While that may be less likely, it’s enough of a risk that you don’t want to just say “oh well, I guess she quit” and be done with it, in case it does turn out that something awful happened.
However, I wouldn’t advise that an employer go to an employee’s house to check on them.
Because it’s impossible to tell the difference between a good and real hair, my friends and I didn’t immediately stand out in public as Orthodox women—or even as Jews.
But all that changed when I went out with my husband: Standing by his side, I quickly learned that there were risks to looking like a Hasidic Jew. “People are glaring at that other Orthodox Jewish guy over there, too.” He was right. But I was never able to get used to the enormous difference between riding solo and incognito on the subway, looking like any other woman (except that every day is a good hair day when you wear a sheitel) when I was alone, versus traveling with my husband as part of a couple whose garb screamed “Hasidic.” There were occasional reminders that even among the sophisticated, diversity-loving residents of my hometown, some kinds of diversity are less equal than others. And, I’m sorry to say, over time there were several more instances, frequent enough that they now feel ordinary.
But primarily we’re concerned about your safety.”) If you don’t hear from the person in a reasonable time period, call again and this time say, “We’re really worried about whether you’re okay and we’re going to send the police to your home to do a welfare check, so please let us know if that’s not necessary.” Then, call the police, explain that someone didn’t return to work when expected and that you’re concerned for her safety.
Ask if it’s possible for them to do a welfare check, where they go by her house and make sure she’s okay.
She told me, in a monotone, that this was the co-op’s policy.
We paid and left, but not before we heard her say to the customer in line behind us: …And it’s worth risking annoying someone in case something else did happen.Nine years ago, when I got married, I started to cover my hair. But in public I wore a sheitel, or wig, since wigs were considered de rigueur by most of the women I was becoming friends with in Brooklyn.Now I wanted to feel comfortable proclaiming my truth—“Here’s a Jewish woman who believes in Torah!”—and to me the wig was a whitewash, another way of passing.*** Taking the subway in New York City with my husband for the first time was like being pushed into a wall of ice. A few years ago, my husband and I were headed to an appointment at Lenox Hill Hospital on the Upper East Side. As we turned around, a sports-jacketed man, sockless, in expensive loafers, took aim and spit a perfect arc of phlegm a couple of inches from my husband’s feet. For example: I wasn’t present, but I was pained to learn about the time when my husband was verbally harassed on the subway by a group of young men.