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Saul Made His Army Wait While Blood Drained From the Meat

Saul's soldiers wanted meat before the blood drained. Vayikra Rabbah turned his refusal into a lesson about what holds creation's pillars upright.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Army That Was Hungry Enough to Sin
  2. Pillars of Marble Standing on Gold
  3. The Shir HaShirim Rabbah Extension
  4. What the Blood Actually Was
  5. A King Who Held the Pillar

The Army That Was Hungry Enough to Sin

The battle was over. The enemy was routed. Saul's men had driven themselves past the limits of ordinary hunger, and the animals were slaughtered in the field before anyone thought about the blood still clinging to the meat. Victory had loosened discipline, the way it always does. The men were eating blood, and the first king of Israel had to decide whether the pressure of the moment would write the law for the camp.

He stopped them. He had a large stone rolled before the army. He commanded the animals to be killed properly, with the blood draining onto the stone. He held the line.

Vayikra Rabbah, the fifth-century Palestinian midrash, found in that moment of field discipline a window into what holds creation together.

Pillars of Marble Standing on Gold

Song of Songs 5:15 describes the beloved's legs as pillars of marble set in sockets of fine gold. The rabbis heard the Hebrew word for six, shesh, embedded in the word for marble, and began counting. Creation stands on six days. The six days stand on something. The image from the love poem became architecture: the pillars are the days, and the sockets are what the days rest on.

What are the sockets of fine gold? Torah. The world does not float on its own weight. Creation has a foundation, and the foundation is the structure of obligation, measure, restraint, and sequence that the Torah encodes. If the ground feels solid underfoot, the midrash says, it is because Torah holds the weight where no one can see the pressure.

This is a claim that sounds poetic until you put Saul's army next to it. Then it becomes operational. The soldiers were hungry. The blood law was inconvenient. No one would have noticed if Saul had looked the other way. But the pillar does not hold only when conditions are favorable. The pillar holds by holding at every moment, including the worst ones.

The Shir HaShirim Rabbah Extension

Shir HaShirim Rabbah, the midrash on the Song of Songs compiled around the sixth century CE, carries the same architectural image and presses it further. The sockets of gold are the moments in which Israel maintained the law under exactly the conditions that made maintenance hardest. A long march. Exhausted soldiers. Slaughtered animals already at hand. The blood prohibition is not among the laws that feel spiritual in practice. It is procedural, inconvenient, and invisible in its consequences.

That is precisely why it matters for the pillar. The laws that feel spiritual practice themselves. The laws that feel procedural and inconvenient are the ones that test whether the commitment runs underneath the feeling or only alongside it.

What the Blood Actually Was

The prohibition against eating blood runs from Noah through Leviticus through the Talmud with a consistency that suggests it was understood as foundational rather than incidental. The tradition in Leviticus 17 gives the reason plainly: the life of the flesh is in the blood. Blood is not merely a biological substance. It is the carrier of life itself, and life belongs to God. When you drain the blood and return it to the earth, you are acknowledging that the animal's life was not yours to consume in its entirety. You were permitted the flesh. The life was on loan.

Saul's men were not just ignoring a food regulation. They were consuming the loan. They were treating the animal's life as their possession, as available to be used however hunger dictated. The large stone Saul rolled before the army was a literal and figurative insistence: this is where life goes back to where it came from. Not into you.

A King Who Held the Pillar

The tradition has complicated feelings about Saul. He was the first king, chosen by popular demand, and he failed at the thing that brought him down: he spared Agag when God had commanded total destruction, and he used a technical compliance to avoid the harder requirement. He could be flexible when the cost was other people's lives.

But at the moment with the blood, he was not flexible. He stopped the army in the field, had the stone brought out, and did the procedure correctly at the exact moment when doing it incorrectly would have cost him nothing visible and saved him the trouble of managing exhausted soldiers' frustration.

Vayikra Rabbah put this moment next to the pillars of creation because the pillars are not held by the people who maintain them when it is easy. They are held by the people who maintain them when it is hard and no one is watching and victory has already been declared and the meat is in hand.


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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.

Vayikra Rabbah 25:8Vayikra Rabbah

It all starts with a verse from the Song of Songs (5:15): “His calves [shokav] are pillars of marble [amudei shesh].”

What do calves and marble pillars have to do with… well, anything? That's where the Rabbis step in!

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) cleverly interprets this verse, using it as a springboard to discuss the very structure and meaning of the world and, more specifically, the Torah. The Etz Yosef commentary tells us that shokav, “his calves,” represents the world, particularly its marketplaces, the centers of civilization. Think of it: the bustling heart of society, supported by… pillars?

What are these amudei shesh, these “pillars of marble”? The Midrash connects it to the six days of Creation, drawing a parallel to the verse "For in six [sheshet] days God made…” (Exodus 20:11). The very foundation of our world, the act of Creation itself, serves as the support.

Then comes the really beautiful part. The verse continues, "Set on sockets of fine gold.” What do these golden sockets represent? According to the Midrash, they are the matters of Torah, as it says: “They are more desirable than gold, than much fine gold” (Psalms 19:11). Torah, then, is the precious base upon which everything rests!

But there's another, even more profound, interpretation. These "sockets of fine gold" represent the way we interpret and understand the Torah. Rav Huna, in the name of bar Kappara, offers a powerful analogy: the passages of the Torah are best understood in relation to what comes before and what comes after. It's like a pillar with a base at the bottom and a capital at the top. You can’t fully appreciate the pillar without seeing how it connects to both the ground and the roof. The surrounding passages give context and meaning.

The Midrash then illustrates this point with examples from Leviticus. It connects the laws about planting fruit trees (Leviticus 19:24) with the laws about having relations with a servant (Leviticus 19:20). How are these related? The Midrash suggests that familiarity can lead to temptation. Someone who is constantly in another person's house might be tempted to take advantage of their maidservant. The Rabbis, in no uncertain terms, condemn those who take such liberties, with Rabbi Yudan, in the name of Rabbi Levi, saying that those who act permissively with maidservants are destined to be hanged by their heads in the future! A pretty stark warning. The verse in Psalms (68:22), “Indeed, God will shatter the heads of His enemies, hairy skulls of those walking in their guilt,” is invoked to underscore the severity of the sin.

The Midrash then connects the laws of orlah (forbidden fruit, (Leviticus 19:2)3) with the prohibition against eating blood (Leviticus 19:26). The Holy One, blessed be He, essentially asks: "You wait three years for orlah, but you don't wait for your wife to observe her menstrual period? You wait three years for orlah, but you don't wait for your animal until its blood is squeezed out?" This highlights the importance of patience and adherence to all of God's commandments, not just the ones that are convenient.

Then we get a story about King Saul. The people were sinning by eating meat with the blood still in it. Saul, wanting to do what was right, commanded them to slaughter the animals properly. The Rabbis say he showed them a knife of a specific length (fourteen fingerbreadths, according to their calculations) to ensure the slaughtering was done according to protocol. But here's the kicker: later, during a battle with the Philistines, Saul and his son Jonathan were the only ones with swords! How did that happen? Rabbi Hagai, in the name of Rabbi Yitzchak, says an angel provided it. Other Rabbis say that God provided it. The Midrash connects this to Saul's dedication to building an altar to the Lord, suggesting that his righteousness was rewarded.

The passage ends with a beautiful reflection from Rabbi Shimon ben Lakonya. He contrasts the world we live in, where one person builds and another uses, one plants and another eats, with the future Messianic age. In that future world, as the prophet Isaiah says (65:22-23), “They will not build and have another inhabit, they will not plant and have another eat…they will not toil in vain…” Everyone will benefit from their own labor, and their descendants will be known among the nations (Isaiah 61:9).

So, what can we take away from all this? The Midrash teaches us that the Torah is not just a collection of laws and stories, but a living, breathing structure. It's a world supported by pillars of Creation, resting on sockets of golden wisdom. And it's up to us to build upon that foundation, to connect the pieces, and to create a world where everyone can share in the blessings of Torah.

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Shir HaShirim Rabbah 15:1Shir HaShirim Rabbah

Take this verse from (Song of Songs 5:15): "His calves are pillars of marble, set on sockets of fine gold; his appearance is like Lebanon, choice like cedars.”

What does any of that really mean?

Well, Shir HaShirim Rabbah, a classical midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) commentary on the Song of Songs, dives deep into that very question. And what it finds might surprise you.

"His calves are pillars of marble," the verse begins. According to the Shir HaShirim Rabbah, “his calves” represent the world itself. And the "pillars of marble [shesh]"? They allude to the six [shisha] days of creation! As it says in (Exodus 31:17), "For in six days the Lord made…" the heavens and the earth. See how the Rabbis find these connections and hidden meanings? It’s But it gets even more intriguing. The verse continues, "set on sockets of fine gold." The midrash interprets this as the portions of the Torah that are expounded by examining what comes before and what comes after. Think of it like this: these portions are like pillars with a base and a capital, each supporting and illuminating the other.

To understand this, the text brings an example from Leviticus. We're talking about the laws concerning a man who has relations with a designated maidservant (Leviticus 19:20) followed by the laws about the fruit of a newly planted tree being forbidden for the first three years (Leviticus 19:23). What’s the connection?

The midrash explains that a laborer, working closely within a household, might become tempted by the maidservant. He might then try to downplay his sin, thinking he can easily bring a sin offering or a guilt offering. Rabbi Yudan, quoting Rabbi Levi, even warns that those who take this transgression lightly will face severe consequences in the future.

The juxtaposition of these verses, according to this interpretation, suggests that just as we must refrain from enjoying the fruit of a tree for three years, so too must we refrain from acting impulsively and thinking we can get away with something.

But the connection also works in the other direction – forward. (Leviticus 19:23), about the fruit, is followed by (Leviticus 19:26): "You shall not eat over the blood; you shall not practice divination…" Here, the Holy One, blessed be He, is essentially saying: "You wait three years for orlah (uncircumcised fruit), but you don't wait for your wife to purify after menstruation? You wait three years for orlah, but you don't wait for the animal's blood to be fully drained?" In other words, just as we are patient with the fruit, we must also be patient and observant in other areas of life, even when it's difficult.

The midrash then brings in Saul, the first king of Israel, as an example of someone who upheld the mitzvah of not eating blood. The text references (1 (Samuel 14:33-3)4), where Saul instructs the people to slaughter their animals properly to avoid sinning. The Rabbis even say he showed them a knife of a specific length to ensure proper slaughter!

And how was Saul rewarded? According to Rabbi Hagai in the name of Rabbi Yitzchak, and other Rabbis, he was rewarded during the Philistine war, when he miraculously obtained a sword and spear (1 (Samuel 13:2)2). The text also notes that Saul was the first king to build an altar to the Lord, signifying his devotion to proper ritual practice. Rabbi Yudan emphasizes that Saul’s dedication to these matters was so significant that he is credited as if he were the first to build an altar, despite the many altars built before him.

So, what can we take away from this intricate interpretation of a single verse? It's more than just a description of physical beauty. It's a reminder that the Torah is interconnected, that seemingly disparate laws can illuminate each other, and that our actions have consequences. The beauty of the Song of Songs, and the wisdom of the Rabbis, lies in their ability to find profound meaning in the smallest of details. And it reminds us that even in the most passionate of love poems, there's always room for a little bit of Torah.

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Book of Jubilees 6:21Book of Jubilees

The Book of Jubilees, a text bubbling with rich detail expanding on the Torah’s narratives, dives headfirst into this very topic. This isn’t just a suggestion; it's a decree. A powerful one, at that. "The man who eateth the blood of beast or of cattle or of birds during all the days of the earth, he and his seed shall be rooted out of the land." Jubilees paints a picture of serious consequences. It's not just about physical health, although that's certainly a consideration. It’s about something far deeper – our connection to the Divine, our place in the covenant.

So, why this intense prohibition? Why such a stark warning?

The text continues, "And do thou command the children of Israel to eat no blood, so that their names and their seed may be before the Lord our God continually.” It seems that abstaining from blood is tied directly to maintaining our relationship with God, ensuring our lineage remains blessed and remembered.

Blood, in many ancient traditions, is seen as the very essence of life. It’s the life force, the thing that animates us. By refraining from consuming it, we acknowledge that life is sacred, a gift from God, not something to be taken lightly or consumed casually. We are, in effect, honoring that gift.

But it goes even further. Jubilees stresses the eternal nature of this law. "And for this law there is no limit of days, for it is for ever. They shall observe it throughout their generations..." This isn’t a fleeting commandment for a specific time or place. It's a binding principle meant to shape the very fabric of Jewish life across generations. Generation after generation, observing this same principle, all striving to maintain that connection, that blessing. It’s a powerful image of continuity and commitment.

And it all culminates in the idea of atonement. "…so that they may continue supplicating on your behalf with blood before the altar; every day and at the time of morning and evening they shall seek forgiveness on your behalf perpetually before the Lord that they may keep it and not be rooted out.”

The blood offered on the altar – a carefully orchestrated and sacred act – serves as a perpetual plea for forgiveness, a constant reminder of our shared humanity and our need for divine grace. This daily act, performed morning and evening, creates an ongoing cycle of repentance and renewal. It is a humbling acknowledgement of our imperfections, and a hope for continued divine favor.

So, the next time you encounter this seemingly simple dietary law, remember the profound depths beneath the surface. Remember the connection to life, to lineage, and to the divine. Remember the perpetual plea for forgiveness, echoing through the ages. It's more than just a rule; it’s a lifeline.

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