In the spring of 2000, Frederick Bock (whose name was changed at his own request), thought he was coming into the job of his dreams when he scored a prized post at an international architecture company in Orlando. In a lawsuit he filed, Bock, who has blond hair and blue eyes, claims that the owner and a supervisor harassed him for being Jewish and turned his life upside down in the nearly two years he worked there. The owner, Bock charges, asked him a number of times if he "was really Jewish." Jokes and slanderous comments were made about his religion. For instance, the owner once said, "Jewish people since biblical times were bankers. We all know that bankers have money and suck owners' pockets, and we all hate bankers." This was the same man who drew a swastika on one of Bock's architectural plans, says Bock.

The defining moment came one day when Bock's supervisor was critiquing his work and segued into a description of an old boss, whom he labeled a "money-hungry Jew." Unabashedly, the supervisor, according to the lawsuit filed by Bock, went on to say that he could "understand the reasons behind the Nazi Holocaust." Bock complained to human resources, and was fired the next day, the company saying that his work wasn't up to snuff even though he'd scored top marks on a recent performance evaluation. A year later, a U.S. District Court found that Bock had a reasonable basis for a religious harassment claim and ordered that the case go to trial. But it was settled out of court for $100,000 without any admission of guilt. Bock is now a senior-level architect at another firm in the Miami area.

Such blatant harassment sends overwhelmingly negative messages to other employees in the office, says Rachel Shonfield, a senior lawyer at the Miami office of the EEOC who is familiar with Bock's suit.

Worse, Shonfield adds, that kind of unchecked behavior shoots a rippling wave of fear through the office. "When one person gets fired for expressing grievances, employees feel that they shouldn't talk about problems," Shonfield says. "They fear retaliation, and you have this unproductive culture of fear that permeates the workspace."

Many managers, bent on keeping morale high and conflict low, think the best way to eliminate religious harassment is to eliminate allusions to the subject altogether -- from minor expressions like religious computer screen savers to more significant actions, such as religious conversation and prayer.

But ignoring or sweeping religious interests under the rug is not only callous, but also unrealistic, experts warn. Consider the numbers: A recent Gallup poll reports that 95 percent of Americans believe in God or some type of universal spirit, while 48 percent say they talk about their religion at work daily. What's more, there are more than 1,500 distinct religious denominations and faith groups nationwide, a number that is growing every year, according to the American Civil Liberties Union. Outlawing religious discussions can kill morale, spur resentment, and ultimately hurt productivity.

"Managers who shut religion off will only inspire more confusion and clashing," says Ian Mirtoff, professor of business management at Stanford University. "It's self-destructive for a company to ignore the facts that we are more than just a Christian nation, that everything has changed since 9/11, and we're more religiously diverse than ever."

Besides, ignoring worker conflict has colossal financial penalties. Last year alone, the EEOC settled over $310 million in workplace-related lawsuits. That's not even accounting for the massive attorney fees and the inestimable damage any sort of employee conflict or dissension does to the productivity and well-being of a company. Turnover is costly, too. When employees, especially top performers, are unhappy they'll go elsewhere. According to Nextera Enterprise, a management consulting firm in Cambridge, Mass., nearly 6.5 million workers left their jobs last year, costing companies an estimated $75 billion to replace them.

Companies would save money and create a more balanced and industrious work environment if they just educated their workforce a little more about religious diversity, says Bennett of the Tanenbaum Center. She advocates education methods, from recognizing religion in company handbooks to internal spirituality seminars; she even suggests creating a "meditation room" at the office where people can explore more personal issues. "There is such a pent-up need to deal with these issues, that when an opportunity arises, it is a positive experience for both the business and the employees."

Shonfield says preventing problems begins with education. "The process is interactive," she says. "It's incumbent on the employer to make employees aware about free speech in the workplace."

Boiled down, living with religion in the workplace is really just about fostering a culture of openness and respect, experts say. It also means putting a premium on self-expression while eschewing the practice of proselytizing. And finally, it means balancing the bedrock principles of business with the spiritual and religious needs of employees, impulses that move and inspire the business to be better, stronger, and more competitive.

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Sami Hammad's story didn't end happily. Eventually, he took his case to the EEOC, which is the last resort for most. In 2002, the EEOC fielded 2,572 such complaints, up from 1,388 10 years ago. Hammad's case went to jury trial and he lost. With all the evidence that had been collected, he ultimately failed to convince the jury that the harassment was either severe or hostile. "I don't know if they would have ruled for me even if I had been cut into pieces." Hammad blames the loss on the fact that he is Muslim and the trial was held on the first anniversary of Sept. 11.

Nevertheless, Hammad returned to work at Bombardier for another month before he was finally laid off because of, according to the company, financial reasons. A company spokesperson, Dave Franson, wouldn't comment except to say, "The verdict pretty much speaks the truth."

Since then, Hammad has been a migrant worker of sorts, looking for airplane jobs, writing a book about what happened, and trying to straighten out his life. The last time Hammad calls he is headed down to a temporary job in Rogers, Ark., where he'll be living in a dingy roadside motel with three other men and servicing airplanes at a local factory from 6 p.m. to 6:30 a.m. almost every day.

He's on the side of the road in the middle of a snowstorm that will leave 2 feet in its swirling trail by the next day. The wind growls violently in the background. He says it feels like 20 below, but he wants to talk.

"I just wanted to make one last thing clear," he says, his voice shivering. "I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't want to go to court. I didn't want to have problems. I just wanted to come here and do my work and live a quiet life like everyone else."

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