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Samuel Anointed Saul and Then Spent Years Cleaning Up the Mess

Samuel mourned for Saul until the day Samuel himself died. He had made the king and he watched what the king became. The grief was his own making.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Prophet Who Made a King and Could Not Stop Grieving
  2. What Samuel Came From
  3. What Saul Was and What He Could Have Been
  4. The Agag Decision

The Prophet Who Made a King and Could Not Stop Grieving

After God rejected Saul as king, Samuel mourned. The Torah records it plainly: Samuel grieved for Saul until the day he died. Not the day Saul died. The day Samuel died. He outlived his grief's object. He carried the weight of what he had set in motion for the remainder of his own life, walking through his duties as prophet and judge with the knowledge that the man he had anointed, the man he had crowned before all Israel, was crumbling on his throne.

The relationship between Samuel and Saul is not simply a prophet correcting a wayward king. It is something more specific and more painful: a man who had chosen someone, who had invested in the choice, who had said in front of the entire nation this is the one God has chosen, and then had to watch the gap widen year by year between who Saul was and who Saul might have been.

What Samuel Came From

Samuel did not arrive into history without preparation. His father Elkanah was, in some traditions, the moral equivalent of a second Abraham: so righteous that his merit alone, in a generation that had rotted around the edges with the idolatry of Micah, stayed God's hand from destroying the world. Elkanah walked different routes on his three annual pilgrimages so that his passage through surrounding communities would draw families back into the practice of going up to the sanctuary at Shiloh. Family by family, town by town, the father of Samuel rebuilt something that had been collapsing for a generation.

His mother Hannah had prayed her son into existence. The prayer in First Samuel, the extended bargaining with God at Shiloh, is preserved as one of the theological pillars of Jewish prayer practice. She promised the child to God's service before he was born, and when he was weaned she brought him to the sanctuary and left him with Eli the priest. Samuel grew up in the house of God, sleeping near the ark, learning the shape of a world organized around the divine presence.

What Saul Was and What He Could Have Been

Saul was physically extraordinary: taller than anyone in Israel, from his shoulders upward above the people. He was modest in a way that impressed itself on everyone who encountered him: when the lots fell on him to be named king, he was hiding among the baggage. The rabbis read that modesty as either genuine virtue or as the reluctance of a man who already knew, somewhere beneath his awareness, that he was not suited for what was being asked of him.

He had gifts. He had a prophetic spirit that fell on him at specific moments, that made him dance and sing with the prophets at Gibeah in a way that startled everyone who knew him. The rabbis noted that when the evil spirit afflicted him, David's music drove it away, which meant that music could reach him, that there was something in Saul that responded to the sacred. The problem was consistency. The problem was that what held under easy conditions collapsed under pressure.

The Agag Decision

The moment that ended Saul's kingship in Samuel's eyes was the battle against Amalek. God had commanded through Samuel: destroy everything. No spoils. No prisoners. Saul won the battle and kept Agag, the king of Amalek, alive. He kept the best of the livestock. When Samuel arrived and heard the sheep and oxen, Saul told him he had obeyed God's command. Samuel asked about the bleating he was hearing. Saul said the people had done it, not him, intending to sacrifice the animals to God.

Samuel's response was one of the most famous lines in the entire prophetic tradition: does God delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices as much as in obedience to God's voice? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to listen than the fat of rams. The verse became a foundational text of prophetic theology about the relationship between ritual and ethics. It was spoken in a moment of specific disappointment to a specific man who had just blamed his soldiers for something he had done.

Saul acknowledged the sin. He asked forgiveness. Samuel told him the kingdom had been taken from him and given to a neighbor better than him. He turned to leave. Saul grabbed the hem of his robe and the robe tore. Samuel said: God has torn the kingship from you today as you have torn this robe.

The prophet went home. He never saw Saul again face to face. And he mourned for him until the day he died.

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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 3:3Legends of the Jews

Like Samuel, for instance. He stands at the crossroads between the era of the Judges and the rise of the Kingdom, anointing both Saul and David as kings. But Samuel didn't just appear out of nowhere. He came from a lineage steeped in righteousness, and his parents, Elkanah and Hannah, were figures worthy of their own stories.

Both Elkanah and Hannah possessed the gift of prophecy. But beyond this divine gift, Elkanah was a man of exceptional virtue. In fact, some traditions hold him up as a second Abraham! The story goes that God, enraged by the idolatry of Micah, was ready to wipe the slate clean. But Elkanah’s merit stayed God's hand.

What was it about Elkanah that made him so special? Well, his most significant act, according to some traditions, was inspiring others to make pilgrimages to Shiloh, the spiritual heart of the nation at that time.

We’re not talking about a quick solo trip. Elkanah made these pilgrimages with his entire household, including relatives. And even though he wasn't wealthy, he spared no expense. Picture this: a grand procession making its way across the land, drawing attention everywhere it went.

As Legends of the Jews tells us, these weren't quiet affairs (Ginzberg). Wherever they went, people would stop and ask, "What is this spectacle? Where are you going?" And Elkanah would reply, "We are going to the house of the Lord at Shiloh, for thence comes forth the law. Why don't you join us?"

It’s that gentle, persuasive invitation that made all the difference. It wasn't about preaching or demanding; it was about inviting people to experience something meaningful. And it worked. According to the stories, the first year, five households joined him. The next year, ten. And so on, until entire towns were following his example.

But here's the really clever part: Elkanah changed his route every year. Why? To reach as many towns as possible, to touch as many lives as possible, and to inspire as many people as possible to perform this pious act. One man, through his own devotion and his ability to connect with others, transformed the spiritual landscape of his time. It wasn't about grand gestures or miraculous feats; it was about consistent, heartfelt action, and a genuine desire to share something meaningful with the world. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? What small, consistent actions can we take to inspire those around us?

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Legends of the Jews 3:22Legends of the Jews

Samuel, a man of unwavering integrity, embodied peace. He was, as Ginzberg tells us in Legends of the Jews, a judge utterly disinterested in personal gain, refusing compensation for the immense sacrifices demanded by his office. Can you imagine? A leader solely focused on serving the people, refusing even the slightest hint of corruption. It's inspiring, isn't it?

Then there were his sons.

Ah, his sons. They fell… well, let's just say they fell far short of the mark. Instead of following in their father's footsteps, traveling from town to town to deliver fair judgment, they stayed put, demanding the people come to them. And they didn't come alone. They surrounded themselves with officials, and these officials… let’s just say they weren't exactly known for their charitable spirit. As Ginzberg puts it, they "preyed upon the people for their maintenance."

Ouch.

There's a certain tragic irony here. Remember Eli, the priest who raised Samuel? Eli's own sons were notoriously wicked, and he was ultimately punished for their sins. He even threatened Samuel when Samuel was young. In a sense, that curse came full circle, didn't it? Both Eli and Samuel had sons who proved unworthy of their fathers.

It’s a harsh reminder that even the most righteous individuals can face heartbreak within their own families.

But here's where the story takes a hopeful turn. This isn't a tale of unmitigated despair. According to Legends of the Jews, Samuel had the satisfaction of seeing his sons eventually mend their ways. One of them, in fact, became the prophet Joel, whose prophecies we still read in the Bible. Even after missteps, after falling from grace, redemption is possible. Change is possible.

Perhaps that’s the real legacy of Samuel. Not just his own righteousness, but the potential for growth and repentance that he instilled, however imperfectly, in his own children. It's a reminder that even when we stumble, even when those closest to us disappoint, the possibility of teshuvah (repentance), of return and repair, always remains.

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Legends of the Jews 3:27Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Saul Questions the Morality of Slaughtering Amalek.

It's a powerful moment, isn’t it? This internal struggle, this moral wrestling, reveals a human side to Saul, a king confronting the weight of his responsibilities and the dictates of a higher power. A heavenly voice then proclaims, "Be not overjust." It's a fascinating interjection, a divine caution against excessive righteousness.

Later, the narrative introduces Doeg, a figure who will become a dark presence in Saul's life. It is Doeg who convinces Saul to spare Agag, the king of the Amalekites. His argument hinges on a interpretation of Jewish law (halakha): the prohibition against slaughtering an animal and its young on the same day. Doeg argues, if this is the law, how much more forbidden is it to destroy old and young, men and children at once?

This argument resonates with Saul, who, according to the Legends of the Jews (Ginzberg), only undertook the war reluctantly, feeling forced into it. He readily allows his people to keep some of the cattle alive. It wasn't out of personal greed, though. The text emphasizes Saul's wealth. He was so affluent, in fact, that he took a census by giving a sheep to each of his soldiers, distributing no less than two hundred thousand sheep!

But the sparing of Agag, and the retention of the livestock, becomes a critical moment of disobedience, one that ultimately leads to Saul's downfall. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, even when faced with divine commands, the human heart often seeks a path of compassion, even if it means deviating from the strict letter of the law.

This episode raises enduring questions. When does justice become excessive? Where do we draw the line between obedience and moral responsibility? And what happens when our own sense of right and wrong conflicts with what we perceive as divine will? It seems Saul's story is not just an ancient legend, but a timeless exploration of the complexities of faith, power, and the human condition.

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Legends of the Jews 3:30Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Samuel's Prayer Prolongs Saul's Life Against the Evil Spirit.

The Zohar tells us of Samuel's powerful plea to God. He reminded God that he, Samuel, was considered equal to Moses and Aaron. "Just as Moses and Aaron did not see their handiwork destroyed before their death," Samuel argued, "so too should my handiwork, Saul's reign, not cease during my lifetime." It’s a powerful image: Samuel, the prophet, standing as a shield between God’s judgment and the king he had anointed.

God, in a way, found himself in a bind. He acknowledged that Samuel wouldn't allow Saul to die, but also that David's time to rule was drawing near. The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) teaches that “one reign may not overlap the time assigned to another by a hairsbreadth.” So, what was God to do?

The solution, according to the legends, was both ingenious and poignant. God decided to let Samuel age suddenly. And when Samuel died at the age of fifty-two, it appeared to the people as though a very old man had passed away. All this to ensure Saul's safety while Samuel lived. As long as Samuel drew breath, Saul was protected.

The moment Samuel died, the Philistines began to threaten Israel, proving how crucial Samuel's presence had been. The mourning for Samuel was universal. As Ginzberg recounts, during his time as judge, Samuel made a point of traveling throughout the land, becoming personally known to everyone. This wasn't just out of dedication; it was also a evidence of his wealth, as he funded these journeys himself! What a leader, eh?

But there's always a counterpoint, isn't there? Amidst the widespread grief, one person stood out for his lack of mourning: Nabal. While the nation mourned, Nabal held feasts. God, witnessing this, exclaimed, "Everyone weeps and laments over the death of the pious, and this reprobate engages in revelry!" Justice, swift and decisive, followed. Just three days after the week of mourning for Samuel ended, Nabal died.

This story, rich with detail and symbolism, leaves us pondering. It's a reminder of the interconnectedness of lives, the power of prayer, and the delicate balance between divine will and human agency. It makes you wonder: how often are events orchestrated behind the scenes, unseen by our mortal eyes, shaping the course of history? And what responsibility do we have to mourn, to remember, and to honor those who have paved the way for us?

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