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Saul Sinned Once and Lost Everything While Solomon Sinned for Decades

Agag was still breathing when the voice came down. Do not be more righteous than your Creator. Years later the same mouth ordered priests killed.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Knife of Fourteen Fingers
  2. Agag Still Breathing
  3. The Same Mouth at Nob
  4. Solomon Writes the Warning
  5. Two Mouths Crying Give
Saul Sinned Once and Lost Everything While Solomon Sinned for Decades Click for full size

The Knife of Fourteen Fingers

The people were eating meat with the blood still in it. Saul moved through the camp with a knife in his hand, fourteen fingerbreadths long, and showed them the length they were to use.

"In accordance with this protocol you shall be slaughtering and eating," he said.

He wanted the slaughter clean. He wanted the blood out. He wanted to be the king who did it right. On a later day of battle neither sword nor spear was found in the host, except with Saul and with Jonathan his son. Who provided it? Some said an angel. Some said the Holy One Himself. Saul built an altar to the Lord. The verse treats him as if he were the first among kings to begin that work. Piety had a reward. Piety also had a next test.

Agag Still Breathing

Samuel's command had been absolute. Destroy Amalek. Every man, woman, child, and animal. Leave nothing. Saul led the army into battle and won. Then he stood looking at Agag the Amalekite king alive in front of him, and at the best of the cattle and the sheep, and he began to argue.

"If the Torah ordains that a heifer of the herd shall be beheaded in the valley as an atonement for the death of a single man, how great must be the atonement required for the slaughter of so many men? And granted they are sinners, what wrong have their cattle done? And granted that the adults are worthy of their fate, what have the children done?"

Doeg was at his ear. The law prohibits the slaying of an animal and its young on the same day. How much less, Doeg said, to destroy at one time old and young, men and children. Saul had gone to this war because he was forced into it. He was easily persuaded to let the people keep a part of the cattle alive. He himself was so affluent he had taken a census of the army by giving a sheep to every soldier, two hundred thousand sheep. He did not need the booty. He needed the argument to be right.

A voice came down from heaven. "Be not overjust." Do not be more righteous than your Creator.

The Same Mouth at Nob

Samuel found him with the bleating still in the air. "What then is this bleating of sheep in my ears?" Saul said he had performed the commandment of God. Samuel said that to obey is better than sacrifice. Because you have rejected the word of God, he has rejected you as king.

Saul said he had sinned. Then he added, "But honor me now before the elders of my people." He wanted the acknowledgment alongside the confession. He wanted the throne and the admission in the same breath. The confession was not yet free of what it was confessing.

Years later he commissioned Doeg to cut down the priests at Nob. The same voice that had said "Be not overjust" now said "Be not overwicked." Anyone who becomes compassionate when he should be cruel will become cruel later, when he should be compassionate. Saul and his three sons died on the same day. He lost everything. The piety that had held a fourteen-finger knife had no middle left.

Solomon Writes the Warning

Solomon multiplied horses and wives and silver and gold for forty years. He knew the Torah had forbidden a king those piles. He knew the wives would turn his heart. Altars rose for the gods of his foreign wives. His heart was not wholly true to God as was the heart of David his father. He committed for decades what tore kingdoms, and he kept the throne.

In his old age he wrote. "Do not be overly righteous, and do not be exceedingly wise. Why should you be destroyed?" (Ecclesiastes 7:16). The line sits in Solomon's book. The man who sinned for decades named the danger of the man who sinned once. Saul had calculated his way into an exception. Solomon had accumulated his way into a ruin and still had ink left to warn.

Two Mouths Crying Give

Gan Eden (גן עדן), the Garden, says, "I hate the vain watchmen. I love those who keep Your commandments." Gehinnom (גיהנם) says the opposite. "I love the vain watchmen. I hate those who keep Your commandments." The leech has two daughters: give, give. Gan Eden cries, "Give me what is mine." Gehinnom cries, "Give me what is mine."

Both kings stood in that quarrel. Saul went to the witch at Endor and called up Samuel's ghost and asked what to do. Samuel, from beyond death, told him it was too late. Tomorrow you and your sons die. He had no gate left to walk through. Solomon's years of excess still left him a mouth that could write the warning and a Temple that sat between the two cries of give. Gan Eden and Gehinnom both wanted their share. Saul had already spent his share on a spared king and a slaughtered priesthood. There was nothing left to give back.

Four things weaken a person's strength: sin, the hard way, fasting, and exile. Saul took the first and the last. Solomon took the first for forty years and still found a way to accept the narrowness. The voice that corrected Saul twice never had to say to Solomon, in the same hour, both "too just" and "too wicked." Solomon's sins were long. Saul's turn was one hesitation, then a collapse with no middle.

SaulSolomonRepentanceKingshipDivine JusticeHeavenGehinnomAfterlife
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From the tradition

Sources

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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.

Legends of the Jews 3:27Legends 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

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

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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Vayikra Rabbah 25:8Vayikra Rabbah

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

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).

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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Kohelet Rabbah 7:16Kohelet Rabbah

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

The ancient rabbis certainly did. And they wrestled with this tension in some fascinating ways. to a passage from Kohelet Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Ecclesiastes, and see what wisdom we can unearth.

The verse in question is (Ecclesiastes 7:16): "Do not be overly righteous, and do not be exceedingly wise; why should you be destroyed?" Seems a little strange. Shouldn't we strive for righteousness? Well, the rabbis take this verse as a warning against a specific kind of self-righteousness – one that presumes to be more righteous than God Himself.

This teaching uses the story of King Saul to illustrate this point. We find in (1 Samuel 15:5) that "Saul came to the city of Amalek [and lay in wait [vayarev] in the valley]". Rabbi Huna and Rabbi Benaya offer a powerful interpretation: that vayarev – usually translated as "lay in wait" – can also mean "to argue" or "to deliberate." They suggest Saul was essentially arguing with God! He was questioning God's command to utterly destroy the Amalekites: "Go and smite Amalek…[put to death both men and women, infant and suckling babes, ox and sheep, camel and donkey" (1 Samuel 15:3).

Saul, in his human compassion, wondered: "If the men sinned, what sin did the women commit? What sin did the children commit? What sin did the cattle, the ox, and the donkey commit?" It's a valid question. We can understand his hesitation. But according to this midrash, a Divine Voice emerged, essentially saying, "Do not be overly righteous; [do not be] more [righteous] than your Creator."

The rabbis offer another interpretation too. They say Saul also questioned the ritual of the beheaded calf (eglah arufah), described in (Deuteronomy 21:4). This ritual was performed when a person was found murdered between two cities and the killer was unknown. The elders of the nearest city would perform this ritual, in which a calf is beheaded. Saul was uncomfortable with this, arguing that a calf shouldn't be killed because of a human sin. Again, he's demonstrating compassion. But the Divine Voice rebukes him: "Do not be overly righteous."

So what’s the takeaway here? Are the rabbis advocating for unrighteousness? Of course not! The point, it seems, is about humility and trust. There are times when we simply cannot fully grasp the Divine plan. To presume our understanding is superior, to allow our compassion to override Divine instruction, is a form of arrogance.

Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish takes it a step further. He says that "Anyone who becomes compassionate when he should be cruel will ultimately become cruel when he should be compassionate." He points to the tragic event in (1 (Samuel 22:1)9), where Saul, having spared the Amalekites, later ordered the slaughter of the priests of Nov. Was this not like the descendants of Amalek, he asks? A chilling consequence of misplaced compassion.

And the Rabbis add that "Anyone who becomes compassionate when he should be cruel, ultimately, the attribute of justice will harm him," leading to his own tragic end: "Saul and his three sons died" (1 Samuel 31:6).

This isn't an easy lesson. It requires us to hold seemingly contradictory ideas in tension: compassion and justice, understanding and trust. We must strive for righteousness, yes, but always with humility, acknowledging the limits of our own understanding. Perhaps, the greatest wisdom lies in knowing that we don’t have all the answers. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough.

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Midrash Tehillim 31:6Midrash Tehillim

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

Our tradition grapples with this tension constantly, and it shows up in some surprising places.

Take Midrash Tehillim, for instance, a collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Psalms. In one fascinating passage about Psalm 31, we encounter a rather stark contrast between Gan Eden (the Garden of Eden, paradise) and Gehinnom (the place of spiritual purification after death) – Paradise and Hell. They have diametrically opposed views on… well, us!

"I hate the vain watchmen," says Gan Eden. But wait, who does it love? Those who keep God's commandments. Gehinnom, on the other hand, chimes in, "I love the vain watchmen." And who does it hate? Those who keep God's commandments!

It forces us to ask: who are these "vain watchmen"? And what does it mean that Paradise and Hell have such different opinions of them – and of us?

The text then brings in a verse from Proverbs (30:15): "The leech has two daughters, give, give." This, the midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) suggests, reflects the insatiable demands of both Gan Eden and Gehinnom. Gan Eden cries out, "Give me what is mine!" And Gehinnom echoes, "Give me what is mine!" Both realms are hungry, constantly seeking to claim what they believe belongs to them.

But what is theirs? Are we talking about souls? Are we talking about actions? The Midrash doesn't spell it out, leaving us to ponder the nature of reward and punishment, and the eternal struggle for our spiritual allegiance.

The passage then shifts gears slightly, delving into the things that weaken a person. Rabbi Tanhuma bar Haiya offers a poignant list: sin, "the way," fasting, and exile. Now, “the way” here doesn’t mean a literal road; it refers to a difficult or challenging path in life. According to Rabbi Tanhuma, all these things sap our strength.

He illustrates each point with a verse from scripture. Sin, naturally, weakens us because of our wrongdoings. "The way" weakens us, as (Psalm 119:37) says, "Turn my eyes away from worthless things." Fasting weakens us, as (Psalm 109:24) laments, "My knees give way from fasting." And exile weakens us, mirroring the despair of (Lamentations 1:14), "My strength is gone and so is my hope."

But here's where it gets really interesting. Rabbi Tanhuma adds a crucial nuance: "Even the narrowness is good for one who accepts it." Even the difficult times, the constraints, the challenges – they can be a source of strength and growth if we embrace them. He references (Psalm 38:11), "My heart pounds, my strength fails me, even the light has gone from my eyes."

This verse, seemingly about utter despair, is actually evidence of resilience. Even when we're at our lowest, when our strength is failing and our vision is dim, there's a potential for something good to emerge. It's in these moments of "narrowness," when we feel squeezed and confined, that we can discover our inner reserves of strength and faith.

So, what does it all mean? Perhaps it's a reminder that life is a constant negotiation between opposing forces. Gan Eden and Gehinnom, good and evil, ease and hardship – they're all vying for our attention, our actions, our very being. And ultimately, it's up to us to choose which path we will follow, to find the good even in the narrow places, and to strive to be among those whom Gan Eden loves: those who keep God's commandments. But maybe, just maybe, there’s a way to find some peace even when Gehinnom seems to be winning.

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