Accountants get a lot of bad press, and they’re often the butt of jokes, such as this anonymous zinger: “An accountant is a man who watches the battle from the safety of the hills and then comes down to bayonet the wounded.”

Accounting season has just wrapped up, and instead of ridiculing them, I think we should pay homage to the hard-working men and women whom we visit at least once a year to complete our tax returns, as well as share some of our most intimate and personal information.

Let me tell you a little bit about my experiences with my accountants.

David Rosenzweig, my brother-in-law (may he rest in peace) and original accountant, was a fine man and an excellent professional.

Once a year, I would head over to David’s office, generally on the Sunday morning before the April 30 filing deadline, feeling groggy and irritated about the task at hand. His office was abuzz with activity, and he would meet me in the reception area with a smile and tired, but joyful, eyes.

David would shift his coffee mug from one hand to the other and shake my hand, and then we would then make the short jaunt to his office, past the coffee room and some very tired-looking accountants.

There I was greeted by stacks of files, returns being prepared to mail off to Ottawa.

I remember wondering about the financial situation of his other clients. How much were they worth? Who was experiencing great business success and who was suffering (because somebody always was)? Did I have as many charitable receipts as the other files he was working on? Did I choose the correct profession? The other files seemed so much thicker than mine.

Throughout our 60 minutes together, as David unfolded and collated my T4s and gas receipts, I always felt as though I was David’s only client, and I sensed that he, too, looked forward to our time together. From stories I heard later, most of his clients felt the same way.  

It was understood that while we were meeting, everyone else was to stay out of the office. After all, our conversation was very private. It had to do with money, and I’m Canadian. Nobody needs to know.

And while we talked dollars and cents, David would always ask, in a most sincere way, how things were going in my life.

He would tell me how he enjoyed the Marty & Avrum (my radio show) shiva food review he had heard that morning on the way to work. He would laugh heartily at the silliness of it. He would then respectfully probe a little deeper, asking poignant questions about familial issues and the ways to solve them.

This was our – David’s and mine – annual one-hour meeting, when we would fulfil the obligations set out by the Canada Revenue Agency.

I looked forward to it. It was enjoyable and unique, and, in those days, I generally got money back.

I miss my original accountant and our annual hour together. I am fortunate, however, because today my accountant is Stephen Altbaum, a very decent and talented man, with a warm soul and deep sense of concern for the Jewish people. He also knows his way around numbers.  

David Letterman once said, “There’s no business like show business, but there are several businesses like accounting.” That may be, but there aren’t a lot of people around like the women and men we spend some of our most private moments with, discussing our financial lives and the secret stuff about our existence that few are privy to.

God bless our accountants. What would a good battle be without them?

[email protected]. Sderot/Sudan?