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David Prayed That God Would Not Let Him Kill Saul

Pressed against the back wall of a cave, knife drawn, Saul within reach, David asked God for two mercies. The second one was the strange one.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Three Thousand Men and One Cave
  2. The Second Mercy
  3. The Corner of the Robe
  4. The Sign Samuel Had Left
  5. What He Carried Across the Jordan
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Three Thousand Men and One Cave

Saul had taken three thousand picked men out into the wilderness to find one. He had been at it a long while by then, since the day the women came out of the cities singing that Saul had killed his thousands and David his ten thousands, and Saul did the arithmetic where he stood and understood there was nothing left to give the boy except the throne. He sent him into the worst of the fighting and hoped the Philistines would finish it. He threw a spear at him indoors. Michal let her husband down out of a window on a rope and laid a goat's liver in the bed so the covers would seem to rise and fall, and after that David lived in caves.

Now Saul stepped into one of them to relieve himself, alone, and did not look at the dark at the back where a dozen men were standing against the wall not breathing.

"This is the day," David's men said, close to his ear. "This is the day the Lord promised you."

The Second Mercy

He had asked for mercy twice, and the sages counted the repetition, because one plea is enough to ask for rescue and two means there were two different things frightening him.

The first was the plain one. Do not let me fall into Saul's hand, and if I do fall into it, do not let him have the rest of me, the part a hunted man loses before anyone catches him. The second was the strange one. Do not let him fall into mine.

He was not asking to be kept from his enemy. He was asking to be kept from his own hands, because the evil inclination had already opened its case in his chest and the case was good. The king came in alone. He has three thousand men outside and not one of them can see this. You will never stand this close to him again as long as you live, and he is trying to kill you, and Samuel poured the oil on your head years ago.

There was a last turn to the argument, and it had teeth in it. Samuel had torn the kingdom off Saul's back for sparing an Amalekite king he had been ordered to destroy, and when the sages weighed that reign afterward they put the whole loss down to mildness, to a man too soft to finish a command. So the voice in the cave had a precedent to work with, and it used it. Mercy is what unseats a king.

The Corner of the Robe

David crossed the floor. He came up behind the king close enough to smell the road on him, and what he did with the knife was cut the corner off Saul's robe, and then he went back to the wall and crouched down with the scrap in his fist and waited for the man to finish and walk out into the light.

Then his heart struck him, and not over the killing he had not done.

The corner of a garment is where the fringes hang. Rabbi Nehemiah says the tzitzit came away with the wool, so for the length of one stroke David had put a commandment out of the world in order to make a point about not touching a king. He had left the man and taken the cloth, and he had still taken something. He came out to the mouth of the cave afterward and called down the slope, holding it up where Saul could see it. "My father, see." Let the Lord judge between me and you. My hand will not be on you.

The Sign Samuel Had Left

Saul stopped on the hillside and understood more than David had meant to tell him. When Samuel took the kingdom away he had not named the successor. He gave a sign instead, and the sign was this: the man who cuts the corner from your mantle is the one who takes your place.

So the scrap of wool held up in the sunlight was not a reproach. It was an announcement, and Saul heard it as one, from a boy who had been trying to say only that he would not lift a hand. Both of them went down off that hill knowing how it ended. Nothing about the hunt changed, since knowing who will hold the throne and letting go of it are not the same act, and Saul came out after him again, and David went on living in the wilderness with a piece of the king's robe in his bag.

What He Carried Across the Jordan

Saul died on Gilboa with Jonathan beside him, and the man who got the news was a king with an unanswered prayer still in his mouth. He had asked never to be handed the chance. He had been handed it, in a cave, and had walked out with cloth instead of blood.

So he gathered the elders and the nobles of Israel and crossed the Jordan to Jabesh-Gilead for the bones of the man who had hunted him for years. They found them clean. Not a worm had been at Saul or at Jonathan. They lifted them into a coffin and carried them back over the river, and David sent that coffin to the border of every tribe in turn, so the people came out household by household to do kindness to Saul and his sons, all the way down to Benjamin, where they buried him in his own ground.

When the last tribe had come out and gone home again, the sky opened over the land, and it rained.


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From the tradition

Sources

5 sources

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.

Midrash Tehillim 57:1Midrash Tehillim

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Rabbi Mike Feuer, Jerusalem Anthology · CC-BY

Midrash Tehillim turns to David Pleaded for Two Mercies While Hiding from Saul.

The Midrash, a collection of rabbinic commentaries on the Hebrew Bible, dives deep into the layers of meaning within the text. In this case, it unpacks David’s heartfelt cry. David, on the run from King Saul, isn't just worried about his physical safety. He's wrestling with something much deeper – the fate of his own soul.

The first plea, "Have mercy on me, O Lord, have mercy on me, for in You my soul takes refuge," is about escaping Saul's clutches. But it's not just about physical escape. David worries that even if he DOES fall into Saul’s hands, Saul won't triumph spiritually over him. He doesn't want Saul to break his spirit.

The second plea? That's where it gets really interesting. "And have mercy on me so that he does not fall into my hand, so that the yetzer hara, the evil inclination, does not tempt me and I do not kill him." David isn't just afraid of Saul. He’s afraid of himself. He fears the temptation to take matters into his own hands, to succumb to the “evil inclination” and strike down Saul, even though Saul is actively trying to kill him. He recognizes the potential for darkness within himself and begs for divine intervention to prevent him from acting on it.

It's a powerful acknowledgment of human frailty. David knows that even in self-defense, even with seemingly justifiable reasons, giving in to violence can stain the soul. He's praying for the strength to resist that urge.

The Midrash continues, "Have mercy on me, have mercy on me, and under the shadow of Your wings I will take refuge until the vanity of Saul passes away." David seeks refuge, a safe space not just physically, but spiritually, "until the vanity of Saul passes away." Until this difficult time, this trial, is over.

But there's more! The Midrash offers another layer of interpretation. "Another thing, have mercy on me so that I do not sin and stumble in transgression. And have mercy on me, so that if God forbid I do sin, my soul takes refuge in You, and I will return in teshuvah (repentance), in repentance."

This isn’t just about the specific situation with Saul anymore. It’s a broader plea for guidance and forgiveness. It’s acknowledging that we all stumble, we all fall short. And it's a beautiful reminder that even when we do, there's always a path back, a refuge in God, a chance for teshuvah.

Finally, the Midrash connects this personal plea to the collective experience of exile: "Until the vanity passes, as You forgive all my sins. Another thing, have mercy on me so that my sins do not consume me until the vanity of the exiles passes, and You return me to Your holy Temple, and there I will pray and give thanks."

The individual struggle mirrors the national one. Just as David sought refuge from Saul, the Jewish people seek refuge from exile. The hope is that the "vanity of the exiles" – the suffering and separation – will pass, and they will be returned to the Temple in Jerusalem. It’s a beautiful intertwining of personal and communal destiny.

So, what does Midrash Tehillim 57 teach us? It's an invitation to recognize our own vulnerabilities, to acknowledge the potential for both good and evil within ourselves. And it's a powerful evidence of the enduring power of prayer, of seeking refuge in something larger than ourselves, and of the possibility of repentance and renewal, even in the darkest of times. How can we apply the lessons of King David to our own lives? That is the question.

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Midrash Tehillim 7:5Midrash Tehillim

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Rabbi Mike Feuer, Jerusalem Anthology · CC-BY

The Midrash Tehillim, a collection of Rabbinic commentaries on the Book of Psalms, grapples with just that, using Psalm 7 as a springboard to explore themes of guilt, respect, and the complexities of leadership.

Psalm 7 opens with David's impassioned plea: "O Lord my God, if I have done this, if there is guilt on my hands… let my enemy pursue and overtake me." But what "this" refers to becomes the heart of our exploration, especially as it relates to David's interactions with King Saul.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) dives into the story of David and Saul in the cave (1 Samuel 24). Remember that scene? David has the opportunity to kill Saul, his tormentor, but instead, he only cuts off a corner of Saul's robe. Even this seemingly minor act pricks David's conscience. As we read in (1 Samuel 24:6), "And David's heart smote him."

Rabbi Judah in the Midrash Tehillim poses the question: "What is the difference between the cutting off of the corner of a garment and the cutting off the top of it?" Rabbi Nehemiah adds another layer, suggesting that in cutting the tzitzit (ritual fringes worn on garments), or fringes, David momentarily annulled the commandment associated with them. These tzitzit, are more than just tassels; they are a tangible reminder of God's commandments. David, unable to find the corner of his robe after this act, asks Abner, Saul's general, about it. Abner explains they were lost when David crossed the water. David, realizing the implications, exclaims, "My father, see!" (1 (Samuel 24:1)1).

What's fascinating is the Midrash's interpretation of this "My father, see." It's not just about Saul. The Midrash sees in this a lesson about honoring one's father-in-law – showing him the same respect one would show his own father. Rabbi Judah even suggests that David’s father spoke to Saul, saying "He has also seen." The Rabbis go further, suggesting that David addressed Abner with "My father, see," recognizing Abner's own wisdom and stature, describing him as "a lion in learning." Even when Abner initially challenges David's identity, David’s respectful response emphasizes his commitment to honor and righteous conduct.

David’s response to Saul, reaffirming his innocence and entrusting judgment to God ("May the Lord judge between you and me… but my hand will not touch you" - (1 (Samuel 24:12)-1)3), is not just political maneuvering; it’s a deeply felt moral stance. He refuses to violate the sanctity of the kingship, declaring, "The Lord forbid that I should lay a hand on the Lord's anointed" (1 (Samuel 24:1)0).

The Midrash then takes a surprising turn, referencing (Job 29:12): "And I will save the empty-handed who has been snatched from the hand of the oppressor." It’s a subtle connection, but it speaks to David's commitment to justice, even for the vulnerable.

The text then abruptly shifts to a discussion of someone who "measured out two lengths of cord to put to death." Rabbi Joshua ben Levi says this refers to someone who killed his parents. Rabbi Judah elaborates, saying the person killed his parents and brother, leading to his blindness. The connection to David is oblique, but it emphasizes the severity of familial transgression and the consequences of violence.

Finally, the Midrash circles back to (Psalm 7:6): "My honor lies in the dust; my body will dwell in safety." This, the Midrash concludes, refers to God's kingdom. It's a powerful reminder that true honor and safety ultimately reside not in worldly power or victory, but in adherence to God's will.

So, what do we take away from all this? The Midrash Tehillim, through its intricate reading of Psalm 7 and the story of David and Saul, invites us to consider the complexities of ethical leadership, the importance of respecting authority (even when that authority is flawed), and the enduring power of moral integrity. And that, perhaps, is a lesson that resonates as powerfully today as it did centuries ago.

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Antiquities VI.9-11Antiquities of the Jews (Josephus)

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

Goliath of Gath stood between the two armies for forty straight days, bellowing the same challenge. He was over nine feet tall. His bronze armor weighed five thousand shekels. His spear was so heavy he carried it across his shoulders, not in his hand, and attendants followed behind him hauling the rest of his gear. Every morning he shouted across the valley: send one man to fight me, and the loser's nation becomes slaves. No one in Saul's entire army dared answer.

David, the youngest son of Jesse, arrived at camp carrying bread and cheese for his older brothers. He heard Goliath's challenge and was furious, not frightened, furious. His brothers told him to go back to his sheep. He ignored them. When Saul heard a boy had volunteered, he summoned David and told him he was too young. David replied that he had killed a lion and a bear with his bare hands while protecting his flock. "This Philistine," he said, "will be like one of them."

Saul offered his own armor. David tried it on, found he could not walk in it, and took it off. He picked up five smooth stones from a stream, dropped them in his shepherd's bag, and walked toward the giant with a sling. Goliath was insulted. "Am I a dog," he shouted, "that you come at me with sticks?" David answered that Goliath came with sword and spear, but he came with God. "Today I will cut off your head."

One stone. It sank into Goliath's forehead and into his brain. The giant crashed face-first into the dirt. David ran forward, stood on the body, and since he had no sword of his own, drew Goliath's and cut off his head with it. The Philistine army broke and ran. Israel pursued them to the gates of Ekron, killing thirty thousand and wounding twice as many.

Then the trouble began. Women poured out of the cities singing: "Saul has slain his thousands, and David his ten thousands." Saul heard it, and Josephus says he realized there was nothing left for David to receive but the kingdom itself. He removed David from his personal guard and sent him into the most dangerous battles, hoping he would die. When his daughter Michal fell in love with David, Saul demanded six hundred Philistine heads as a bride-price, certain it was a death sentence. David brought them all. Saul gave him Michal, then tried to kill him with a spear. Michal lowered David from a window by rope in the night, placed a goat's liver in the bed to simulate breathing under the covers, and bought him enough time to flee to Samuel at Ramah. Every assassin Saul sent after David was seized by the divine spirit and began prophesying instead. Finally Saul went himself. And he too fell to the ground, prophesying helplessly all day and all night.

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Legends of the Jews 3:28Legends 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

It's a question the ancient rabbis grappled with, especially when trying to understand the tragic figure of King Saul.

Saul, the first king of Israel, a towering figure of strength and courage. But his reign was… complicated. He ultimately fell from grace, paving the way for David. But why?

when we look at Saul's missteps – and let's be honest, he had a few – they don’t seem quite as… grave as some of David's later sins. So, what gives? Why was the kingdom taken from Saul and given to another?

Well, the rabbis offer a fascinating, and somewhat surprising, explanation. It wasn't necessarily the severity of Saul's sins, but rather a fundamental flaw in his character: his excessive mildness.

Too forgiving. Too reluctant to wield the necessary authority. That, according to the sages, was Saul's problem. A ruler, they argued, needs a certain… firmness. A willingness to make tough decisions, even unpopular ones. Saul's compassion, admirable in a private citizen, proved to be a liability on the throne. He was, in a way, too good for the job.

But there's more to it. The rabbis, in their infinite wisdom, also suggest that Saul’s family lineage played a role. According to Legends of the Jews (Ginzberg), Saul's family possessed such impeccable nobility that his descendants might have become excessively proud and arrogant, potentially jeopardizing the very fabric of Israelite society. A preventative measure, if you will, against future tyranny.

The pivotal moment, of course, comes with the Amalekites. Saul was commanded to utterly destroy them, a command he only partially obeyed. And it was then that Samuel, the prophet, delivered the devastating news: the kingdom would be taken from him and given to another.

But here's where the story gets really interesting. Samuel didn't reveal the name of Saul's successor at that moment. Instead, he provided a sign. A cryptic clue: the one who would cut off the corner of Saul's mantle would be the next king. A secret, symbolic act that would identify the chosen one.

Later, as the story goes, David finds himself in a cave with Saul. An opportunity presents itself, and David, in a moment of both audacity and reverence, cuts off a piece of Saul's skirt. It’s a sign of disrespect, yes, but also a potent symbol of the transfer of power.

And Saul, upon realizing what David had done, understood. He knew, with absolute certainty, that David was his destined successor. He recognized the sign. The mantle, quite literally, had been passed.

It’s a powerful scene, full of layers of meaning. It speaks to destiny, to leadership, and to the complex relationship between those who hold power and those who are destined to inherit it. It also gives us a glimpse into the rabbinic understanding of divine justice and the qualities required for true leadership.

Perhaps that leadership is not simply about inherent goodness, or even about avoiding mistakes. Perhaps it's about a complex combination of character, circumstance, and a willingness to make the difficult choices that define a nation’s destiny. And maybe, just maybe, it's also about recognizing the signs when the time comes to pass the mantle on.

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Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 17:13Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Pirke de Rabbi Eliezer, trans. Rabbi Gerald Friedlander, London (1916) · CC-BY

It’s a concept that resonates deeply within Jewish tradition, and the story of King David’s actions after the death of Saul offers a powerful example.

The text we’re exploring today comes from Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, a fascinating work of Jewish literature that weaves together biblical narrative, aggadic expansions, and moral lessons. Here, we find David, the new king, taking a truly remarkable step. He gathers the elders and nobles of Israel, and they cross the Jordan River. Their destination? Jabesh-Gilead. Their mission? To retrieve the bones of Saul and his son Jonathan.

Think about that for a moment. Saul wasn't exactly David's biggest fan. He was, in fact, quite the adversary, consumed by jealousy and relentlessly pursuing David. Yet, despite all that history, David goes to great lengths to honor him.

What they find at Jabesh-Gilead is astonishing. No worm had touched the bones of Saul and Jonathan! This detail echoes the verse from Psalms (34:21): "He keepeth all his bones, not one of them is broken." It’s a powerful image, suggesting divine protection and perhaps even a hint of vindication.

They carefully place the bones in a coffin and carry them back across the Jordan, fulfilling the commandment, "And they buried the bones of Saul and Jonathan his son… and they performed all that the king commanded" (2 (Samuel 21:1)4). But David’s actions don’t stop there.

He orders that the coffin of Saul be brought to the border of every tribe. And as the coffin passes, the people, along with their families, come out to show chesed (Lovingkindness), loving-kindness, to Saul and his sons. The idea is that all of Israel should fulfill their obligation to show this essential act of human decency.

Think about the impact of this journey. Tribe after tribe, the people publicly honor the former king. This continues until they reach the border of Saul’s own possession, the land of Benjamin in Jerusalem, where, as the text says, "And they buried the bones of Saul and Jonathan his son in the country of Benjamin" (2 (Samuel 21:1)4), near Jerusalem.

But here's where the story takes a truly remarkable turn. According to Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, when the Holy One, blessed be He, saw that all of Israel had shown loving-kindness to Saul, He was immediately filled with compassion. As a result, He sent rain upon the land, fulfilling the verse, "And after that God was intreated for the land" (2 (Samuel 21:1)4).

Rain, in this context, isn’t just rain. It’s a symbol of divine favor, of blessing, and of renewal. It’s the result of collective acts of kindness and respect. The story paints a picture of a world where even in death, reconciliation and compassion can unlock blessings.

Perhaps it’s a reminder that even towards those we consider our adversaries, showing respect and kindness can have profound consequences. Maybe it’s a lesson about the power of collective action, of how a community united in compassion can bring about positive change. Or maybe, it’s simply a reminder that even after death, there is still an opportunity for healing and reconciliation. It’s a powerful message that continues to resonate across generations.

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