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David Held Saul's Life Twice and Let Him Go Both Times

Eighty-five priests and their whole town had already died for feeding him. Twice he stood over the king who ordered it, and twice he walked away.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Doeg Was Standing in the Doorway
  2. Three Hundred and Eighty-Five Priests
  3. The Cave at Engedi
  4. Abigail Came Down the Hill
  5. The Spear and the Cruse of Water
David Held Saul's Life Twice and Let Him Go Both Times Click for full size

Doeg Was Standing in the Doorway

David came into Nob hungry and unarmed, and the high priest Ahimelech gave him bread and put a sword in his hands. It was the giant's own sword, the one taken off Goliath in the valley, kept behind the ephod like a trophy.

Killing that giant had been the easy one. Goliath had come out morning and evening for forty days shouting at Israel, and when the day came he stood in the open ground and called, "Come to me." He said come to me because he could not move. The ground had taken hold of him. Two hundred and forty-eight iron fetters were on the two hundred and forty-eight limbs of his body, and the boy on the other side of the valley was praying, "Do not grant the wicked what he wants. Do not loosen his muzzle." Then the stone went into his forehead.

Nothing was going to bind Saul that way. And a man called Doeg the Syrian, who fed the king's mules, was in the sanctuary at Nob that afternoon and saw the whole transaction.

Three Hundred and Eighty-Five Priests

Saul gathered his own tribesmen on the hill by his palace and sat down on a place called Aroura with his guards around him. He asked them what the son of Jesse could possibly offer that he had not already given them himself. Nobody answered. Then Doeg spoke up and described the bread and the sword.

Ahimelech was brought in and did not deny any of it. He had helped a captain of a thousand, the king's own son-in-law, a man he had every reason to think was on the king's business. "Men do not do such favors for their enemies," he said.

Saul told his armed men to kill him and his whole family. They would not put a hand on the high priest. So Doeg took a few men of his own kind and did it, and when it was finished there were three hundred and eighty-five bodies. Then Saul sent to Nob itself and had the town killed, women, children, whoever was in it, and burned.

One son of Ahimelech, Abiathar, got out and ran to David and told him. David heard him out and said he had known it the moment he saw Doeg standing there. He blamed himself for the whole of it.

The Cave at Engedi

Saul took three thousand picked men into the wilderness of Engedi. David and four hundred men were sitting in the dark at the back of a cave beside the road when the king walked in alone to relieve himself.

One of David's companions saw who it was. Here is the day, he whispered. Take his head and be done with the running.

David went forward in the dark. He got close enough to reach the man's neck and cut a corner off the skirt of his robe instead, and then he was sorry he had done even that. It was not right to raise a hand against his master, he said, against a man God had thought worthy of the kingdom. However Saul was disposed toward him, that was no rule for how he should be disposed toward Saul.

When the king was back out on the road David came to the mouth of the cave and shouted after him, then went down on his face in the dust the way a man does before a king. He held up the piece of cloth. "I could have taken your head as easily as I took this."

Saul groaned. He said David had shown the righteousness of the ancients, who held that a man should spare his enemy even when he catches him in an empty place, and that the kingdom was going to be his. Then he asked for an oath: do not root out my family. David swore it, and sent him home.

Abigail Came Down the Hill

A rich man named Nabal was shearing in Maon, three thousand sheep and a thousand goats, and David had kept his men off those flocks all season and told them that touching another man's property was a horror. He sent ten of them to ask for a share of the feast. Nabal asked who David was, heard the answer, and said, "This is the season when runaways get above themselves and walk out on their masters."

David buckled on his sword and took four hundred men and swore that by morning nothing in that house would be breathing.

A shepherd ran to the wife. Abigail loaded the donkeys with everything she could carry and told her husband nothing, because he was too drunk to follow it, and rode out. She came on David halfway down a hill with the four hundred behind him. She got off the donkey and put her face on the ground. "Thank God, who has kept you from spilling blood today."

David took the food. "It was God's own mercy that brought you here," he said. "Otherwise you would not have lived to see tomorrow."

She went home and found Nabal at a feast, too far gone to be told anything. In the morning she told him. He lay ten days and died.

The Spear and the Cruse of Water

The Ziphites came back to Saul, and Saul came out again with three thousand men and camped at Hachilah. David sent scouts, then went down himself at night with his nephew Abishai and Ahimelech the Hittite, straight through the sleeping ranks to the middle, where Saul lay with his spear driven into the ground by his head and Abner asleep in the circle around him.

Abishai reached for the spear. David stopped him. Killing a man God had made king was a horror even when the man was wicked, he said. Whoever gave him the throne would deal with him. They took the spear and the water jug and walked back out, and nobody in the camp woke.

From a hill across the brook David called down and woke them all. He asked Abner how a man of his rank slept through strangers walking up to the king's own bed, and told him to go and look for the spear.

Twice Saul had been in his hands, and twice he had gone home. He never touched him.

Years later Ha-Satan (the Accuser) came to David in the shape of a bird. He threw a dart at it. The dart glanced off and broke through a wicker screen, and behind the screen Bathsheba was combing her hair. After that he wept for one hour every day for twenty-two years and ate his bread with ashes in it. For half a year the disease took him and the Sanhedrin, who never left his side, had to leave it. The Shechinah (the Divine Presence) went out of the room with them.


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The texts behind this telling. Some cards carry a translation of the source; others are our own retelling of it, and each card says which. Every card links out to the original.

Antiquities VI.12-13Antiquities of the Jews (Josephus)

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Antiquities of the Jews, trans. William Whiston · Public Domain

David was running for his life. King Saul wanted him dead, and the future king of Israel had nothing to his name but a borrowed sword, the very blade he had once taken from the giant Goliath.

The Josephus says in Antiquities of the Jews, David's escape from Saul reads less like a biblical narrative and more like a spy thriller. He fled first to the priest Ahimelech at Nob, lying about a secret royal mission to get bread and a weapon. But a man named Doeg, one of Saul's servants, saw everything. And that small detail would cost eighty-five priests their lives.

David's next move was astonishing. He ran straight into enemy territory, the Philistine city of Gath, ruled by King Achish. When the Philistines recognized him as the warrior who had slaughtered tens of thousands of their people, David did the only thing that could save him. He pretended to be insane. He let spit run down his face and scratched at the city gates like an animal. The king dismissed him as a madman. It worked.

Meanwhile, Saul's paranoia spiraled into massacre. When Doeg reported that Ahimelech had helped David, the king ordered the execution of the entire priestly community at Nob. Only Abiathar, Ahimelech's son, escaped. And he ran straight to David, confirming every fear David had about Doeg's presence that day.

Then came the cave. Saul entered a dark cavern in the wilderness of Engedi to relieve himself, not realizing David and his men were hiding deep inside. David crept close enough to cut a piece from Saul's robe. His men urged him to kill the king. He refused. Instead, he called out to Saul afterward, holding up the torn cloth as proof: "I could have killed you, but I didn't."

Saul wept. He admitted David was more righteous than he was. But the reconciliation didn't last. Later, David infiltrated Saul's camp at night with his nephew Abishai, finding the king asleep with his spear planted in the ground beside his head. Again, David refused to kill God's anointed. He took only the spear and a jug of water, then shouted from a hilltop to shame Abner, Saul's general, for failing to protect his king.

Twice David held Saul's life in his hands. Twice he let him go. Josephus frames this not as weakness but as the mark of a true king, one who understood that the throne was God's to give and God's to take away.

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Legends of the Jews 4:54Legends of the Jews

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Legends of the Jews by Louis Ginzberg (1909) · Public Domain

King David, the sweet singer of Israel, the warrior king, knew that feeling all too well.

The story, as retold in Ginzberg's Legends of the Jews, takes a startling turn. It begins innocently enough. Satan, that wily tempter, appears to David, not in some terrifying demonic form, but as a simple bird. David, ever the hunter perhaps, throws a dart.

The dart misses its mark. Instead of striking Satan, it ricochets off, breaking through a screen. And behind that screen? Bathsheba, combing her hair. The sight of her, in that unguarded moment, ignites a passion in David that he can't control.

It's a chilling reminder that even the most righteous among us are vulnerable.

David, a man known for his deep connection to God, immediately understands the gravity of his transgression. The consequences? Profound and lasting. For twenty-two long years, David lives as a penitent.

The Talmud (Sanhedrin 107a) speaks of his intense sorrow. He wept for an entire hour each day, and he ate his "bread with ashes," a symbolic act of mourning and repentance.

But even that wasn't enough. David's penance had to go deeper.

For six agonizing months, he was afflicted with tzara'at, often translated as leprosy. This wasn't just a physical ailment; it was a spiritual crisis. The Sanhedrin, the high court that usually stayed close to the king for guidance and counsel, had to distance themselves from him.

David wasn't just physically isolated. He was spiritually cut off. The Shekhinah, the divine presence, departed from him during this dark time. The man who communed so closely with God, the one who penned the Psalms, was now utterly alone. The Shekhinah leaving him represents the severing of that sacred bond.

It’s a stark reminder that even our heroes are flawed, capable of great mistakes. David's story isn't just about sin; it's about the long, arduous journey of repentance, the pain of isolation, and the hope, however faint, of reconciliation. It forces us to ask ourselves: What lengths are we willing to go to when we've strayed from our path? And can we ever truly regain what we've lost?

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Vayikra Rabbah 21:2Vayikra Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman starts us off by interpreting a verse about evildoers in light of the Goliath narrative. He points out how Goliath, described in Samuel as approaching "every morning and evening" (I (Samuel 17:1)6), embodies this idea of relentless evil. And when Goliath boasts, "Come to me and I will give your flesh to the birds of the heavens" (I (Samuel 17:4)4), it emphasizes the sheer brutality David faced.

Rabbi Abba bar Kahana offers a striking image: "The land took hold of him." What does that mean? It suggests that Goliath wasn't just defeated by a slingshot, but by something almost supernatural. The earth itself seemed to impede him, preventing him from reaching David before David could strike. The Etz Yosef commentary beautifully explains that this was so that David could employ his slingshot against Goliath. It's a powerful image of the world conspiring to protect the righteous.

Rabbi Tanhuma reinforces this idea with a clever textual point. He notes that Goliath says, "Come to me," not "I will come to you." The very ground, it seems, rooted him in place.

Then, Rabbi Yanai, quoting Rabbi Shimon ben Rabbi Yanai, adds another layer. He suggests that God placed "two hundred and forty-eight iron fetters" – corresponding to the 248 limbs in the human body – on Goliath. David, witnessing this, cries out, "Lord, do not grant the wishes of the wicked" (Psalms 140:9). The Rabbis translate this as, don't grant his desires. "Do not untie his muzzle, restrain his shoulders." (Psalms 140:9). The Hebrew word zemamo can mean both "scheme" and "muzzle," so the midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) interprets this as not loosening Goliath’s control.

Rabbi Yudan even suggests that Goliath lusted after David, who was described as being "with beautiful eyes and a lovely appearance" (I (Samuel 16:1)2). In response to this, David prays that God grant the desire of the righteous instead!

But the Rabbis aren’t done yet! Some suggest that God afflicted Goliath with leprosy. How do they arrive at this? They connect the phrase "The Lord will deliver you [yesagerkha] into my hand" (I (Samuel 17:4)6) with the term used for quarantine in cases of leprosy, [vehisgiro] (Leviticus 13:4). It's a fascinating example of how the Rabbis find connections and deeper meanings within the text.

Finally, the midrash concludes with David's declaration of trust in God: "If a camp besieges me, my heart will not fear... In this I will put my trust" (Psalms 27:3). Rabbi Levi interprets "In this [bezot]" as a reference to the testament Moses gave to the elders, "This is [vezot] for Judah" (Deuteronomy 33:7). This verse promises divine help against adversaries.

So, what are we left with? More than just a story of a young shepherd defeating a giant. We see a world actively participating in justice, a God who intervenes in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, and a hero who, even in the face of overwhelming odds, places his trust in something larger than himself. And where can we find that same unwavering trust that David possessed?

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