David the King: Confrontation at En-Gedi

It's easy to see biblical texts as being a glorification of war. There are dozens of instances of God telling various leaders to bring the sword to one enemy or another. There are many layers to this theme, but it should be noted that Judaism now and in its most ancient form has never called war a good thing. More to the point, these texts never encourage us today to seek conflict. In the book of First Samuel there is a lot of fighting. It is a text that came from a period of near constant conflict. As such it is important to look at the moments when violence is averted and the message those moments are designed to convey.

For several weeks now our analysis of First Samuel has revolved around David fleeing from Saul. Despite being the greatest military commander ever described in the Torah, David never even considers marching against Saul. We watch him win every battle he ever fights, including one in Chapter 23 when he rescues the town of Keilah from Philistine raiders. Yet David keeps his men in the wilderness, hiding in mountain caves and relying on the charity of locals for sustenance.

In this period, David is a sort of Robin Hood figure. While King Saul is busy trying to protect his throne from David (even though David doesn't have any designs for it), the country suffers. Keilah, as it's described in the text, is a center for cattle in Judah. Historically the town was located at the southern end of the country and would have been considered the backwoods of the kingdom. Even when David liberates Keilah from the Philistines, the people of the town are willing to give him up to Saul. This isn't because they're particularly bad people. If that were the case there would probably be some divine retribution in the text. But because the people of Keilah aren't chastised for turning on their protector, this passage can be read as a simple people trying not to get caught in the middle of a major political struggle.

In a wonderful literary twist, the real confrontation between David and Saul doesn't happen on the battlefield, but in a personal moment of shared vulnerability. After an untold amount of time of dashing back and forth fighting Philistines and pursuing David, Saul unknowingly stumbles upon the very cave where David is hiding. It is in a region called En-Gedi, a rocky region on the Dead Sea that is unsuitable for permanent settlements. The area has many caves, so it's ideal for David and his contingent. They hide so deep in the caves that Saul's men might not go far enough to actually find them.

In fact, that's exactly what happens. This particular scene is difficult to read because it uses an ancient euphemism, "to cover one's feet", which obliquely refers to going to the bathroom. Saul enters a cave alone to "cover his feet" and it just happens to be the same cave where David is hiding. To do his business Saul removes his robe, making him especially vulnerable. David, against the wishes of the men standing with him, decides not to ambush and kill Saul. Instead, he quietly slices a bit of fabric off his robe.

In the moment that follows, David talks to Saul in the dark, telling him that he could have killed him but chose not to. David's reasoning for this is that Saul is still technically anointed by God, so it would be a sin to kill him regardless of what Saul has done to David. Of course, the sliced robe is definitely a warning, as if to say, "I didn't kill you today, but I could have."

The lesson of this passage comes straight from David's lips. He recites the proverb, "Out of the wicked comes wickedness", a sentiment that closely reflects the modern proverb "Violence begets violence". David, whether he knows it or not, is proving that he is fit to be king in this age of war precisely because he knows when to stop fighting. He'll fight the Philistines when they invade, but he won't fight his own people, even when they stand against him. It's at this moment that Saul realizes just why David is meant to replace him.

David the King: The Destruction of Nov

The story of Saul and David is nothing less than the chronicle of a revolution. As First Samuel draws on, more and more people get caught up in the conflict. So much of this setup provides insight into how the people of Judah in exile viewed themselves. It's important to remember that, like much of the written Torah, the earliest parts of this story were put to parchment during the Babylonian captivity while the final version of the text wasn't solidified until a period of major reform after the return. One way or another, the revolutionary overtones in First Samuel are strong and intrinsically tied to the values of those who wrote and preserved it.

In chapters 21 and 22, David flees Saul's court and seeks refuge in Nov, a city of priests and prophets. There he interacts with Ahimelech, a ranking priest who clearly isn't aware of any conflict between David and the king. David never comes out and says that he's on the run, but his conversation with Ahimelech is cryptic and full of symbolic language. He explains that he has no food or means of protection, so Ahimelech gives David some sacramental bread as well as the sword of Goliath, which has been kept in Nov since David's victory as a sort of trophy or relic. The meaning here is plain. David's military might as well as his sustenance has always been and will always be with God.

Using a bit of trickery, David sneaks through the kingdom of Gath, a mortal enemy to Saul's crown, and establishes a small defense force while in hiding. His tiny army of just a few hundred soldiers is composed of the most downtrodden people of the land. In this humble moment, David is depicted as being a champion of the common people, far in every way from Saul's leisurely throne.

There is a passage in Chapter 22 that describes David dealing with the king of Moab to broker the safety of his family. Directly after this moment of diplomacy, David returns to Judah and the first blood of his war with Saul spills. It's no coincidence that the events happen in this order. At this point, David has raised an army and has been officially recognized by a political power. His return to Judah is nothing less than a declaration of self-sovereignty.

What comes next is a shocking display of Saul's bloodlust. When he learns that the priests of Nov have been helping David, he orders the priests killed and soon the entire city destroyed. When Saul's own personal guard refuses to commit this barbarous act, an Edomite named Doeg obliges. For those who recall the origins of Edom, they are the nation descending from Esau, the patriarch Jacob's twin brother. This moment is a reflection of Jacob and Esau's own conflict, albeit on a much larger scale.

The writers of this text clearly saw the right leadership of their nation with the faithful and the common. Their hero is the underdog and his enemy is a killer of priests. But just as Ahimelech's son Avyatar survived the onslaught, this story is one that promotes hope in even the darkest times.

David the King: The Escape of David

Biblical texts more often than not move quickly. Whole generations are glossed over with little mention beyond names, entire lives rendered irrelevant to the story. So, when any text of the Torah slows down, the implication is that these moments are of incredible importance. Chapters 19 and 20 of First Samuel concentrate on individual scenes and the details of complex conversations, lingering on social nuance and plot points like few scriptural texts ever do. It's clear in these chapters that we're not just reading a moral document, we're consuming entertainment.

The books of the Torah beyond the core five serve a variety of different purposes. Instead of just telling a cultural epic and laying down laws, collections like Psalms, Kings and Prophets are the result of a more established culture of people, a nation that required something more thrilling and modern to hold their attention. The story of David is nothing short of a primetime drama, albeit one with moral and political ends.

Consider for a moment how David's escape from Saul's sudden wrath is described with theatrics and interesting set pieces. Is it philosophically important that Michal used a shield and a tuft of goat's hair to make a decoy of David on the night Saul came to kill him in his bed? I'd say it's not. The text could just as easily explain that David escaped and Michal helped him. That it goes into such great detail suggests that the story is trying to be clever and exciting. The only reason to do that is to indulge an audience that isn't obligated to listen.

This also explains why these chapters spend so much time recounting the emotional conversations between David and Jonathan. We are supposed to sympathize with these characters, to feel for them and hope for their success. In the Five Books of Moses few of the figures are ever painted as protagonists, exactly. They simply do as they must, a noticeable level of detachment in the narrative. But in the case of David and Jonathan, we readers are being actively encouraged to connect with them, to be on the edges of our seats.

I don't believe that the clear attempts to be entertaining detract from the overall philosophical value of this text. In fact, it's rather fascinating to see a culture growing more sophisticated in its storytelling. It's quite likely that Judeans, upon their return from Babylonian captivity, put on scripted theatrical performances and musical retellings of these very same stories. And why not? Even modern Americans enjoy the drama of David's struggles. Last year, NBC even ran a series called Kings that told a modernized version of First Samuel, ending roughly at the close of Chapter 20.

There's a level of decadence in First Samuel, a poetic intensity that simply doesn't appear in older texts. That in itself is a lesson. Simple people in simple cultures happily accept simple stories. The more complex a society becomes, the less tolerance it has for plainness. If we today are to capture the attentions of ourselves and others concerning the highly valuable stories of ancient Jewish culture, we need to tap into that drama and excitement the sages of the first diaspora employed for David's story.

David the King: Jonathan and David

Last week we went over the story of young David's battle with the Philistine champion Goliath. While this display of prowess was impressive, the social intrigue that happens in the wake of the contest is arguably more important and more meaningful. At this point in First Samuel (chapter 18 specifically) the story becomes considerably more dense. Many events take place in the space of a single chapter and it's easy to miss a number of the many important details along the way. One element that has been a source of much debate and distraction over the ages is the relationship between David and Jonathan, Saul's son and the heir apparent to the throne of the two kingdoms.

First Samuel spends an unusual amount of time describing the bond between David and Jonathan. More to the point, the text uses rather intense, poetic language to impress the degree to which the two young men were bonded. After David slays Goliath, Saul invites David to live in his home where he quickly takes up a favored position in the royal family. In this new living situation, David ends up spending a lot of time with Jonathan and the two develop a loving relationship as a result.

This is where the interpretations get muddled. Since the middle ages, scholars have debated the likelihood of David and Jonathan having a romantic relationship in addition to their friendship. The two are described as having a bond (using the Hebrew word Niq'shirah which shares a root with the term b'sheret meaning "soul mates" or more literally "in a link as if by a chain") and the text even uses words derived from the general Hebrew term for "love", even though that term doesn't exactly connote romantic love. David and Jonathan even form a covenant between them.

I will not argue for one side or the other concerning the possibility of a romance between David and Jonathan, not because I don't wish to choose a rhetorical position but because I don't believe the nature of their relationship is relevant. Whether romantic or not, the text is clear about one thing: Jonathan makes himself subservient to David. The purpose of these passages isn't to describe the nuances of David's social life, but to depict just how deeply his presence in Saul's court changed the political atmosphere of the kingdom.

At this point in the story, David is everybody's favorite person. From the highest royals to the common people, David is a champion and everyone favors him over Saul. The people even begin to circulate a phrase, "Saul has slain his thousands, and David his ten-thousands." In a time dominated by war, it's obvious that David is seen as being a more capable leader. So, when Jonathan shows his love to David, it's his willingness to show fealty and loyalty that's important.

With the entire nation supporting him, David becomes a source of fear for Saul. The king does everything he can to destroy David, but everything that happens just makes him stronger. By the end of the chapter, David has claimed both Saul's son Jonathan and his second daughter Michal (or Michelle) as his greatest ally and his wife, respectively. These passages are the story of David's unprecedented rise to fame and the relative innocence with which he navigates Saul's attempts to hurt him. David isn't a Machiavellian prince, he's just blessed.

David the King: The Fall of Goliath

Easily one of the most famous stories of Jewish scripture is that of the fight between David an Goliath. Its imagery resonates with people throughout time; a small, gentle boy triumphing over a very big, fearsome foe. In chapters 16 and 17 of First Samuel we see the first appearance of David and his quick, surprising battle with Goliath the Philistine champion. Taken in the context of the book and the time in which it was written, we'll find that this well-known story doesn't mean exactly what it's interpreted to mean in popular analysis.

For a long time now, David's victory over Goliath has been the subject of a lot of artistic license, much of which has resulted in embellishment and misinterpretation. First and foremost among these inconsistencies is the idea that Goliath is a giant. Granted, the text makes it a point to mention Goliath's height (a little over six cubits) and for the time that would have been significantly taller than most people, but the text also never refers to Goliath as being a "giant" in any sense. A cubit is roughly estimated as the length between one's hand and one's elbow. While far from exact, a cubit would average around the modern concept of 12 to 14 inches. The stature of Goliath has long been exaggerated, as has the apparent age of David at the time of the fight. Goliath was certainly a big guy and David was rather young, but the fight in the text is between a six foot tall Philistine and a boy in his mid-to-late teens, not between a mythical giant and a child.

As for the symbolism of David defeating Goliath, it is often interpreted as the greatest underdog story of all time. This, again, is more of an attempt to apply a modern sensibility to an ancient story. David was by no means a true underdog and this isn't a story about an unlikely hero overcoming seemingly insurmountable odds. David was publicly anointed by Samuel in a scene during which God explains that appearances such as height and age don't really matter. As soon as Samuel pours the oil on David, David feels the certainty of God in him. So, when David volunteers himself to battle the strongest warrior of the Philistines he doesn't do so as an underdog, he does so as an individual protected by God.

The lesson here is essentially to not make assumptions about the people around you. As God says to Samuel, "Man looks at the outward appearance but The Lord looks into the heart." One of our society's greatest thinkers, Martin Luther King, said so much when he talked about judging people based upon the content of their character. This book, the preeminent ancient guide to political leadership, attempts to impress upon its readers the importance of thinking beyond immediate, fleshy ideas. Youth, pretty eyes and ruddy skin are just descriptions of David's body. In his heart, where it counts, he already has the character of a king.

David the King: The Sin of Saul

The book of First Samuel has a lot of very interesting ideas. Perhaps the most interesting is its clear assertion that it's wrong, possibly even a sin, to ask for a king. It's important to remember that, according to this story, Israel didn't have a king prior to Saul. It was only in a moment of desperation as the nation was on the brink of being conquered by the Philistines that the people begged for an absolute ruler. The book spends the duration of its length describing just why asking for a king is the worst thing a nation can do for itself.

As the prophet Samuel often explains, the enemies of Israel only gained so much ground in the first place because Israel had largely breached its contract with God, thus nullifying any protection God had promised in return. The people were neglectful of their spiritual duties, which in Judaism mostly involves day-to-day responsibilities toward other people, so their personal failings resulted in a weak nation. By not holding themselves accountable under the law, the Israelites put themselves in a position to be conquered from without. In essence, the people asked for a king because they no longer wanted to be responsible for their own nation.

The story of Saul addresses the inherent flaw of absolute monarchy, namely that under it a nation is only as good as its king. Saul has a strong start but it doesn't take him long to stumble. Just two years into his hard-won reign he lets his proclivity for overly flexible interpretation of laws get the best of him. Saul makes ill-advised decrees, like imposed fasting and the keeping of political prisoners, while simultaneously bending to the capricious will of his people regardless of whether or not they want what's right. In short, Saul conducts his office like a self-styled priest with no real moral compass. This results in an atmosphere of chaos, with people on both sides of his constant war following whatever urge comes upon them without ever considering the consequences of their actions. For this lawlessness, Samuel informs Saul that he's fallen out of God's favor and will soon be replaced. That replacement, of course, will be David.

What's most interesting about the wild days of Saul's rule is that the king still pays lip service to God in the form of sacrifice, but he goes about it in such a way that it actually defies God's explicit instructions. When Samuel confronts Saul, he explains that ritual is empty if it contradicts actual righteousness. This is a very important lesson, one of the most important in Jewish philosophy. Holiness is not in the somatic, the sensual or the scripture, it's in the mindfulness of an action.

The lessons in First Samuel chapters 12-15 can be easily applied to our lives today. As so many nations in the 21st century struggle, it's wrong for us to ask for leaders to fix every problem we have, not just because we have responsibilities unto our own nations but because no leader is even capable of such broad reform. Righteousness and law are now and have always been the responsibilities of the governed, not just those who govern them.

David the King: The Anointing of Saul

As we saw last week at the beginning of our reading of the book of First Samuel, the kingdom of Israel was in disarray. This book is a meditation on the nature of leadership and its opening passages describe a time when the highest authorities were misguided or inept, nearly leading to the destruction of an entire people. In today's reading, we will see the death of the priest Eli and the naming of a donkey herder called Saul to the office of king (or more accurately, "leader").

The first lesson in these chapters, roughly 5-10 of First Samuel, is a clear adjustment of the understanding of the source of power. At this time, Eli is one of the chief authorities in Israel, but as we saw last week he has run afoul of God for failing to tend to his sinful sons. For his all-talk, no-action approach to leadership, Eli presides over the repeated routing of the Israelite army by the Philistine forces. In time, the war kills his sons, sees the Ark of the Covenant captured by the enemy and eventually compels Eli himself to die in what may be an accident but could just as easily be read as a suicide.

Now would be a good time to flesh out just who the Philistines were and why they are such frequent antagonists in the later stories of the Torah. Historically speaking, Philistia was a region on the Mediterranean coast of Israel. The best archeological records indicate that the people there adopted Canaanite language and other cultural practices, but the geographical position and some minor linguistic evidence suggests that the Philistines were originally a foreign entity, potentially of the southern Greek isles. If this is true, they would have been part of the international "Sea People" influence that resulted in some fairly dramatic political shifts throughout the Mediterranean. For the firmly isolationist Hebrews, this outside force would appear to be a threat to their very way of life, including the monotheism that was so dominant in the cities.

So, when the Philistines capture the Ark, it is a symbol of a desperate loss. Because of bad leadership and general political rot, the invading outsiders may very well consume all that makes Israelite culture what it is. The lesson here is that the Jewish concept of divinity isn't one that can be harnessed at the will of human leaders. Favor from God isn't something that can be bought with sacrifice or privilege, nor is it some weapon that can be unleashed on an enemy from a holy relic. Eli and the Israelites bring the Philistine war upon themselves by failing in their earthly responsibilities.

At this point, God instructs Samuel to name a young man called Saul the new king of Israel, if only because the nation needs something of a reboot. Saul comes to Samuel with the fairly mundane question of where he can find his father's lost livestock. In addition to getting the donkeys back, Saul experiences a personal transformation and is accepted as the leader of the country. The symbolism here is plain. Saul is a salt-of-the-earth kind of guy whose first real act in life is to seek out the lost with the help of a holy man.

Saul gathers the people, proves himself in battle and posits himself as a merciful rebuilder. It's the true beginning of the story, but Israel won't be redeemed by one quick battle and a fresh face in the government. As First Samuel so often explains, making a good nation takes time and more than one man's worth of diligence.

David the King: Samuel, Before David's Birth

Few figures in Jewish scripture are as interesting and well known as David. He is a central actor in the first book of Samuel from the readings of Nevi'im, Prophets. David is so intriguing not just because he begins as a heroic figure but because he is profoundly flawed. His arc is tragic but not without redemption and the symbols manifested in his story are some of the most enduring in all of Jewish thought. David's tale has many things in common with other great stories in history. It's part Lancelot and part Ziggy Stardust, an exciting drama of love, war, family and passion. To fully understand David, we need to start with the very first passages of Shmu'el Aleph, the book of First Samuel.

While First Samuel is certainly mostly concerned with the rise and fall of David, the first several chapters deal with the birth and ascension of the prophet Samuel. Samuel's story is just as important to establishing David as the story of David himself. David was a king selected specifically by God, not by lineage. It's paramount to the foundation of David's legitimacy that the prophet who names him is reliable. Samuel, if anything, is reliable.

David's divine coronation is actually doubly blessed. He is not only named by God, but is named by God through a prophet who is himself a result of divine intervention. Samuel's mother Hannah was, like the matriarch Sarah before her, naturally incapable of having children. It was only after Hannah had a moment of raw emotion in a holy place that she was able to bear Samuel.

Hannah's story is actually a bit comical. She joins her family on their yearly pilgrimage to make a sacrifice with the priest Eli and, after several years of being mocked, finally breaks down in tears at the temple. When Eli finds her she's in such a sorry state that he accuses her of being drunk. After Hannah explains herself, Eli apologizes and wishes her well. Soon after, she and her husband conceive Samuel.

The importance of this story is not only to establish Samuel as a life created specifically by God, but to also depict a priest making a mistake. The story of David is ultimately a story of human imperfection regardless of social status. If priests and kings are fallible then there are some serious implications here for the universality of law.

Later, when young Samuel serves as an assistant to Eli, we learn about Eli's unambiguously sinful sons. This is also important as it establishes a theme in this book of one generation not necessarily reflecting the qualities of its parents. Eli is ostensibly good but his sons are unholy. Even when Eli's attention is called to his sons' behavior, he still does nothing. For this negligence, Eli loses God's favor and therefore credibility as Samuel's teacher. Before Samuel makes his way into the world as a prophet it is made plain that God and only God gives him direction.


Next week we'll look at the chapters of First Samuel that depict the actual naming of David as well as the circumstances contributing to the necessity of his coronation. Until then, Shalom and thanks for reading.

Chanukah Memories

Though we have customs and rituals that give us some degree of a common experience during our holidays, our unique associations with festivals like Chanukah are what we remember most vividly. It's important to remember these traditions and moments from our pasts so we can contemplate why the holidays are important to us. These are some of my memories about Chanukah from when I was growing up. Some are common, some are particular to me.

One of my earliest Chanukah memories was when everyone in my religion school class made a clay chanukiah to use during the holiday. I was about 7 or 8 and it was one of the first things I ever crafted with my hands. I recognize now that this project was an important lesson about Jewish life. We were taught to build something that we could share with our friends and families, a material thing that was as much an experience as a possession. Judaism isn't 100% materialistic, but it also isn't entirely spiritual. There's always a material or somatic component to ritual and the lighting of the chanukiah is a perfect example of this. By making our own chanukiot we took an active role in our faith, accessing ritual with our own two hands and offering it as a shared experience with others.

Of course, for many of us no Chanukah is complete without latkes. I come from an Ashkenazi background, so my mother's were classic potato latkes made from scratch and fried crispy. The taste of them is one of the most evocative sense memories I have. I recall the year in elementary school when my parents agreed to conduct an overview of Chanukah for my entire class. I was one of the Jewish kids in school, so most of the other children didn't know anything about the holiday or about Judaism in general. My mother made a batch of latkes and my father, a lifelong Jewish educator and now a rabbi, explained Chanukah and answered questions in a storytelling presentation. It was nice to see the other kids enjoy my holiday with me, an experience I never had outside of temple before.

When I got older all the schools still had holiday parties on the last day before winter break but the concept didn't stick so well with categorically obstinate creatures like teenagers. In middle school a large part of that day was spent just sitting around in classrooms waiting for the bell to ring. We weren't so interested in theme games and crafts as we used to be. I always remembered to bring a dreidel with me on those days. It was fun to teach the other kids how to play and it passed the time. In an ironic twist, some of the teachers made it against the rules for us to play because they learned that it was a gambling game, so we had to spin in secret. In times when studying Torah was against the laws of occupying powers, Israelites disguised their rituals by pretending they were gathering to gamble with the dreidel.

These are just a few stories about Chanukah from when I was growing up. Every year is full of more, but right now I'm more interested in your stories. If you have any special Chanukah stories, you're welcome to share them in our comments section. Chag Sameyach and Shalom for the rest of your holiday.

Judaism and Christmas

In just a few days the holiday of Channukah is going to start, but that also means that we are in the thick of the Christmas season. In the modern world, Jews have the opportunity to experience Christmas as a time when people all across the shared culture of our national identities choose to hold the virtues of kindness and peacefulness in especially high regard. Though it is still a Christian religious holiday, there are ways observant Jews can appreciate many of the sentiments of the Christmas season.

I vividly remember the holiday season from my childhood years. From my adult perspective, I have come to see those days differently than I saw them then. I grew up in an overwhelmingly Christian part of town, such that it often felt isolating to be Jewish. My house was the only house on the block that didn't have lights, I never believed in Santa and I never tasted most of the traditional Christmas foods that everyone seemed to enjoy so much. For a small boy, Channukah often isn't a sufficient consolation for missing out on what everyone calls the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.

But when I think about those evocative images, the house without lights, never carrying a Christmas tree with my father, never waking up early on Christmas morning, I don't really see a kid missing out on the fun. Instead, I remember being a neighbor and a friend who got to learn about the traditions of another area of life. To be one of few Jews in a modern town is to frequently educate others about your rituals, so it feels foreign to be the one in need of education. I honestly don't recall very much regret or loneliness in the holiday seasons of my early years. Rather, I think of those times when Christmas traditions were made meaningful to me by being invited into the personal customs of individual families.

My favorite example is the first time I ever witnessed the decoration of a Christmas tree. I was 15 and I joined my friends at one of their houses to help them place tinsel and ornaments, many of which had histories to them. From afar, Christmas trees look like little more than decorations, but many of them are lovingly constructed chronicles of a family. An ornament may represent a loved one who has since passed, or a vacation to a special place. There is so much potential for meaning in the Christmas tree that doesn't really have to be religious at all. I still didn't want to have a tree in my house, but I developed an appreciation for that custom I never would have understood without the intimations of my friends.

The lesson here is that being a Jew on Christmas doesn't mean you're left out or supposed to be resistant to the holiday any more than Christians ought to be left out of Jewish traditions. It is an opportunity to learn and to see life from the perspective of a neighbor. There's beauty in the process, even if the spiritual impetus for the customs don't mesh with Judaic philosophy. Join your friends on Christmas and share their joy.

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