4 min read

God Called Saul the Elect of God After He Was Dead

Years after Saul fell at Gilboa, a heavenly voice rang out over Israel and named the dead king God's chosen. Even David was rebuked.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Famine That Had a Name
  2. What Made Saul Holier Than David
  3. David Speaks Out of Turn
  4. Why the Voice Waited Until After Everything

The Famine That Had a Name

The drought had been going on for three years. David had inquired, as kings must, and the answer came back with a specificity that shamed him. The famine was not a punishment for anything David's generation had done in the field or the marketplace. It was a debt to the dead. Specifically, to one dead man: Saul, the first king of Israel, whose bones had not been given proper burial, and whose household had been dishonored by the people.

So David went out. He gathered the remains of Saul and his son Jonathan from Jabesh-gilead and arranged a burial with full royal dignity. And then, over that grave, something happened that no one in Israel expected.

A bat kol, a heavenly voice, rang out across the land and named Saul bechir ha-Shem, the elect of God. Not rejected. Not abandoned. Not the failure the political history had made him seem. Chosen.

What Made Saul Holier Than David

The comparison the rabbinic tradition draws is exact and not flattering to David. Saul had one wife and one concubine, and kept himself in a state of ritual purity, taharah, within his household that the tradition associates with priestly discipline. He was anointed with oil and lived as if the anointing had remade him entirely. David, by contrast, had many wives and many concubines. His household was larger, his appetites larger, and the tradition does not pretend otherwise.

When Absalom rose against David in revolt, David ran from Jerusalem. He calculated his odds and chose survival. When the Philistines advanced against Saul's line at Gilboa, Saul stood and fought until there was nothing left of him to fight with. He did not save himself. He gave his body so that the sacred objects of his office would not fall into enemy hands, and he died as a king who understood what the crown required of him even when God had already taken it away.

David Speaks Out of Turn

When David heard the heavenly voice vindicate Saul, his reaction was, by his own standards, small. He said something dismissive. Some version of: it is well that I married his daughter and that Jonathan was my dearest friend, but Saul himself, was he really worthy of this?

The tradition says God rebuked him for it. Do not speak against the dead, the rebuke went. Especially not against the dead who were better than you thought, and perhaps better than you.

David was silenced. There are moments in the Davidic cycle where God steps back and lets David's character show itself without commentary. This was not one of them. This time, God corrected him out loud.

Why the Voice Waited Until After Everything

The timing is the strangest part of the story. Saul had been dead for years when the vindication came. The kingdom had passed, the dynasty had been settled, the wars had been fought. Why issue the verdict then?

One reading is that vindication after death is the only vindication that cannot be misunderstood as political. When Saul was alive, any praise of him was a threat to David. Any acknowledgment of his piety could have been read as a call to restore him. But once the ground had swallowed him and the dynasty was secure, the bat kol could say what was true without anyone being able to act on it. The verdict was clean. It belonged to no faction. It served no living person's interest. It was simply true.

And it rang out over Israel like a bell that had waited a long time to strike.

SaulDavidDeathPrayerTeshuvahKingship
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From the tradition

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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 3:35Legends of the Jews

Saul's end was that of a hero and a righteous person. Can you Despite his flaws, despite his errors, he died a man redeemed. The stories tell us his final days were filled with regret, particularly over the execution of the priests of Nob. This remorse, they say, secured him pardon in the eyes of God.

It's fascinating, isn't it? The tradition goes even further, suggesting Saul's piety was so profound that even David couldn't match it! The comparison is striking. David, with his many wives and concubines, versus Saul, who had only one wife. And consider this: when faced with mortal danger from his son Absalom, David hesitated, fearing for his life. But Saul, knowing he wouldn't survive his final battle, still went forth.

The picture painted is of a man who led a saintly life within his own home. He observed the priestly laws of purity, maintaining a state of ritual cleanliness, a concept known as taharah (ritual purity) in Hebrew. He was, in many ways, a righteous man trapped in a role he may not have been fully prepared for.

The narratives don’t shy away from comparing the two kings. We're told that God even reproached David for cursing Saul in his prayers. The man who would become the greatest king in Israel being rebuked for speaking ill of his predecessor.

There’s a powerful story connected to this. Remember when David, in his youth, cut off a corner of Saul's mantle? Well, the tradition says that in his old age, David was punished for this act of disrespect. He was afflicted with a cold that no amount of clothing could cure. A shiver down the spine, perhaps, as a reminder of the respect due to even a fallen king.

The ultimate redemption of Saul, though, may be the most striking. When a great famine struck the land during David’s reign, God revealed the cause: Saul’s remains hadn't been buried with the honor he deserved. And at that very moment, a heavenly voice, a bat kol, a divine echo, resounded, calling Saul "the elect of God."

What does this tell us? Perhaps it’s a lesson in the complexities of leadership, the weight of responsibility, and the possibility of redemption. Even in failure, even in death, Saul, the first king of Israel, found grace. His story, though tragic, serves as a powerful reminder that even our mistakes can be a path toward ultimate recognition and, perhaps, even forgiveness.

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Shemot Rabbah 44:2Shemot Rabbah

In fact, they found an answer – a surprising one – in the power of remembering the righteous dead.

Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, explores this very idea. It begins with the verse “Remember Abraham” and then quotes (Ecclesiastes 4:2): “I praise the dead who have already died." The question then becomes: Who was King Solomon, traditionally considered the author of Ecclesiastes, thinking of when he penned those words?

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi suggests Solomon was thinking of his own father, David. Solomon builds the Beit Hamikdash, the Temple, the holiest place on earth. He prays for fire to descend, a sign of divine acceptance. Nothing. Utter silence. But then, he invokes the memory of his father, David. He asks God to “Remember the kindness of David Your servant” (II (Chronicles 6:4)2). And bam! “The fire descended from the heavens” (II Chronicles 7:1).

Solomon’s realization in that moment. He prays, he pleads, he builds a magnificent Temple – and it’s only when he remembers his father that his prayer is answered. That’s when, according to Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi, Solomon proclaims, “I praise the dead who are already dead, more than the living who are still alive” (Ecclesiastes 4:2). It wasn't about slighting the living, but about recognizing the enduring power and merit of those who came before.

But Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman offers a different, equally powerful, interpretation. He believes Solomon was thinking of Moses.

Consider the story of the Golden Calf. Moses, our teacher, stands before God for forty days and forty nights, pleading for forgiveness for the Israelites. He mentions their merits, their potential. Yet, God remains unmoved. But then, Moses invokes the memory of the deceased. And what happens? “The Lord reconsidered” (Exodus 32:14). The decree is averted.

Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman sees this as the inspiration for Solomon's words. “I praise the dead who have already died” – this, he says, refers to Moses.

So, what are we to make of this? Why this emphasis on remembering the dead? The Zohar, a central text of Kabbalah, offers us some insight. It teaches that the souls of the righteous continue to intercede on our behalf even after they have departed this world. Their merit, their zechut, remains a potent force. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, this idea is prevalent throughout Jewish folklore.

Perhaps it’s about more than just remembering. Maybe it’s about tapping into a wellspring of spiritual power, a connection to the chain of tradition that stretches back through the generations. When we invoke the memory of the righteous, we are not just remembering them; we are activating their legacy, inviting their merit to intercede on our behalf.

Next time you feel like your prayers are hitting a wall, try invoking the memory of someone who inspires you, someone whose life exemplified faith, courage, or compassion. Maybe, just maybe, their zechut will open the gates of heaven.

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