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David, Goliath, and the Debt Ruth Left Unpaid

Goliath and David were related through grandmothers who chose opposite roads at the same crossroads. The sling stone flew through both decisions.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Two Women at the Same Crossroads
  2. The Stone That Flew Through Both Women's Choices
  3. The Armor Problem
  4. The Wasps at Saul's Camp

Two Women at the Same Crossroads

Naomi told both of them to go home. She was heading back to Bethlehem with nothing to offer either daughter-in-law: no sons, no land, no prospects in a foreign country for two Moabite women. Orpah kissed her mother-in-law and went back to Moab. Ruth held on and crossed the border into Judah.

The Midrash tracked what happened to Orpah's line. She returned to her own people, and her descendants were warriors. Giants. The Philistine champion standing in the valley of Elah, calling across the no-man's-land between the two armies for a man willing to fight him, was the fruit of the road Orpah took home. Goliath's grandmother had stood at the same crossroads as David's great-grandmother, and the two women had made opposite choices, and the consequence of those choices met each other in the valley forty years later.

The Stone That Flew Through Both Women's Choices

David killed his grandmother's sister's grandson. This is how the Legends of the Jews frames it, and the framing is deliberate. The stone from the sling was not simply a military projectile. It was the conclusion of a genealogical argument that had started at a crossroads in Moab. The kindness Ruth performed by crossing into Judah with nothing to gain, which generated the agricultural charity Boaz showed her, which produced the great-grandmother of David, which produced David himself: all of it resolved in a single projectile in the valley of Elah against the product of the road not taken.

Goliath was not simply evil in the tradition's accounting. He was what happens when the capacity for greatness turns in the wrong direction. The same genetic inheritance that would have produced something else in different circumstances produced the champion of Philistia. The Midrash does not make this argument as a defense of Goliath. It makes it as a claim about what was at stake in the two women's choices: the stakes were this high, this permanent, this genealogically consequential.

The Armor Problem

After the stone hit, there was a practical difficulty. Goliath was encased in multiple overlapping layers of armor: helmet, breastplate, greaves, a coat of mail that the biblical text describes as weighing five thousand shekels of bronze. After the stone felled him, someone had to get through all of it to take his head. David was a shepherd boy. He did not have a sword, had refused Saul's armor because it was too heavy for him, and was standing over a giant in a full suit of armor with nothing but a sling.

The Legends of the Jews records that David used Goliath's own sword, which he had to figure out how to draw from its scabbard, to take the giant's head. He then carried the head back through the Philistine army, which, upon seeing what had happened to their champion, broke and ran. The tradition lingers on this detail because it is characteristic of David's situation throughout his career: he consistently won against adversaries who had all the material advantages, using whatever was at hand rather than the equipment a conventional analysis would have required.

The Wasps at Saul's Camp

David learned early to read the natural world for tactical information. The Legends of the Jews records a moment during the years he spent running from Saul when he noticed wasps clustering at the entrance to the cave where Saul was sleeping. He understood what this meant: the wasps were building nests around Saul, which meant Saul was sleeping deeply, which meant David could enter the cave safely. He went in, found Saul asleep, cut a corner of Saul's robe, and left without killing him. Twice. He had two clear opportunities to end the pursuit by ending Saul, and twice he declined.

This pattern defined David's character in the tradition's accounting: the man who could strike and did not. The man who read signs in wasps and spared a king who was trying to kill him. The gap between what David was capable of and what he chose to do was, in the tradition's view, the source of his legitimacy. He did not take the kingship. He waited for it to come to him, and the waiting cost him a decade in the wilderness.


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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Legends of the Jews 4:14Legends of the Jews

Take the story of David and Goliath. It’s not just a simple tale of good versus evil; it’s a complex web of family ties, past deeds, and divine reward, all playing out on the stage of history.

For a while, young David found himself in the relative calm of court life. But fate, it seems, had other plans. It was Goliath's sheer arrogance that thrust David into the spotlight. But here's a twist you might not know: David and Goliath were actually related!

Remember Ruth, David's great-grandmother, the pious convert to Judaism? Well, Goliath’s mother, Orpah, was her sister-in-law! Both women were daughters of Eglon, the Moabite king. According to Legends of the Jews, as retold by Ginzberg, David and Goliath were as different as their grandmothers. Ruth, the epitome of devotion; Orpah, well… let’s just say her life was less than exemplary. Some even taunted Goliath as "the son of a hundred fathers and one mother," a colorful way of saying his parentage was… complicated.

Jewish tradition teaches that no good deed, however small, goes unnoticed by God. Even wickedness receives its due reward, however unexpected. The Talmud (Kiddushin 39b) speaks of the concept of middah k'neged middah, measure for measure. Orpah, despite her later choices, had shown Naomi, her mother-in-law, a tiny bit of kindness. As the story goes, Orpah accompanied Naomi for forty steps on her journey back to Bethlehem. Because of this, Goliath, her son, was granted the privilege of displaying his strength and skill for forty days before his fateful encounter with David. And not only that! It is said that Orpah shed four tears when she parted ways with Naomi. As a reward for these tears, she was granted four giant sons.

What does this all mean? It suggests that even within the most dramatic confrontations, there are threads of connection, echoes of past actions, and the ever-present hand of divine justice at work. The story of David and Goliath isn’t just about a shepherd boy slaying a giant. It’s about the intricate ways that choices, big and small, ripple through generations, shaping destinies and reminding us that even seemingly insignificant acts can have profound consequences. It is a reminder that we are all interconnected, and our actions have far-reaching implications, often in ways we cannot foresee.

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Legends of the Jews 4:19Legends of the Jews

The Legends of the Jews (Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews, Vol. 4) gives us a fascinating little detail you might have missed.

GOLIATH, this towering warrior, completely encased in layers upon layers of armor. How could David, armed with just a sling and some stones, possibly remove the armor after he'd felled the giant, let alone cut off his head?

That’s where URIAH THE HITTITE comes in. He offered his services to David, but with a condition: David had to secure him an Israelite wife. A bit of a quid pro quo, wouldn't you say? David agreed, and Uriah then revealed the secret: the various pieces of armor were fastened together at the heels of Goliath’s feet. This allowed David to access the vulnerable point and complete his legendary task.

David's victory, as glorious as it was, only served to stoke the flames of SAUL's jealousy. The Legends of the Jews portrays SAUL as increasingly paranoid. He sends ABNER, his general, on a mission: to investigate David’s lineage. SAUL knew David was from the tribe of Judah, but he wanted to know if he belonged to the clan of Perez or the clan of Zerah. Why? Because if David was from the clan of Perez, it would confirm SAUL’s suspicion that David was destined for kingship.

And here’s where it gets really interesting. DOEG, described as David’s old enemy, pipes up. He argues that David, being a descendant of Ruth the Moabitess, wasn’t even a full member of the Jewish community! Therefore, SAUL had nothing to fear from him.

This sparks a lively debate between ABNER and DOEG. The core question? Did the law in Deuteronomy regarding Moabites apply to women as well as men? This wasn't just idle chatter; it was about who was considered a part of the community and who wasn't.

According to Ginzberg's Legends, DOEG, a skilled debater, masterfully refuted all of ABNER’s arguments in favor of admitting Moabitish women. Can you imagine the intensity of that discussion? It was so heated that they had to appeal to SAMUEL's authority to settle the matter once and for all!

But even SAMUEL’s authority wasn’t enough to quell the dispute entirely. The Legends tell us that the argument could only be resolved through threats of violence! ITHRA, the father of Amasa, also known as the Ishmaelite (presumably due to his Arab customs), threatened to cut down anyone who refused to accept Samuel’s interpretation.

What was that interpretation? That male Moabites and male Ammonites were forever excluded from the congregation of Israel, but Moabite and Ammonite women were not.

It’s fascinating, isn’t it? How a seemingly straightforward victory like David’s over GOLIATH could trigger such complex questions of lineage, belonging, and the interpretation of sacred law. It reminds us that even the most celebrated stories are often layered with intricate details and moral dilemmas, offering us glimpses into the social and religious landscape of the time. And it all stems from the simple question: who truly belongs? A question that still resonates with us today.

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Legends of the Jews 4:24Legends of the Jews

As retold by Ginzberg, David wasn't always so enlightened. He apparently had a bit of a scornful streak, especially when it came to wasps. He figured they were only good for breeding maggots – not exactly a ringing endorsement!

Life, as it often does, had a lesson in store for him.

The story goes that David found himself in a rather precarious situation. He had snuck into Saul’s camp one night, finding Saul and his men fast asleep. Remember, Saul wasn't exactly David's biggest fan at this point. David, ever the magnanimous one (or perhaps just trying to prove a point), decided to take a souvenir: the cruse, or water jug, that was sitting between the feet of Abner, Saul's general – a giant of a man, no less.

Abner was sound asleep, and his knees were conveniently drawn up, allowing David to snatch the cruse without disturbing him. So far, so good. Wrong.

As David was making his escape, Abner, in his sleep, stretched out his legs. And just like that, David was pinned, trapped as if held down by two immovable pillars. Talk about a close call! According to the tale, David's life was hanging by a thread.

What could possibly save him? An angel? A sudden burst of strength?

Nope. A wasp.

Yes, a humble wasp, the very creature David had so readily dismissed, stung Abner. In his sleep, Abner instinctively moved his feet, releasing David from his unexpected prison. David, needless to say, made a hasty retreat.

And just like that, David’s opinion of wasps did a complete 180. He learned a powerful lesson that day: even the smallest, seemingly insignificant creatures can play a crucial role. As this story from Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews shows us, it's a reminder that judging things too quickly can blind us to their true value.

It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? What "wasps" are we overlooking in our own lives? What seemingly insignificant things might actually be holding the key to our own salvation, our own breakthroughs? Maybe, just maybe, it's time to take a second look.

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Legends of the Jews 4:68Legends of the Jews

King David certainly did.

The familiar version gives us David. Shepherd boy turned giant-slaying hero, then King of Israel. But even kings have their moments of doubt, their times of struggle. And sometimes, those struggles involve making impossible choices.

The story goes that David found himself in a terrible predicament. As the Legends of the Jews, compiled by Ginzberg, recounts, David was facing a dire fate – a punishment, if you will. And it wasn’t just about him. It was about his entire house, his descendants.

David, in his humility and devotion, had a conversation with God. He chose to fall into the hands of the enemy, believing it was better to suffer himself than to let his entire lineage be ruined. Can you imagine making that kind of decision? Sacrificing yourself for the sake of your children, and their children, and so on?

But Abishai, David's loyal companion, wasn't having it. He questioned David's choice. “Reverse thy prayer!” he urged. “Plead for thyself, and not for thy descendants. Let thy children sell wax, and do thou not afflict thyself about their destiny.” Essentially, Abishai was saying, "Don't worry so much about what happens after you're gone. Focus on saving yourself now!"

Now, this is where it gets really interesting. Together, David and Abishai joined in prayer, begging God to avert the impending doom. Abishai, in a moment of intense spiritual power, uttered the ineffable Shem Hameforash (the explicit Name of God). And what happened? David, who had been on the brink of collapse, dropped to the earth, unharmed.

Talk about a close call!

But the danger wasn't over. They were still being pursued by Ishbi, a giant. The pressure was on. And here’s a fascinating detail: when Ishbi heard of his mother's death, his strength completely abandoned him. It's a reminder that even giants, those figures of immense power, have their vulnerabilities, their emotional ties.

David and Abishai together overcame Ishbi, slaying him and ending the immediate threat.

This whole story, found within Legends of the Jews, isn't just an action-packed adventure. It's a profound reflection on responsibility, sacrifice, and the power of prayer. It makes you wonder: What lengths would you go to for your family? And when is it right to focus on your own well-being, rather than carrying the weight of future generations? It’s a question worth pondering, isn't it?

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Midrash Tehillim 119:23Midrash Tehillim

The Midrash Tehillim, a collection of interpretations on the Book of Psalms, explores this very question as it unpacks Psalm 119. It focuses on the verse, "Let the wicked be ashamed, for they have lied against me.." But it's not just about pointing fingers. It's about understanding the strength it takes to stay true to your path, even when faced with adversity.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) imagines David, beset by enemies, declaring, "Even though the wicked may oppress me, I have not forsaken the Torah", the sacred teachings. A reader can compromise when the pressure is on, to bend the rules when it seems like everyone else is. But David insists on remaining steadfast.

The text then references the story in (2 (Samuel 21:2)2), about the four giants from Gath. "Even though they came upon me," David says, "I did not forsake the Torah." Instead, we read in (2 Samuel 22:1), "David spoke to the Lord the words of this song.." In other words, he turned to praise and prayer, reaffirming his commitment.

The Midrash goes on to explore the idea of a sincere heart. "Let those who fear You return to me and those who know Your testimonies," David prays. "Let my heart be sincere in Your statutes.." It's a beautiful plea for integrity, for a heart that is wholly dedicated to doing what is right.

The Midrash uses a vivid analogy: "A pot in which I ate non-sacred food, I did not eat sacred food in it so that I would not be embarrassed." It's about maintaining a sense of separation, of keeping the sacred pure. It highlights the importance of avoiding even the appearance of impropriety.

And it's the heart, the lev, that's at the center of it all. The Midrash points out that "the heart is what causes a person to be ashamed of what he knows he has done and is ashamed of himself." It's our inner compass, our moral guide. That aligns with (Proverbs 14:10), which tells us, "The heart knows its own bitterness, and a stranger does not share its joy." The heart feels deeply, both the pain of regret and the joy of righteousness.

David asks for a pure heart, echoing the plea in (Psalm 51:12): "Create in me a pure heart, O God." And just as David asked, the Midrash suggests, so too did the Lord give him what he needed, as we read in (2 (Samuel 22:3)6), "And You have given me Your shield of salvation.." This leads to the concluding thought: "So that I will not be ashamed."

What does this all mean for us? It suggests that true strength isn't about avoiding hardship, but about maintaining our integrity in the face of it. It's about cultivating a sincere heart, one that is attuned to our values and committed to living in accordance with them. It's about striving for that inner purity, so that even when the world throws its worst at us, we can stand firm, unashamed. It’s about cultivating our inner middot, our character traits, so that we can meet challenges with grace and courage.

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