Here is a bit from my stand-up shtick: “The most difficult thing about having five kids is choosing a favourite. But if I had to pick one, I’d probably say my middle son. His best friend Jimmy.”

Like every joke there’s a kernel of truth inside. In this case, that I don’t have a favourite. That I’d publicly share.

Listening to my offspring screaming and fighting in the next room as I write this, I’m not feeling particularly well-inclined towards any of them.

But I am reminded of a different truth: that as each child delights in a different way, each uniquely does your head in. Perhaps most aching is the child who displays your own worst qualities, engendering sympathy or anger depending on your mood at the moment.

What is sure is that a core tenet of contemporary parenting is ensuring all your children feel equally loved and special.

And as JC readers know, this is an idea backed up in Judaism. The Talmud condemns Jacob’s special treatment of Joseph as the reason for his brothers’ resentment of him — resentment that led to our eventual internship in Egypt.

I’ve also heard it argued that with God’s emphasis on utilising our talents, rather focusing on the gifts themselves, so we as parents must refrain from letting our children’s gifts sway us into preference. To which I counter, codswallop. The Torah is essentially one giant paean to favouritism.

I mean, God prefers Abel’s meat offering to Cain’s vegan one, with good reason. In fact, I’m not even sure where Cain gained the strength to murder his brother.

cain and abel GettyImages-1432778169

Sibling rivalry: Cain and Abel, wood engraving, 1894 (Getty Images)

Next we have Abraham banishing poor old Ishmael to the desert after his cuter baby brother Isaac rocks up. Then, when he grew up, Isaac begat his favourite Esau because they liked to go hunting together. (I can totally relate: I go fishing with one of my sons, to charity shops.)

Jacob, in turn, was Rebecca’s favourite, and she has my sympathies: he was the type to just get on with his homework.

However, you might assume that Jacob would be slightly more sensitive to the perils of parental partisanship, considering the shenanigans he got up to obtaining his dad’s blessing and the subsequent fallout with his twin. But, no.

When it was his time to change the nappies there’s a Midrash stating he preferred Joseph as he looked the most like him.

Egotism yes, but when you’re 84 and have had 12 kids in seven years, I’m guessing you’ll latch onto any detail that helps you remember who’s who. Joseph must’ve come out particularly wrinkly.

Not that I can really relate to this, I should add. None of my kids physically resemble me in any way. So singularly do they echo their mother that if one of them wanted to pretend they were being kidnapped on a day out because I refused to buy them an ice cream, I’d end up in trouble.

Meanwhile, I do appreciate how upsetting it must have been for Joseph’s siblings when he was bestowed with the coat of many colours.

But as someone recovering from a recent trip to TK Maxx, I’d suggest the gnashing of teeth probably had less to do with how great a coat it actually was, and more to do with the unfairness of the youngest getting new clothes because the hand-me-downs had finally disintegrated.

I’m pretty sure my kids wouldn’t gang up and send one of their number into slavery, but, to be fair, that’s probably more down to my wife’s parenting.

And after getting rid of Joseph, the remaining siblings must have been particularly wary of receiving any gifts from their dad; you can imagine Reuben or Asher or whoever warily opening their presents in front of their brothers, and wondering if this pair of multicoloured socks would be what did them in.

Fairness, then, really is the key, but insomuchas you distinguish between them , I’m not sure favouritism is so terrible. I was my mum’s favourite, my sister my dad’s, and being the favourite can imbue a sense of specialness that helps when life tests you.

Plus, the bitterness of not being the favourite can beget ambition, in an attempt to prove your parent wrong.

Of course, the greatest bit of favouritism in the Torah is the books themselves. To be fair, they were offered to everyone else before we were chosen to choose them to choose us.

And God never specifically says we’re his favourites, it’s more of a nudge, nudge, wink, wink situation. Perhaps he does that thing I do with my kids, where I tell each of them they’re my chosen one.

When in fact my true favourite is…