Readers share tales out of the office — perils, pitfalls, and the ways they aim higher

“In my field, networking is everything. I need to build the contacts my parnassah depends on, but the schmoozing at a lot of these events makes me uncomfortable.”

“Navigating workplace etiquette is so tough. I was showing off a picture of my kids and a male coworker commented on how cute my family is. I wasn’t sure how to respond.”

“I had solid hashkafos, I learned concrete gedarim in seminary… until five years down the line, when I’m working in a corporate office where no one has used the word ‘Mr.’ in the past decade. How do I apply the rules I learned to this world?”

“I don’t schmooze in the office with my male coworkers… but then I got a voice note from my male coworker late at night, and felt so uncomfortable.”

We asked our readers:

You want to support your family. You want to build your career. And you want to do it all the right way.

How do you make it work?

The responses poured in — from bosses, from employees, from a number of organizations that help people navigate the workforce with tzniyus and kedushah. We heard tales of murky dilemmas, breached boundaries, uneasy interactions. But we also heard stories of spiritual splendor and quiet strength, stories that tell of a nation with fierce commitment to its principles. 

Here are their stories

Door Wide Open

“DO

you have a minute to talk?” Benzion asked.

“Sure,” I said. “Come into my office.”

I’m the manager of a department in a frum medical supplies business. Our office employs both men and women, and I like to think that we have pretty high ruchniyus standards in place. Men and women sit in separate rooms. Office events and Rosh Chodesh parties are either held separately for men and women, or with very separate seating. Many, if not most, staff members use “Rabbi” or “Mr.” or “Mrs.” when addressing the opposite gender, and the women will cut short any schmoozing about recipes or shopping when a man enters the room.

As a manager, I try to maintain an open-door policy. I want my team to know that I’m here to help them do their best work, and they’re welcome to stop in my office or pop me an email when any questions come up. And I think it’s healthy and positive when a female colleague’s work question occasionally develops into a conversation about mothering tips or Pesach cleaning.

Still, I try to project an air of professionalism when interacting with my male colleagues. I want to be approachable and available for any questions or concerns, but still somewhat crisp and reserved so the conversation stays focused on work.

When Benzion asked to come talk, I figured he wanted to iron out some questions about a big sale we were about to close. But as he sat down on the other side of the desk, he seemed on edge.

“So I wanted to talk to you,” he said, tapping his fingers on the desk, “because — because things are pretty tough for me right now at home. I thought you should know.”

This made sense. A crisis at home can spill over into work, and a manager armed with the right information can provide a struggling employee with support — adjusted expectations, extended deadlines, removing some of the burden.

But what came next made no sense at all.

“So my wife, she’s been dealing with a very serious case of depression for the last few months,” he said.

I nodded. I hear you, I wanted to broadcast, even without words.

“We’ve tried a few different approaches — therapies, medications,” he went on. The tapping on my desk got louder, more strident. “So this new medication, the doctor thinks it’s really making a difference, which is good. But still... my wife just isn’t the same. She’s so... so cold, so distant.”

This time I didn’t nod. I was completely and totally floored. What?

“You can’t understand what this is doing to me,” he went on. “It’s like... I know it’s not the most important thing, she’s still my wife... but everything in our relationship seems so different to me now. She just isn’t the same.”
He must have noticed at this point how frozen I’d become. His voice got softer. “So it’s really hard for me at home. And… I wanted you to know.”

Nothing in my Bais Yaakov education, my seminary classes, my years of carefully maintained “courteous but professional” workplace policy had prepared me for this. What do you say?

“It sounds like you really need someone to talk to, someone who can understand you,” I managed to choke out.

He nodded. “Yeah, it’s hard to find,” he said.

A minute of awkward silence, then another.

He rose from the chair. “So I want to thank you for listening. It’s good to work with people who care,” he said.

“Right,” I managed.

He left the room and left me wondering. For days afterward, I kept replaying that bizarrely, egregiously inappropriate conversation. And I kept wondering: Where did I go wrong, how did I slip up, what previously locked door did I inadvertently open, that a man could feel comfortable walking into my office and talking about his marriage with me?