12/12/99

He’s not stupid, stupid

   When the day comes that computers start programming people, maybe Yonasan Beitz will finally get a job.
    The hardware couldn't care less what this guy looks like, but to humanware, looks count. Yonasan has cerebral palsy, not so bad a case that he can't operate a keyboard or communicate well, but as long as his fellow man is doing the hiring, he can't find work.
    Every time he tries, for some reason, his condition and his expertise mismatch. To employers, CP means “cerebral palsy”; to him, it's nothing more than “computer programmer.”
    Maybe the problem is not due to his handicap. Maybe it's because he has red hair. Or a straggly beard. He can't be sure, because people don't come right out and tell him. Well, not always.
    “My mother once asked an employment agency why they couldn't find a job for me. The lady said: 'The truth? Two reasons: the disability, and the beard.' She actually had the guts to say so!”
    He has coped with this indignity all his life, with a sunny disposition his only weapon. “I hit people with humor and they don't know what to say. When I use humor, it puts people at ease. When I don't get a chance to be funny, I'm in trouble.”
   He's been here for five years, and has never succeeded in landing a job.
   Mind you, he's intelligent enough to have been a computer programmer at a brokerage firm on Wall Street, no less.
    Yonasan became handicapped in his first seconds of life, 44 years ago, when the doctor in Johannesburg tugged him out with forceps that squeezed his brain. His cerebral palsy is not the worst you'll ever see, but who wants a guy with a tilt and a sluggish, slurred tongue hanging around the water cooler?
    The smart employer should, he grins. “Handicapped people are loyal, devoted, enthusiastic workers. We're not looking to climb the ladder. We just want to work.” (Here at the Post, a polio-crippled man once won the Employee of the Year Award. Sometimes, they who can't, damn well do.)
    “There's a genuine fear of assigning responsibility to disabled people, because they think we're going to screw up,” he says. Fact is, while he was working at the brokerage firm in 1987, the stock market crash occurred. But he doesn't think it was his fault.
    Rather than screw up, he distinguished himself. “I was working on a particular program for them, keeping track of earnings, and the program wasn't picking up a certain level. I came up with an idea, and my manager said it was brilliant. We wrote the program out, and it worked beautifully.
    “But I wasn't satisfied. I went to the systems people, to test my program further.
    “When I know what I'm doing, it comes out real good. I surprise myself sometimes.”
    Here, no one will hire him. “I apply for jobs in the normal way: I send my resume, people are always very impressed with my abilities, but when I go for the interview, it's another story altogether. I would walk into the office, and - y'know, a hi-tech company has to have a slick image, you have to look like this and like that. So a guy walks in there with a beard, and a bit of a shake, it's not the image they want.”
   He was invited for an interview at a Haifa hi-tech company, after they enthusiastically reviewed his CV. “It's funny, they see a CV from a guy in America, and they expect some cool guy to show up. So they were waiting for me at the door, and when they saw me, they ran into a room, closed the door and they were laughing. I heard them. When they came out they were laughing in my face, I couldn't believe it. Anyway, they made some excuse, they didn't have a job. The receptionist felt so bad she gave me an apple.
    “Another company I went to, the woman saw me and quickly took me into a room because she was afraid people were going to see me with her, and she closed the door.
    “One time I went for a job, and they asked if I came from a charity organization.” He laughs merrily, appreciating the farce even though it's at his own expense. “I told them no, I'm applying for the computer job. If they had offered a BIG donation I would have said thank you very much, so I wouldn't have to work anymore, ha ha!”
    Yonasan's good humor tells you something about his character. “I've taken a lot of knocks, but it makes you strong, experienced, you learn how to deal with that kind of stuff. It's a very powerful thing.”
    With no income, he lives in a grubby two rooms of a slummy building in Kiryat Sanz, Netanya. He doesn't complain.
    Chronic joblessness “definitely contributed” to the breakup of his marriage. He is not bitter.
    He has five children he can't support. He says they respect and love him anyway.
   He is routinely humiliated. He remains upbeat and positive.
   This Wall Street computer programmer - he's also a qualified network administrator - once humbly accepted work as a kashrut supervisor. It's demeaning for a man of his ability, yet he's proud of the job he did.
    Now Yonasan is thinking in a different direction: If the strong and healthy don't want him around, he'd like to stick to his own, teaching programming to handicapped youths. Besides the BA he has in religious education, he has an MA in special education. Perfect, right?
   “I want to help children with disabilities. They don't have the sarcasm, the superiority; they want to learn, and for me to communicate with them won't be a problem.
   “There was a family in Ra'anana, they wanted me to teach their son. I picked up the phone and spoke to the boy. When I heard his voice, and he heard mine, it was like sweet music! Same thing! It's very special when you hear it.”
    Yonasan is willing to relocate anywhere in Israel, he'll do handstands for an honest job. If you don't care how he looks, call him at 09-861-3681.
    Your computers won't even know he tilts.