Parashat Pekudei: The First Jewish Accountant

If you were to take a poll of the most common ‘Jewish’ professions, I think we’d all agree that Accountancy would probably be up there in the prestigious company of Medicine and Law.

I have lost count (pun intended) of the number of my peers who entered this noble profession.  In fact, when I meet new members of ‘the tribe’ and ask them what they do, invariably they look at me knowingly and mention the ‘A’ word, followed by the usual, “It’s not the most exciting work but….”

The terms ‘Jewish’ and ‘Accountant’ are therefore not uncommon bedfellows.

One of my favourite accountancy jokes is:

How did the IDF win the Six-Day War?

They called up all the accountants, put them in the front line and then charged the Arabs.

If you’re wondering who one of the first Jewish (or in those days, ‘Israelite’) accountants was, he can be found in this week’s Parasha of Pekudei.

Let’s set the scene.

Last week, we read in precise detail about the collection and intricate production of all the materials required to build the Mishkan/Tabernacle.

Our Parashah begins by stating:

These are the accounts (‘Pekudei’) of the Tabernacle, the Tabernacle of testimony recorded at Moshe’s command by the Levites under Itamar, son of Aharon the Priest.  Betzalel, son of Uri, son of Hur, from the tribe of Yehuda, made everything that the Lord had commanded Moshe.  He was assisted by Oholiov, son of Achisamach, from the tribe of Dan.  An engraver, designer and embroiderer in sky-blue, purple and scarlet wool and fine linen. 
(Shemot 38.21-24)

This is followed by a meticulous record of the amount of gold, silver and bronze (according to Rabbi Sacks’ translation in the Koren Magerman Tanach. Other commentators translate ‘Nechoshet’ as copper or brass) used to make items such as the sockets, hooks, bronze mesh and utensils that were used with the altar, even down to the tent pegs.  The description extends to over fifty pesukim(verses) and includes every single material donated and how it was utilized to create the structure, artifacts and vessels associated with the Tabernacle.

The question we can ask is, why?

On first reading, it appears that the Torah is providing an exhaustive and repetitive narrative.  One which we’ve already read about in previous Parashiot.

What are we being taught and how is this connected to our interest in accountancy?

As usual, our first port of call is Rashi who comments that the word ‘pekudei’ (accounts) indicates an official reckoning of the Mishkan's resources.

He notes that Moshe provided a detailed report to ensure that there was no suspicion of misuse.  As the world’s first auditor, he outsourced the work to his nephew, whose accounting services are recorded in the Parasha.

However, this act of accounting was not merely procedural.

Not at all.

Moshe wanted to ensure that he, as leader of the Bnei Yisrael, was beyond reproach.  After all, he had been the Project Manager of a gargantuan endeavour.  In the process, he had collected extremely valuable materials such as gold, silver, bronze and wool from the people.  Would anyone have noticed if a gold bar or two had gone ‘missing’, perhaps set aside for Moshe’s retirement fund?

Rashi reminds us that even the most revered leader, such as Moshe, had to operate beyond reproach and, in the process, embody integrity and build trust.  After all, the Mishkan, as the dwelling place of Gd's presence, required its construction to be rooted not just in holiness but also honesty.

By engaging Itamar, Moshe ensured that there could be no question as to his integrity and that the construction and subsequent utilization of the Mishkan would be rooted in purity, from the moment the process began.

Rabbi Sacks ztl often emphasized that Judaism is not just a religion of personal spirituality but a framework for building an ethical society.  In order to create a moral and just society, one has to ensure that accountability is enshrined as a cornerstone in its construction.

The meticulous record-keeping of the Mishkan reminds us that holiness is found not only in the grand vision but in the integrity of the smallest details.  In this sense, Moshe's account mirrors the role of an accountant (and his case, an auditor).  In providing this narrative, it was not simply a case of just tallying numbers but, at the same time, ensuring that trust was maintained between the leadership and the people.  This resulted in the preservation of relationships and the instillation of a house in which Gd would dwell amongst the people.

This harks back to the very first command that Gd instructed Moshe regarding the construction of the Mishkan in Parashat Terumah (25.8)

They shall make me a sanctuary and I will dwell in their midst.

We, the Jewish people, have always marched to the beat of a different drum and engrained the ethics that we learnt in the Torah at the heart of our faith.  From educating our children and giving Tzedaka, to refusing to lose our faith in Gd when we couldn’t even work out how to survive – our moral compass tells us the right way to behave.  Accountability is hardwired into our DNA and, if you don’t believe me, just think back to how you felt during the High Holiday season.

Itamar, the first Jewish accountant, and his uncle, teach us how important it is to be accountable and how, inside each of us, is the remnant of the purity that flowed through the Mishkan.  At Sinai, Gd said:

“A kingdom of priests and a holy nation you shall be to me.”

It seems that we are all ‘accountants’ and this goes some way to explaining why this might qualify as being ‘most Jewish of professions’ and Jewish mothers around the world can justifiably kvell!

Shavuah Tov and Chodesh Tov.

Parashat Vayakhel: Fitting into the Frame

 

Please raise your hand if you know who Nathan Hope is.

Let me give you a clue as to his importance in 21^st century popular culture.

Known as ‘Hopey’, he posted the above photograph of his bruised lip accompanied by the following description on an Australian Science forum in 2002.  The topic revolved around dissolvable stitches.

‘Um, drunk at a mates 21st, I tripped ofer [sic] and landed lip first (with front teeth coming a very close second) on a set of steps.  I had a hole about 1cm long right through my bottom lip.  And sorry about the focus, it was a selfie.'

Hopey, non-plussed by the subsequent notoriety that was heaped upon him, was thereafter (incorrectly, as it turned out) credited as the originator of the ubiquitous term that he himself disavowed in a later interview:

‘It was not a word I coined.  It’s something that was just common slang at the time, used to describe a picture of yourself.  Fairly simple.’

Once it had entered the Oxford English Dictionary in 2013, it became ‘official’ (and was even named the ‘word of the year’) and now, everyone from royalty to politicians to Hollywood ‘A Listers’ are unable to avoid the attraction and necessary addition of the ‘selfie’ to their social media profiles.

We are also in on the act too – after all, who amongst us has not joined in the obligatory ‘selfie’ pose?  I am as guilty as the next Rabbi!

So, poor Nathan Hope has a lot to answer for.  Irrespective of whether he was responsible for popularising the term and by extension the concept of taking ‘selfies’, he will always be credited for releasing this photographic genie from its bottle.

I have many wonderful memories of my mother.  When I think about her, the image (if you’ll excuse the pun) that comes to mind is of her always taking photographs.  Wherever we went and with whomever we met, she asked us to pose for a photo.  She didn’t confine her interests solely to the still image and I have reels and reels of films that she shot over the years recording her life from childhood to old age.

I suspect that my grandfather might have been responsible for her interest as he too loved taking photos and films, many of which I still have.

Before the ‘age of the selfie’, we enjoyed getting together and asking someone else to take the shot.  It brought us, as a small family unit, close in proximity with all the awkwardness that revolves around people bunching up to fit inside a camera frame.  But it was part of the ritual.  That we didn’t know how the picture would turn out before we developed it added to the mystery and excitement of the moment.

In short, taking photographs seemed to be more of a family event.  Something that quite literally brought us together without needing to worry about how to angle the shot to avoid ruining it with the presence of the forearm taking the picture.

Rabbi Sacks ztl in one of his final books (‘Judaism’s Life Changing Ideas’, 2020, p113) quotes an article from The Telegraph (15^th December 2017) which describes a new medical condition called ‘selfitis’.  He writes that the ‘term was coined as a joke in 2014 to describe people who feel compelled to keep taking selfies and posting them on social media.  Three years later, researchers in Nottingham and India had produced evidence the condition really exists.  “Typical ‘selfitis sufferers’,” they say, “are ‘attention seekers’, often lacking in self-confidence and hoping to boost their social standing.”

How many of us (and Rabbi Sacks explores this idea) opt for ‘self-help’ books or consult similar websites to deal with our inner demons?  How many of us avoid talking to others because we think we can sort our problems out ‘by ourselves’?  How many feel that we need to boost our ‘social standing’ by posting selfies on Facebook instead of meeting up with our friends and spending quality time together?  If we take a photo during the evening, all the better but it is not reason why we decided to convene in the first place.  If we think about it, how much time do we spend by ourselves at the expense of spending it with others?  Our images whizz around the world at the touch of a mouse click whilst we interact with family and friends whose presence fits to the dimensions of a smart phone or if we are at home, a 21” screen.

Parashat Vayakhel is a case in point.  Moshe was spending a great deal of time up there on the mountain with Hashem, leaving a psychologically fragmented nation at its foot revelling in the worship of a golden calf.  Without recourse to seeking his sage advice, they opted for the ‘self-help guide’ to making a god, and we know how disastrous the results were!

Although there were no camera phones in the desert, I guarantee that had there been, our ancestors would have posted millions of selfies to populate their FaceBible or Instadesert profiles!  It took Moshe to come down with all the ensuing events to bring them to their senses.

Gd saw that the best way to bring them back together as a nation and a Kehilla/Community was to initiate a building project which encompassed the magnitude of constructing the Mishkan/Tabernacle.  Moshe, the set designer, director of photography and producer, set about arranging this and, as a result, the Children of Israel stepped up to the Biblical plate.

In tandem, Moshe told them to down their tools and spend twenty-five hours in a state of being ‘unplugged’ as it were.  Celebrating Shabbat, not as singular individuals but as a Kahal/community.  Something that we have continued to do week in and week out for over three thousand, three hundred years.

There are certain prayers that we are allowed to recite on our own which I’ll refer to as ‘Our Selfie’ Tefillot and each of these is valid as way of communicating with The Almighty.  However, it is the tefillot/prayers that we say together (such as Barachu and the Kedusha) as a community that bring us squarely into His divine camera frame.  Where we metaphorically squeeze into Gd’s picture and wait for him to take the photograph and beam with pride at the result.

In the very first Parasha, Gd tells Adam that it is not good for man to be alone which he remedies by creating a partner to accompany him.  Although our kehillot are made up of individuals, it is our strength as a community which defines us.  The motto ‘e pluribus unum’ – ‘out of the many, one’ applies to our nation.  We, the Jewish people, are one global community made up of many different individuals.

The image that Hopey shared all those years ago may have launched a billion non-descript selfies but the photos that will last forever are those we hold in our hearts, of the times we stood uncomfortably trying to fit into the frame, surrounded by our loved ones.

These non-selfies really matter, aren’t they?

Shavuah Tov

Parashat Yitro: Our Millennium Bridge

Thars Duijnstee is a Dutch publisher and ‘concept developer’ (as per his self-description on LinkedIn) who came up with an original and bestselling idea that has taken his homeland and neighbouring Belgium by storm.  He is the man behind TDM Publishing which has created a series of books called ‘My First 18 Years’.

Tapping into the lucrative ‘Nostalgia’ Market, each book in the series does ‘what it says on the tin’ and provides a fascinating and detailed illustrated journey through our formative years with books spanning every year from 1949 to 1984.

With more than half-a-million copies sold (if you believe the numbers he quotes), he’s branched out into the English-speaking world and adapted the volumes for the British market which is where I came across them when perusing social media.  They were on Amazon, my favourite go-to location when I feel like engaging in a little retail therapy and soon enough, my 1967 tome dropped onto our doormat.

In my case, the title is a touch misleading because although my ‘First 18 Years’ began in 1967, I only popped out in its twelfth month, which means that the events described didn’t really impact me.  To add insult to injury, when I celebrated my birthday on 1^st December 1984 (the last month in my book), I had just turned 17.

Notwithstanding a December birth, I do recall many of the news events, TV shows, films, sweets, chocolates, toys and songs described in the book particularly those that were so prevalent in the mid ‘70s to ‘80s when I was growing up.

I have thoroughly enjoyed the experience of trapsing down memory lane and remembering the times I spent with my parents, sharing experiences that cannot be recreated.  The TV programmes we used to watch together ‘en famille’, along with the toys I was given and how I enjoyed playing with them and creating imaginary worlds.  Being an only child wasn’t that hard!

I was brought up with my feet firmly rooted in two different worlds.  On the one hand, we engaged with the culture that surrounded us, although my parents’ continental background veered towards their Francophile Antwerp clique.  And on the other, we were Modern Orthodox with everything that it entailed, from being Shomer Shabbat to keeping kosher.

The crucible in which I was formed was therefore a mix of two very different cultures.  Jewish and British and in those days the two didn’t always complement each other smoothly.

The era in which I grew up was more innocent than today.  I used to be able to go out of my house and roller-skate repeatedly around the block until it was time to return home for dinner.  We would walk over to each other’s houses on the long summer Shabbat afternoons and return when it was dusk.  We weren’t frightened of being attacked.

The television presenters who graced our screens and the shows they fronted were beamed into our living rooms on a weekly basis.  These men were wholesome family men or so it seemed.  We could not have imagined that this was a façade and that they were anything but decent as we would discover once the twentieth century had passed into history.

Which is why reading ‘my book’ has impressed upon me the importance in my life of a very different tome.

I was fortunate enough to experience a high level of Jewish education particularly in my primary school.  Whilst I was creating worlds with my Action Men, I was being taught how to study Chumash accompanied by Rashi as well as Mishna.  In school, the TV shows I watched at home and the toys I played with had very little relevance.  They were part of my ‘other world’.  The news that we used to watch at night, unless it concerned Israel, was not a feature of what we discussed in the classroom (not that we talked too much about Israeli politics in school!) but it did occupy the debates we used to have around the dining room table.  As I have mentioned before, one of my earliest memories dates to watching the news during the Yom Kippur War.

Alongside my secular education, as detailed in my book, was a fascination I had in Torah study and very few stories held my interest as much as the one we see described in this week’s Parasha, namely Matan Torah, the giving of the Torah at Sinai.

Each year, when it came around in the winter and summer readings of Yitro and Va’Etchanan (and obviously at Shavuot), I was enraptured.  I tried to imagine what it must have been like to stand there at Mount Sinai and witness the spectacle of Moshe Rabbeinu reciting Gd’s words to the terrified Israelites.  The mountain was shaking, enveloped in smoke, thunder, lightning and shofars blasting.  It was a scene that almost felt as if it could be indescribable and yet, the Torah was doing just that.  It was relating exactly what happened.

As I grew older, I understood how wrong I had been with regard to the disconnect I had envisaged between both of these worlds.  I appreciated my secular life and all that it entailed whilst living in a ‘Jewish bubble’ in Golders Green, no less!

And here’s the rub.  Without one, I understood why the other falls apart.

Reading the ‘My First 18 Years’, I realise that from 1967 to 1984, the non-Jewish society in which I lived, may have experienced what seemed on the surface to be advancements in all spheres but deeper down, started a downward spiral from which it is yet to recover.

We were wealthier by the end of the decade, but were we happier?

Did we sit down and eat meals at the kitchen table or did we prefer to opt for the new-fangled TV dinners?

What had happened to the nuclear family that we treasured for so many years?

The Ten Commandments, or more accurately, ‘Pronouncements’ that we read about this week, instructs us to create a society that is anchored by laws such as ‘Do Not Kill’, Steal or Commit Adultery.

What happened to these values whilst I was growing up?

When Peter Sutcliffe or Dennis Nilson carried out their depraved murderous atrocities?

When the 1983 Brinks Matt robbery led to the theft of £26 million worth of gold bullion (estimated at £111 million in 2023 that has never been recovered?

Where nearly a third of marriages in the 1970s ended due to adultery? (source: https://www.co-operative.coop/media/news-releases/adultery-no-longer-top-reason-for-divorce#:~:text=The%20research%20revealed%2029%20percent,all%20divorces%20(47%20percent))

The Torah was there to remind me that although the world beyond the front door of 10, Portsdown Avenue, NW11 0NB was an exciting place to explore, it was the everyday mundane events that took place within its walls that would influence me more positively.

The Shabbat afternoons where I would sit and learn with my father before he went to have his ‘shluff’; the Chanukah candles we would light together as a family; the crazy Purim outfits that I would wear each year; the Sedarim which would take place in our front dining room which was one of the few times I remember eating at that table - and the weekly family get togethers that we would have after shul at my great-aunt’s house nearby.  She was the matriarch of the clan.

Without all the above, all the rest was unimportant.

I believe that this is what has kept our nation together across the millennia.  The Torah is our ‘Millenium Bridge’.  The structure that has, for thousands of years, enabled us to straddle both worlds – the one described in Thars Duijnstee’s marvellous little books (which are subtitled ‘Relive Your Youth’) and the one that exists ‘beyond our first 18 years’.

G-d was there when I was commencing my journey and he’ll be there when I end it.  His Torah, our Torah will also be present.  What happens in the next 18 years for the newbies will be down to how much they choose to learn from reading the ‘Jewish People’s Constitution’ as Rabbi Sacks ztl referred to it.

Without one, you cannot have the other because, had the generation in which I both followed and grew up in paid more attention to the Ten Commandments, perhaps that era might have been very different.  Society might have been better able to face the challenges it encountered once events that followed the end of my book took place.

As we know, the number 18 in our faith is extremely significant.  It represents, ‘Chai’ – ‘life’.

So, here’s to our next 18 years and may they be more peaceful and blessed than the last.  May our ‘Millenium Bridge’ lead the way forward.  From the past to the present, to the future, it is the surest way to build a healthier, happier and more resilient society.

Shavuah Tov.

Parashat Vayechi: Legacies and Values

Dedicated to the memory of Daniel Rubin zl

Yankel and Miriam have been married for seventy years.  Sitting on what will soon become his death bed at the age of ninety-five, he is surrounded by his wife and five children, David, Max, Josh, Bobby and Hannah.  He speaks slowly in a barely audible voice.

“David, my eldest son, when I die I want you to take over the running of the business.”

David replies, “Yes, Dad.”  At which point, Miriam looks at Yankel and says, “Yankel, I know how close you feel to David but he’s not cut out to be a businessman.  Better, you should give the responsibility to Max.  After all, his last three companies have been successfully trading on the Stock Exchange.”

Yankel looks at Miriam and says, “Ok, Miriam, Max can run the business.”

He then looks across the bed to Josh and says, “My wonderful Joshua, you’ve always admired my 1952 Bentley Mark VI Special and I know how much you enjoyed accompanying me when we used to take it out for a spin.  I want you to have the car.”

Before he can answer, Miriam says, “Yankel, have you seen how many points Josh has accrued?  He’s barely legal!  Better, that you give the car to David as he’s such a careful driver.”

Yankel looks at Miriam and says, “OK, Miriam, David gets the car.”

He continues.  “Bobby, do you remember how we used to play golf near the cottage in the Cotswolds every summer when you were growing up?  I want you to have the house.”

To which Miriam cuts in again, “Yankel, are you mad?  Bobby doesn’t know the first thing about running a home.  Have you seen the hovel he lives in?  You know what, why don’t you leave the cottage to Hannah instead.  She will be so house proud and don’t forget that she’s getting married in the Summer.  She and Adam love the area.”

Yankel turns to Miriam and mustering all the strength that remains in his body, says, “Miriam, please remind me as to who is dying, is it you or me?”

This joke is redolent of the Jewish attitude to death.  In his final hours, when Yankel should be concentrating on affirming the legacy that he’s spent his entire life creating, he is frustrated by his wife’s interference in his final plans.  The joke is funny because both Yankel and the audience know that she’s right.  It’s just that he’d like to be given the opportunity to have the final word!

This week’s Parasha of Vayechi, in tandem with its Haftarah, focuses respectively on the last days of Yaakov Avinu/Jacob and David Hamelech (King David).  Surrounded by their heirs and successors, they were aware of the legacies they were about to leave behind and the values that they wished to transmit to their children and future generations.  In both cases, these would significantly impact on the spiritual development and long-term survival of their descendants.

Yaakov and David were acutely aware that seated before them, were men whose actions could either unite the Jewish (or in those days, Israelite) nation or tear it asunder.

Yaakov blessed each of his sons individually, along with his grandsons, Efraim and Menashe.

Knowing his son’s characteristics, he also admonished them, making them aware of their faults. as we see in the brachot bestowed upon Reuven, Shimon and Levy.  Despite his initial wish to let the sons know what would happen ‘at the end of days’ (details of which were hidden from him by Hashem), he was still able to prophesise what could (and sadly did) transpire if the relationship between the brothers (and by extension, tribes) fractured.

His children and their progeny surrounded his bedside in a rare moment of unity and he died satisfied in the knowledge that his legacy was secure and that the values that he, and by extension we the Jewish people, the Bnei Yisrael hold so dear, had been transmitted to future generations. 

What more could anyone ask for?

King David wished to ensure exactly the same thing.  The greatest ruler we have ever had urged his son, the soon-to-be-enthroned King Solomon, to follow Gd’s commandments and rule wisely and justly.

However, he was not so fortunate.

He had spent much of his life on the battlefield but his most deadly enemies were none other than his own sons, Avshalom/Absalom and Adoniyah.  Add to that, he encountered the treachery of friends that he thought he could trust.

Unlike his ancestor Yaakov, his words were replete with bitterness and recrimination.   He instructed his son to ensure that his general, Yoav ben Tseruyah, was held accountable for the deaths of Avner and Amasa, two potential rivals as well as Avshalom, “do not let his greying head go down to the grave in peace” and reserve a similar fate for Shimi ben Gera the Benjamite who cursed him when he was fleeing Avshalom.  After asking Solomon to show kindness to the children of Barzilai, who acted favourably to him in this flight, his last words before he died, were “And now, do not consider him [i.e Shimi] innocent, for you are a wise man, and you will know how to deal with him, and you bring down his grey head to the grave in blood.”

These are clearly not the words of a man at peace with himself.

However, in death, their legacy is intact.

Jacob and David’s passings are described thus:

‘When Jacob finished his instructions to his sons, he drew his feet into the bed and he expired and he was gathered to his kin.’ (Bereshit 49.33)

‘And then David slept with his fathers and was buried in the City of David.’ (Kings I.  2.10)

Both Yaakov and David’s lives were shaped by the relationships they had with their children.  Families are complex entities that can impact us in ways that we could not predict.  This does not mean that we should ever compromise on what we believe in.  Each of us has a legacy to leave to our loved ones, be it our children or the friends that we consider to be like brethren.

The values that we cherish are those that need to be passed on to ensure that future generations continue to bear the moral compass we hold so dear.  In their own ways, Yaakov Avinu and David Hamelech accomplished the same thing, albeit in very different circumstances.

It is due to their actions that we are here today, as proud bearers of the religion that they forged and which was built upon by later generations.  We proclaim David to be ‘Melech Yisrael’ – the King of Israel who is alive and enduring (‘chai chai vekayom’) and Yaakov’s name, Israel is hardwired into our DNA.

Please Gd, it will be a long time until we find ourselves in the same position described in this week’s Parasha and Haftara, but if we have established a lasting legacy and are able to continue transmitting our values, we too will live forever in the hearts and minds of future generations.

Shavuah Tov.

Parashat Vayigash: Joseph - The Better Man

Shloimy Cohen was a Haredi man who spent his life living a very observant life. He had a long beard, wore a big black Borsalino hat and dressed in a smart Saville Row, Shatnez- tested suit. He attended shul twice (and sometimes) three times a day, kept Glatt kosher and was the respected elder of his community.

However, when Shlomy celebrated his 70^th birthday, he decided that, although he’d been a devout Jew all his life, he wanted to have ‘some fun’ as he put it to his friends.

The beard came off, as did the hat (and the kippah) along with the suit. He now walked around Golders Green wearing a fashionable ‘The North Face’ jacket, Levis and trainers. He also sold his Toyota Previa and bought a Porsche 911 which he would drive up and down the M1 at a raging 100 mph.

One night as he was hurtling down towards Junction 1 in the pouring rain, he skidded and crashed into a concrete barrier. He was killed on impact.

In heaven, Shloimy walked angrily into Gan Eden. As he entered, he shouted out:

“Hakadosh Baruch Hu! I nearly spent my entire life dedicated to Your Service. From the moment I woke up in the morning until the minute my head hit the pillow, I dedicated my every thought and action to you. I know that I’ve slipped up recently, but did you really have to do this to me?”

A heavenly voice came back, full of concern:

“Shloimy, Shloimy is that you? Oy vey! I didn’t recognise you!”

Last week, we read that Joseph, the Viceroy of Egypt met with his brothers when they first came down to the country in search of food. The Torah tells us that he ‘recognised them, but they didn’t recognize him’ (Bereshit 42.9)

I have always been puzzled by this verse and assumed that it was the case because he must have been wearing some sort of mask. Surely, they would have known what he looked and sounded like?

Let’s hold that thought for a moment.

Earlier this week, Stephnie and I went to see a fascinating film called ‘Better Man’ which is an arresting biography of the pop singer Robbie Williams. Where this ‘biopic’ really stands out is that although it portrays his life in the well-worn and familiar chronological fashion, it does this in a truly original manner as Robbie appears throughout proceedings in the form of a chimpanzee (even though the eyes are his as they were digitally scanned and added in by the Director.)

To be honest, when I first saw the trailers, I wasn’t particularly impressed. He’s a few years younger than me and I’ve always enjoyed and respected his prodigious output. He’s a genuinely talented singer but as a chimp? Hmmm.

We thought we’d give it a try and came out truly bowled over. It’s an excellent film and although on paper, it sounds weird (and it is!), after a few minutes, you realise that it doesn’t matter what Robbie looks like, since, as you are hearing his narration and singing voice, you just accept the chimp as being Robbie Williams. The actor who plays him is superb and the CGI which renders him into a living, breathing monkey is remarkable. If you close your eyes and listen to the soundtrack, you wouldn’t know that the main character is anything but the man himself.

Back to Joseph and my assumptions that he must have hidden his face from his brothers.    This wasn’t the case at all. Rashi tells us that the reason they didn’t realise that this high official to whom they had just bowed (just like in the predictive dream) was not their brother was because he was now sporting a beard.

I’ve grown a beard in the past and no-one has ever failed to recognise me. There must be something more. Chizkuni (Rabbi Chizkiyahu Ben Manoach) the 13^th Century French commentator explains that, in addition to his facial hair, he was now known by his Egyptian name of Tzafenat Pane’ach and he spoke Egyptian, professing not to understand Hebrew.

Add to that the garments of finest linen, gold chain that adorned his neck and signet ring that was given to him by Pharaoh himself (Bereshit 41. 42-43). Joseph didn’t need to wear a mask because to the brothers, the man standing in front of them did not at all resemble the spoiled teenager they had cast into a pit many years previously.

In other words, Tzafenat Pane’ach could never be the same person as Joseph because, in the brothers’ opinion and worldview, they could not conceive that these two men were identical beyond their outer appearance. When Joseph reveals who he is to his brothers in this week’s Parasha, the Torah tells us that ‘his brothers were so bewildered at his presence that they could not answer him.’ (Bereshit 45.3)

For historical reasons, Robbie Williams has used a metaphor of a chimpanzee as his alter-ego. He even wrote a song in 2002 called “Me and My Monkey” describing his struggle with cocaine abuse and how he thought of himself as a monkey during his addiction. It’s a discussion that goes beyond the scope of this Drasha.

Nevertheless, Robbie chose to use this device in the film and we, the audience, as I wrote are aware of who the monkey really is. However, let’s say I sat in the cinema and that the last time I had seen Robbie was as a teenager in my local supermarket in Stoke-on-Trent buying cigarettes and alcohol. Since then, I had never heard his music or knew anything about him. I turn up to see a film about a chimp singing songs I don’t recognise. Would I know that this was the same person?

To a certain extent, we all wear ‘masks’ in our lives even though we don’t hide our faces.  

My students and the members of the congregations I lead view me very differently. My family and friends see another version of ‘Claude’ and when I bump into my own teachers (there are still a few around!), they sometimes struggle to recognize me. Not necessarily because I have changed but because I am different to the way they remember me.

It's all about perception and the way we think we know people. Strip away our external superficial layer and we are all the same underneath. Despite the despicable action that they did in selling their brother, we know that they were all great men. Joseph taught them a lesson and made them realise and face the enormity of their mistake.

When Judah, the brother who had initiated the plan to sell Joseph, pleads on behalf of Benjamin and offers himself up as a slave in his stead, Tzafenat Pane’ach, reverts to form and reveals his identity. The brothers’ reaction is as much a reflection of their own shame as the realisation that, as per the famous lyric, ‘Joseph who you thought was dead, your brother, It's me.’ It's a startling and moving moment, both for them and us.

The Torah’s message is profound. To truly know and understand a fellow human-being, look beyond the external features and the designer clothes. It’s not about the amazing cars we drive or the beautiful houses we inhabit. Yes, they’re impressive and they look fabulous. However, what matters is whom we are and the role we play in society.

The realistic looking monkey suit may be fun to wear on Purim, but it is the Mishloach Manot and Matanot Le’evyonim (gifts to the poor) that really demonstrate the true nature of the festival.  We are all ‘better men’ and women when we show our true colours. The ones that shine through the ‘masks’ that we sometimes use to hide the genuine beauty that lies within each of us.

Shavuah Tov.