Best of Brothers, Finest of Men, Or …? Peter Heinegg Joseph and the Way of Forgiveness: A Biblical Tale Retold. Stephen Mitchell, New York, NY: St. Martin's Essentials, 2019 254pp. $21.99. It's hard to think of a literary genre that the versatile, prodigiously learned, and widely acclaimed Stephen Mitchell has not ventured into: poetry and fiction, non‐fiction, translations (of everything from Gilgamesh to Homer to Rilke) and adaptations (from eight languages), compilations of all sorts, including “sacred prose and poetry,” and even children's books—about four dozen volumes in all, some of them in collaboration with his wife Byron Katie. The bulk of his work has centered on the classics, both ancient and modern, and religion, from Hinduism to Buddhism to Judaism to Christianity. This time around he has chosen to do a contemporary Midrashic version of the story of Joseph, a tale that, Mitchell reminds us, Tolstoy thought the most beautiful in the world, with a hero whom he calls “the most spiritually mature character in the Hebrew Bible.” Jack Miles said as much in God: A Biography (1996), but then the Old Testament seldom engages in hagiography (cf. the way Moses was banned, for an obscure minor lapse, from entering the Promised Land). In fact, the Hebrew Bible specialized in warts‐and‐all portraiture long before that phrase became popular in the 18th century. Mitchell makes a compelling case for the moral greatness of Joseph, with a little help from laudatory early rabbinical commentary. But the Bible, like the Talmud, always leaves room for contrary voices; and while joining Mitchell in his warm, affectionate, compelling account, we can still ask a few edgy questions. Mitchell actually begins on a misleading note, when he writes that the previously, and agonizingly, barren Rachel welcomes her newborn son by naming “the boy Joseph, which means He Has Taken Away (that is, God Has Taken Away My Humiliation).” Well, she did thank God for taking away what the KJV calls her “reproach” (Gen. 30.24); but the actual etymology of the name means “let him [the god] add,” (from the verb yasaf) as Rachel herself acknowledges when she immediately proclaims, “The LORD shall add [or ‘May the LORD add’] to me another son” (Gen. 30.24). Then too, Mitchell occasionally refers to the “Jews,” which is unhistorical, because the ancient Hebrews or Israelites weren't called Jews until long after the reduction of Israel to the southern kingdom of Judah in 721 BCE. Oh well, no big deal. The authors of midrash can take all sorts of liberties. For example, the biblical story of Joseph fuses two different versions, in one of which it's Simeon who saves Joseph's life from his murderous brethren; in the other it's Judah. Mitchell opts for Judah, which among other things lets him make good use of the seemingly ill‐placed narrative of Judah and Tamar in Chapter 38. The original text likewise provides two alternative groups of traders, Ishmaelites and Midianites, who buy Joseph and take him to Egypt to sell him as a slave. Mitchell chooses the Ishmaelites, perhaps because of the link with the fateful events surrounding the lives of Isaac and Ishmael, the chosen and the exiled offspring of Abraham. He breaks up his meditation on Joseph into more than a hundred very brief chapters, combining two things the Bible seldom has time for: detailed descriptions of the thoughts, emotions, and self‐analyses of both major and minor characters. Practically everyone here, from Jacob and Joseph to his brothers to Potiphar's wife is torn by guilt or some painful inner conflict—all of which will be resolved in the end. Mitchell obviously isn't going to aim for the gargantuan proportions of Thomas Mann's Joseph and His Brothers, which took sixteen years to write (roughly 1926‐1942) and is over 1,500 pages long in John E. Woods's splendid translation. (Mitchell never even mentions Mann, which seems odd.) But he expands the original with many invented episodes and his own reflections. Among the former, Joseph's brothers savagely thrash him before flinging him into a ditch to wallow in his own...