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Lacunae in the biblical text give the Midrash the opportunity to insert its own ideas. Frequently these insertions, instead of trying to clarify the biblical text, reflect matters of concern in their own time. The Mechilta, the earliest commentary on Exodus, attaches an idea to the phrase “you shall not do with me” which is far removed from the plain meaning of the text.

As far as the ancient rabbis were concerned the crossing of the Red Sea was an even greater event than the Exodus from Egypt. The Exodus had removed the Israelites from Pharaoh’s grasp, but as long as they were still on Egyptian territory, they could still be captured and brought back. It wasn’t till they crossed the sea, a barrier that proved impenetrable to the Egyptian army, that the Israelites could be truly certain that they were safe.

The great moment of national liberation, the event upon which the whole of Israelite history depends is the Exodus from Egypt. Yet preparations for this nation-changing event are introduced in the Torah by the seemingly inconsequential announcement to Moses that “this month will be to you the first of the months.”

According to medieval Jewish bible commentators, the fourth plague suffered by the Egyptians was an invasion of destructive herds of wild animals. Yet Christian, and indeed many modern Jewish translations , believe the plague was an inundation of flies. The disagreement between the two opinions of the plague’s nature is highlighted in the Midrash.

The name I am that I am is strange and inscrutable. A radical 3rd century interpretation gives it a contemporary perspective

The rabbis who compiled the ancient Midrash must have struggled with Jacob’s blessing to his sons. The problem is that, although Jacob had twelve sons, we know nothing at all about half of them, apart from their names. How does one interpret a blessing made to someone of whom we know nothing?

One of the most vivid illustrations of rabbinic imagination occurs in the scene Judah when pleads with the viceroy of Egypt for Benjamin’s freedom. But the Midrash is not satisfied with merely interpreting Judah’s entreaties as threats. In a spectacularly futuristic passage they turn Judah and Joseph into super-heroes, more reminiscent of twentieth century Marvel comics than second century rabbinic literature.

The ancient rabbinic interpreters of the Bible could not accept the idea that Jacob would be self-absorbed, wallowing in grief, making no effort to understand why such a tragedy had befallen him, or how he was supposed to respond to it.

The literary portrait of Joseph, the boy sold into slavery who becomes ruler of his adopted homeland, is echoed twice in the later books of the Bible. Both Mordechai, in the Scroll of Esther and Daniel in his eponymous book have similar stories.

We know that many of the characters in the Tanach are flawed personalities, it is one of the reasons why the text has resonated with readers throughout history. They make mistakes, get things wrong, act unjustly or even unfairly at times. Less well known though is that the ancient Jewish interpretative tradition, although it often erases these faults, or engages in unlikely apologetics, is just as happy, at times, to highlight or exaggerate them. The hapless biblical hero, whom we instinctively imagine to be a paradigm of saintliness and sanctity, finds themselves used instead as a salutary example of how not to behave; they become at best a nebbish, at worst unsavoury.