, and had been there for three years, which I was happy to hear — it meant that the job had long-term potential. We schmoozed about our backgrounds while working through the basics of the job — she grew up in Boro Park and actually attended this school as a child — and she showed me around the emails and computer programs, the list of phone extensions, and where office supplies were stored. Then she stood up and dropped a breezy, “I just need to go deal with some things in the back. You’ll be okay manning the phones for a few minutes, right?”

Heh. I certainly did not feel ready to answer any phone calls. What if I picked up to an angry parent? But she breezed off with a, “Thanks!” tossed over her shoulder in my direction. Okay. I’d be okay. It would only be a few minutes; how bad could it be?

I sat there awkwardly. For ten minutes, the office was quiet. Then, a little girl came in for a Band-Aid. That I could handle. The phone rang. I froze. I forced myself to unfreeze. “Hello, Bais Yaakov office.” She wanted to sort out her school fee balance. “One moment, please.” Was it Invoices or Payments? I transferred her through to Payments, assuming that, worse-case scenario, they’d transfer her to the correct place.

Ring-ring. Another mother let me know that her daughter had a doctor’s appointment at two. I logged her daughter’s name and class and told her that we’d have her ready. I was acing this. I needed the bathroom. Could I leave the desk unattended? What if someone came? Deep breaths. I could get through this.

Chaya came back an hour later. “How was?” She ran through the list of notes I made and told me that I’d handled everything well. See? I was made for this job.

The next day, I got there at 1 p.m.. The morning secretary had left and Chaya hadn’t arrived yet. I found a note on my desk. “Please do not transfer school fee phone calls to our line. They should go to extension 540.” Okay, noted.

I checked the email. Everything was up-to-date, except one message that the morning secretary had left unread for me to see. “Hi, Tzippy, welcome on board! Please put school fee calls through to the correct department, 540.” The principal walked by and gave me a big smile. I gave her one in return.

Chaya came in, all chirpy, and threw her bag down on the desk. “Hi, Tzippy! How’s your day going? Accounting asked me to update you that school fee calls must be forwarded to the invoicing department. Do you have their extension?”

I forced a smile. “Yes, it’s 540, right?”

“Right! Now, let me talk you through the system for reminding parents to pick up on time….”

After three days of training, Chaya went out for a week and I was left in charge. I enjoyed figuring things out on my own and interacting with children. I thought I’d also start getting to know some of the ladies in the back office but that didn’t happen. They all seemed extremely busy; but I was busy, too, so I understood. It was totally normal and totally fine.

Chaya came back after a week with a big smile and a, “Thank you sooooo much for taking over for me!” She was tanned, and I overheard her discussing a week in Florida. Good for her! I thought I’d ask her about it and see some pictures, but she spent all day in the back and I didn’t get a chance. Maybe tomorrow.

But the next day, I was at the photocopier all afternoon. And then for the rest of that week while Chaya sat at the front desk, looking busy with children and paperwork conversations with other ladies whenever they walked past.

I wanted to get some socializing in, too, especially since this work wasn’t stimulating. But I didn’t know how to ask for different work without seeming difficult. I also started to get the sense that none of the other ladies were looking for friendship. Since that first day, Chaya hadn’t asked me anything about myself or how I found life in New York. People often stopped off at our desk to talk to Chaya, and they’d all say a cheery, “Hi, Tzippy! How’s it going?”

But after I said, “Fine, thanks,” they turned to Chaya for in-depth conversation about that day’s office drama. This usually included details about someone’s mistakes, and often I’d learn information about their personal lives that I didn’t need to know. I would find excuses to go back to the photocopier so I wouldn’t have to hear. It was awkward.

“Why don’t you answer them honestly and have a real conversation that way?” suggested my mother over the phone. But I didn’t feel comfortable doing that.

The over-correcting was turning into a trend, too.

“Tzippy, the Shabbos project photocopying was meant for the girls in 3T,” came at me from four different directions.

And, “Tzippy, the scan you sent to Sarah has to go to Leah, were you not aware that Leah handles accounts payable?” was another refrain I heard two more times than necessary. It seemed like a total overreaction, but maybe it wasn’t? Most days, I came in to a pointed note from the morning secretary with comments about changing chair settings or leaving stray papers on the table. It didn’t feel like it should’ve been a big deal. But it clearly was for her. I tried to pay more attention to these things, but she still seemed to be upset on a regular basis.

Day by day, the fizz wore off the job. Chaya became less patient with my occasional questions. She didn’t quite roll her eyes, but she would stop whispered conversations with coworkers when I walked by. I suspected that they were talking about me, and it wasn’t good.

Three months in, I realized that most days, I had almost no interaction with staff members other than polite smiles and hellos. I never had issues making friends before, so what was stopping me here? Was the work environment getting in the way?

There was an evening event planned for all the staff, which was exciting — finally, a real opportunity to get to know the other ladies in a relaxed setting. But when I got there, the administration table was full, and no one moved over to make space for me. I sat at a table for teachers and convinced myself that it hadn’t been intentional. But surprisingly, I had a great time that night. All the teachers were friendly, and I realized that I hadn’t felt this comfortable since I started work. Why not? Was something wrong in the office?

But the next day, Chaya came in (late) with coffees for both of us. We chatted about shidduchim and I wondered if it was all in my head. But that brief flash of friendliness didn’t last longer than a day. Why couldn’t I make it work there? If everyone was so nice, why did I feel so miserable?

Then the principal asked me to come in for a meeting.

“Tzippy, you seem a bit down. What’s going on?”

She seemed genuine, so I opened up. I told her that I’d been finding it really hard to work in this environment. I felt like I was being taken advantage of, left to do all the photocopying and filing rather than interacting with the girls and other staff members.  People weren’t being nice—

“What do you mean?” she cut in. “Everyone is so nice! There’s always such a friendly atmosphere when I walk into the back office. Everyone is always happy and helping each other out.”

I told her that they were nice to each other, but excluded me from everything. They smiled at me, but made comments behind my back. Everyone corrected my mistakes, but no one commented when I did something right.

“I know it’s not me, as I’ve worked in other offices before and never had these problems. I feel excluded, and I have to force myself to come in every day. I’ve started to think seriously about quitting.”

The principal heard me out with a serious expression on her face. “I get your concerns. I value you as an employee, and I want this school to be a place where everyone is happy. Leave it to me — I’m going to try to resolve this.”

When I came in the next day, she had ordered lunch for the office staff. She stood up as we ate bagels and lox and made a little speech about office unity, friendship, and how everyone should feel comfortable raising issues with her. It was sweet and I’d never say no to free bagels, but I couldn’t see how this was going to change anything.

And — spoiler alert — it didn’t.

Chaya still left me at the photocopier for hours. I still got passive-aggressive emails about mistakes I’d made, and days passed without friendly conversation. I wanted to quit, but I had rent and bills and nothing else lined up. It just felt too irresponsible to walk out.

I gritted my teeth and tried to stay positive.

Then, a few days later, the principal called me in.

“Tzippy, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since our conversation. I’ve talked to some other people in the office to hear their point of view, and I’ve kept an eye on you to see how it’s going. Do you want to share your thoughts?”

I sat silently, waiting for her to continue.

“Everyone else seems to be very happy here, but I see that you’ve been projecting a negative attitude, even after the nice lunch I arranged. It seems to me that the problem isn’t with the office, but with your attitude. And since you aren’t willing to change that, I’m afraid we’ll have to let you go.”

It was surreal to hear that, but also freeing. Hearing her blame me for other people’s behavior reinforced my understanding that the problem wasn’t me, but the workplace culture in the school. That was my last day, and I left with no regrets.

If I could go back in time and tell myself one thing, it would be this:

I should trust myself and my instincts. If something feels wrong, I need to ask myself: “Why do I not feel safe here, and why don’t I have anyone to talk to about it?”

I would also focus on having emunah and understanding that Hashem doesn’t want me to be stuck in an unhealthy situation.

I’d love to tell everyone out there that if you’re being mistreated in your workplace and can’t resolve it, trust that Hashem will look after you and lead you to the right place. Baruch Hashem, He did for me and He will for you, too.

Expert Take

Tzippy struggled with a workplace that didn’t make her feel welcome. Amy notes that a gossipy environment like Tzippy’s can be incredibly uncomfortable, and it’s also difficult to be the only new person in a place where everyone already knows each other.

But Amy thinks that in this kind of situation, we benefit most from modifying our expectations. “When we go to work — and it can differ, depending on the environment — my view is that we should not try to make friends.” She uses the word friendly a lot. “I think of friends as close friends — people you’d want to be friends with even if you no longer work in the organization. People you would have over for a family barbecue. People so close that you might lose a job to support or defend someone. A very close, close friend. Those are few and far between.”

But the people in the friendly category are the ones we see more often at work. “That’s someone you should be comfortable with and expect proper communication from. Someone you can expect to hold the door for you if you’re behind them. Even to chat about your weekend with at the water cooler.” There is a reasonable expectation of courteous professionalism from your coworkers, which Tzippy didn’t always get. But if we don’t expect true friendship from these people, we’re able to refrain from emotional investment. “By doing so, we’re no longer uncomfortable or upset if people are gossiping, because we don’t care. We don’t need their approval. We just need them to respond to an email.”

It’s a difficult distinction, but it will help to avoid hurt feelings at work. Instead, we can turn our emotional energy toward the people or things that matter at home, and focus only on the tasks at hand at work. Amy says that in a healthy environment like this there will be no offense taken in various situations. “When it’s someone you care about, you want them to treat you in a certain way or notice when you’re upset. Well, that person might not care if they’re only in that friendly bucket.” If we’re pragmatic about what we expect from our coworkers, we can avoid hurt and disappointment.

Higher Authority

L

ike all Jewish moms, I’m a busy lady. I have a husband in kollel, a few gorgeous children, and a full-time job as a software developer in a secular company.

It’s a lot, and juggling such an intense job with being a present mother takes a lot of energy. But I have some flexibility in work hours, so baruch Hashem, it works for us.

I found that the hardest part was keeping my boundaries as a frum woman working with secular colleagues. I constantly tried to be polite and make a kiddush Hashem while not crossing any lines and being too friendly. But I always felt that everyone respected my lifestyle, even if they didn’t understand it.

Until our new manager, Mr. Cohen, showed up.

“Call me Dan!” he insisted on his first day, as he walked around the room, bumping fists and slapping backs. I quickly dropped a pen and bent down to get it as he walked past my seat. Bullet dodged — for now. This could get awkward, I thought. But there were ten people on our team, so I hoped that I could keep a low profile and carry on as usual.

But Mr. Cohen wasn’t going to let it be. He must have read a manual on managerial techniques, as he was constantly dropping terms like fostering team spirit and boosting office morale. He hung up motivational signs around the office and encouraged a laid-back vibe, encouraging everyone to join in conversations about the latest sports scores. I would smile politely and then return to my work. It was annoying and distracting, but I thought I was handling it well.

Then, three weeks in, he sent out a group email inviting everyone to choose from a list of options for extracurricular events to promote unity and cohesion. The list included activities like wine tastings, restaurants, concerts, and water sports.

Totally not for me, but I thought it was perfectly acceptable to mention it the next time we sat down to review a project. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to join in extra activities out of working hours, as I have a young family who needs me at home.”

But his face darkened. “So you’re telling me that you’re not willing to contribute a little extra time to increase our team’s productivity?”

I reddened. I already worked nine hours a day, five days a week. I even squeezed in extra hours if necessary. How was it reasonable to ask for more on top of that?

But he didn’t see it that way. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you refuse to be a team player in this office. Your attitude isn’t welcome, and I expect to see a difference if you want to progress here.”

This was such an overreaction, I wondered whether he felt threatened in some way, either by my religiosity or my refusal to participate in his plans to manage the team. But what could I do? Halachah was halachah. I couldn’t compromise on that.

I didn’t attend, and he didn’t say anything.

But I began to notice that he was assigning me to projects well below my pay grade. I had ten years of experience at the company, but I was being asked to do tasks that we normally gave to new hires. At the same time, I noticed that the workers who joined in his schmoozes got the best jobs and more vacation time than usual.

I suspected that everything would return to normal if I acted friendlier. But it could have been unintentional, and it was also a waste of company time and funds to spend my time on such basic tasks. I arranged a meeting where I reviewed my experience and skills and explained that these tasks weren’t suitable for me. He looked disbelieving and told me he’d look into it.

For a week, nothing changed. But then he made a surprise announcement at the next staff meeting.

“There will be some changes to the team hierarchy. In recognition of Mrs. Green’s talents and capabilities, we are promoting her to team lead. She will now be in charge of assignments and coordinating all schedules and vacation requests.”

Everyone clapped politely, and I nearly collapsed.

This was the worst thing that could happen to me. I’d lost the flexibility I had while working on projects, because I’d have to be in the office from nine to five every day to supervise everyone. I’d be handling my coworkers’ resentment if I had to tell them that they couldn’t take time off. I wouldn’t be using my coding skills at all, so my career was effectively at a dead end. But this was officially a promotion, so how could I complain? I could see that Mr. Cohen had a satisfied look on his face. This was revenge.

I seriously considered quitting. But the timing was awful — we needed the money, and the job market wasn’t great. So my husband started missing sedorim as our children took turns with chicken pox, cavities, and the flu. He did a great job, but sometimes children just want Mommy, and I couldn’t be there.

I was so resentful of the situation. Instead of being with my children or doing productive work, I was mediating spats between colleagues who blamed each other for delays and mistakes. I had to coordinate people’s requests for time off, which included hearing personal details about their lives: “My wife needs to go away for a few days, we’ve just hosted her parents for a week,” or “My dog needed surgery, it’s been really stressful.” And then, people got upset that I wasn’t taking them seriously if I kept these conversations short. How could I act compassionate but reserved? The self-doubt took so much emotional energy that I had nothing left for my children. I felt like I was failing both as a worker and a mother.

And Mr. Cohen seemed to have a private vendetta against me.

As team lead, people would occasionally ask me for help with coding projects. At one point, Mr. Cohen realized that I was doing this, and he told me that I could only handle administrative requests, as coding wasn’t in the job description (although it was). When I uploaded a fix for a bug to the company online platform, he told me to take it down immediately as it wasn’t correct. (It was.)

At one point, a girl from another team asked me for help with a project that I’d worked on before becoming team lead, and I told her that my manager had forbidden me from helping anyone with coding work.

It got back to her manager, who was horrified to hear that, and raised it with HR.

Mr. Cohen got called in for that. Of course, it was my fault. “How could you say that I don’t let you help people? Of course, you should help people who need it! How dare you twist my words to make me look unprofessional!” Then, he took every opportunity to criticize me behind my back.

I missed a staff meeting for a doctor’s appointment, and the CEO asked about a project that was running behind schedule. It was Mr. Cohen’s fault, as he’d been delaying on some approvals. But he quipped back in front of everyone, “Well, I’d ask Mrs. Green about that, except she’s not here. Or maybe that’s the problem!”

In another meeting, he blamed me for a serious mistake in the code of a huge project. I had nothing to do with it, but he insisted that I had assigned it to someone who wasn’t capable and hadn’t supervised them closely enough. Really, he had assigned it to one of his buddies, and shifted blame to me when it hadn’t worked out.

These were serious accusations, and I didn’t know if the reputation I’d built up over the years could sustain them. I began to think that it might finally be time to quit.

But a few days later, Mr. Cohen called another team meeting in which he announced that he was leaving. There had been a company restructure, and he was moving on to “bigger and better things.”

We found out afterward that he had actually been fired. No one knew for sure, but there were whispers that the CEO was unimpressed by how our team had performed under him. We noticed that the team members who’d joined in the schmoozing didn’t get a raise that year, while I and the others who’d kept back did very well. I went back to coding, and life went back to its blessedly hectic normalcy, not a moment too soon.

If I could go back in time and tell myself one thing, it would be this:

Don’t compromise on your values, however hard it might feel. In the long run, you’ll end up with the best outcome, and with your self-respect intact — and no money is worth more than that.

Expert Take

“When it comes to a boss who wants to build community and rapport,” Amy says, “there are different ways that might work for the boss and many people on the team. But for someone who’s doing their job and doing it well and doesn’t want to participate in these activities, then unless it’s required, it shouldn’t lead to punishment.” But building this rapport can often benefit a worker. Amy once worked in a business that had a motorcycle club featuring many male executives and workers, and it wasn’t a way that she could connect with her bosses. Instead, she struck up conversation with a female executive, found some commonality, and was able to talk about her career trajectory with her. “I don’t think we should frown upon a leader trying to connect in a different way, but that should not be expected in order to maintain a job.”

While someone might be reluctant to go to team-building activities, Amy reminds us of the difference between friendly and friends again and the importance of showing up sometimes. She likens it to taking a child to a birthday party where you have to schmooze with the mothers you don’t particularly like. But if a new manager arrives and begins to introduce many of these activities, Amy says, it might be appropriate to go to HR to inquire if you’re obligated to attend all or each of these events.

Amy feels that in a situation like Aviva’s, where an employee is given a role that she doesn’t want, the best thing to do is to immediately turn it down. She recommends speaking to HR and thanking your boss for the promotion. Then, explain that it doesn’t utilize your skills and would remove the flexibility that attracted you to the job in the first place. “People are afraid to say, ‘I don’t want this job — I want what I was doing,’ for fear of being fired or not being considered a team player.” But speaking up immediately and creating an electronic paper trail would protect you from retaliation from a hostile manager.

“It’s amazing what happens when you loop in HR or even an upper manager to the equation,” Amy explains. “It costs a lot of money for a company to lose a top-notch employee.” Often, a higher authority might step in and stop a toxic pattern in its tracks.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 910)