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Nov Fell Before Saul Drew the Sword Himself

Robbing one coin is equal to killing, says Vayikra Rabbah. Saul's erasure of Nov shows what happens when a king mistakes the reach of power for justice.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Theft as a Form of Killing
  2. King Saul and the City He Destroyed
  3. The Cosmic Record in Jubilees
  4. The Edomite King Who Got His Name Wrong

It does not take a sword to kill someone.

That is the opening claim of one of the most uncomfortable passages in all of Vayikra Rabbah, and the rabbis who placed it there were not being poetic. They were making a legal argument: certain acts that do not involve physical violence are, in the moral calculus of Torah, equivalent to murder. The fifth-century Palestinian collection of homilies on Leviticus builds this argument through a convergence of voices from prophets, sages, and the worst decisions of a king.

Theft as a Form of Killing

Rabbi Yohanan opens Vayikra Rabbah 22 with a verse from Isaiah that sounds, on first reading, like a denunciation of sacrifice itself: "One who slaughters a bull, smites a man; one who sacrifices a lamb, beheads a dog" (Isaiah 66:3). He is not condemning the Temple service. He is using the verse's parallel structure to make a different argument. The person who robs another of even a single perutah, the smallest ancient coin, has committed an act equivalent to murder. Property taken is life diminished.

He builds the case with three verses. "He learned to maul prey, he devoured man" (Ezekiel 19:3). "So are the ways of every pursuer of ill-gotten gain; it takes the life of its owners" (Proverbs 1:19). The language is accumulative, each verse adding another voice to the same verdict. Harm travels further than the hand that delivers it. A theft rarely stays a mere theft.

King Saul and the City He Destroyed

Saul was the king who ordered the destruction of Nov. The city of priests. He had been told by Doeg the Edomite that Ahimelech the priest had helped David, and that report was enough. Saul ordered the execution of the entire priestly community: eighty-five priests and their families, men, women, children, livestock, all of it (1 Samuel 22:18-19). He did not touch the sword himself in every case. He did not need to. He gave the order. The city was erased.

Vayikra Rabbah 22 places this event inside its argument about the equivalence between property crimes and murder. Saul did not only kill the innocent. He destroyed their possessions, their city, their inheritance. The midrash sees this as a single act of violence expressed at multiple registers simultaneously. Each component of what happened at Nov, the taking of life, the taking of livelihood, the erasure of a community, was as much killing as the next.

The Cosmic Record in Jubilees

The Book of Jubilees, a second-century BCE text preserved in Ethiopic and Latin and drawn on here from the Ethiopian Jewish tradition, articulates the principle that underlies this reading. Its language is direct: "With the instrument with which a man killeth his neighbour with the same shall he be killed; after the manner that he wounded him, in like manner shall they deal with him." This is not earthly jurisprudence but a law written on the heavenly tablets, a cosmic ordinance that precedes any human court. What you do with the instrument of harm, the instrument returns to you.

The principle is midah k'neged midah, measure for measure. Not as sentiment but as structural fact, written into the order of the universe before any specific king decided any specific city deserved to die.

The Edomite King Who Got His Name Wrong

The Book of Jasher, a medieval text drawing on earlier traditions and mentioned by name in the biblical books of Joshua and 2 Samuel, adds a detail about the Saul figure who appears in Edom's succession lists. When the Edomite king died after eighteen years, his people went to Pethor to find a successor: a young man named Saul, described as having beautiful eyes and a commanding appearance. The text emphasizes the externals of leadership, looks that matter even when choosing a king.

This other Saul, a king of Edom rather than Israel, is a dark mirror placed beside the king who destroyed Nov. Beauty and bearing and royal selection are not what makes a king just. The midrash knows this. The contrast between the king who looks like a king and the king who governs like one is embedded in how these sources are placed together.

ViolenceTragedySaulDivine JusticeTheftVayikra Rabbah
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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.

Vayikra Rabbah 22:6Vayikra Rabbah

It teaches us that even the smallest injustice can have enormous consequences, echoing through the world and even impacting our relationship with the Divine.

Our jumping-off point is Vayikra Rabbah 22, a fascinating passage in the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary). It begins with the seemingly simple phrase: “any man from the house of Israel.” But what follows is anything but simple. It launches us into a powerful discussion about the interconnectedness of our actions, both good and bad, and their reverberating impact.

The text quotes (Isaiah 66:3), a rather jarring verse: “One who slaughters a bull, smites a man; one who sacrifices a lamb, beheads a dog; one who presents a meal offering, it is the blood of a swine; one who brings frankincense, brings a gift of iniquity.” What on earth does this mean? It sounds like the prophet is saying that these acts of worship are actually evil!

Rabbi Yoḥanan and Reish Lakish, two prominent sages, offer different interpretations of this verse. Rabbi Yoḥanan argues that even robbing someone of a single peruta – the smallest denomination of currency – is akin to murder! He supports this with multiple biblical verses: "He learned to maul prey, he devoured man" (Ezekiel 19:3), "So are the ways of every pursuer of ill-gotten gain; it takes the life of its owners" (Proverbs 1:19), and so on. The idea is that stealing, even a little, diminishes the life of the victim, creating a ripple effect of harm.

He even uses the story of the Gibeonites and King Saul to illustrate his point. Remember that story? The Gibeonites claimed Saul “eliminated us, and who devised against us, so that we would be destroyed” (II Samuel 21:5). But did Saul actually kill them? No, but by destroying Nov, the city of priests that provided them with sustenance, it was as if he had. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, this act indirectly led to their demise (Ginzberg, Legends, 4:69).

Reish Lakish, on the other hand, flips the verse on its head. He reads (Isaiah 66:3) to mean: “One who smites a man, slaughters a bull; one who beheads a dog, sacrifices a lamb…” In other words, people commit terrible acts and then try to cover them up with acts of apparent piety, thinking they can get away with it. The verse "They too chose their ways" (Isaiah 66:3) suggests that people deliberately choose a path of wrongdoing while deluding themselves into thinking they are righteous. It's a powerful critique of hypocrisy!

Then, the text presents a fascinating question posed by Rabbi Elazar to Rabbi Ḥanina (or vice versa – the text notes the uncertainty, adding a very human touch to the debate). The question is this: Which is worse, poverty or wealth? "Two I ask of You…. Distance vanity and falsehood from me; do not give me poverty or wealth; feed me my allotted bread, lest I become sated, and renounce, and say: Who is the Lord? And lest I become poor, and steal, and appropriate the name of my God” (Proverbs 30:7–9). Poverty can lead to stealing and false oaths, while wealth can lead to arrogance and denial of God. Which is the greater danger?

Rabbi Ḥanina answers that desecration of God's name is worse than idol worship. As (Ezekiel 20:39) says, "You, house of Israel, so said the Lord God: Let each man go worship his idols… You shall not profane My holy name any more." Therefore, the dangers of poverty, which can lead one to desecrate God's name, are greater than the dangers of wealth. This is a powerful and unsettling idea!

The passage concludes by connecting this discussion back to the original verse in Leviticus: “Any man from the house of Israel who will slaughter…” The Torah is warning us to be mindful of our actions because our behavior reflects on God's name. Imagine, says the Midrash, if Israel violated the prohibition of private altars and were punished. The nations of the world would see and say, "They worship in His name, and He kills them!" That's a chillul Hashem, a desecration of God’s name.

So, what’s the takeaway from all of this? It's a powerful reminder that our actions, no matter how small they seem, have consequences. They affect not only ourselves and those around us, but also our relationship with the Divine. Even a seemingly insignificant transgression can be a chillul Hashem, damaging the reputation of God in the world. It’s a call to live with intention, integrity, and awareness of the impact we have on the world around us. It's a weighty responsibility, but also a profound opportunity to sanctify God's name through our actions.

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Jasher 69Book of Jasher

Sometimes, it's the little-known stories, the tucked-away details, that truly bring the past to life. to a snippet from the Book of Jasher, a text mentioned in the Bible itself (Joshua 10:13 and (2 Samuel 1:1)8), though the version we have today is likely a medieval work drawing on earlier traditions. Chapter 69, and it's a fascinating glimpse into power, succession, and the ever-present struggle for freedom.

So, what's happening? Well, the king of Edom has kicked the bucket after an 18-year reign. He gets buried in a temple he built for himself, But Nope. They send all the way to Pethor, "which is upon the river," to find a young man named Saul. And he wasn't just any Saul; he was a looker, with "beautiful eyes and comely aspect." Looks matter, apparently, even when choosing a king! They bring him back and crown him king in place of the former ruler, Samlah. Saul then reigns over Edom for a good forty years.

Wait, there's more! The Book of Jasher then shifts its focus back to Egypt and the plight of the Israelites. Remember Balaam, the prophet hired to curse Israel? (Numbers 22-24) Well, apparently, his advice to Pharaoh on how to deal with the Israelites didn't pan out. Instead of dwindling away, the Israelites were thriving: "fruitful, multiplied, and increased throughout the land of Egypt." So, what does Pharaoh do? He doubles down on oppression.

Here’s where it gets truly heartbreaking. Pharaoh issues a decree that no Israelite man can slack off on his daily labor. And the punishment for falling short? If a man didn't produce enough bricks or mortar, his youngest son would be taken and literally put in the place of the missing brick. Can you imagine the horror? The Book of Jasher tells us that this happened "day by day, all the days for a long period." It paints a stark picture of the brutality and desperation faced by the Israelites.

There is, however, one small glimmer of hope in this dark chapter. The tribe of Levi, from the very beginning, didn't participate in this forced labor. Why? Because, according to the Book of Jasher, "the children of Levi knew the cunning of the Egyptians." They were wise to the Egyptians' schemes from the start and somehow managed to avoid this terrible fate. What exactly was this cunning? The text doesn't elaborate here, leaving us to wonder about the details of their strategy.

What does this all mean? Chapter 69 of the Book of Jasher offers a glimpse into the political landscape and the daily lives of people caught in the crosshairs of powerful rulers. It reminds us that even in the face of immense suffering, there are always those who resist, who find ways to survive, and who, like the tribe of Levi, perhaps even manage to outsmart their oppressors. And it sets the stage for the larger story of redemption and liberation that we know is coming. The story of Exodus is indeed a evidence of the strength and resilience of the human spirit against unimaginable odds.

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Book of Jubilees 4:47Book of Jubilees

The Book of Jubilees, a text not included in the standard Hebrew Bible but considered sacred by some, gives us a peek into how this concept was understood long ago.

It states, quite plainly: "With the instrument with which a man killeth his neighbour with the same shall he be killed; after the manner that he wounded him, in like manner shall they deal with him." Heavy stuff. This isn't just about earthly courts and punishments; it’s presented as an ordinance decreed on the "heavenly tables." A cosmic law, etched in the very fabric of existence. It’s a powerful assertion of midah k’neged midah (מדה כנגד מדה), measure for measure. What you dish out, you get back. This principle echoes throughout Jewish thought.

The Book of Jubilees isn't all fire and brimstone. It also explores the everyday lives of our ancestors.

The text transitions from cosmic law to family matters, specifically the family of Noah. Remember Noah? The guy with the Ark?

We learn that in the twenty-fifth jubilee – a jubilee being a period of 49 years – Noah took a wife. Her name was ’Ĕmzârâ, and she was the daughter of Râkê’êl, who was, interestingly, Noah's father's brother. So, a cousin. Marrying cousins wasn't uncommon in ancient times, but it does make you pause, doesn't it?

The text gets even more specific. This happened in the first year of the fifth week of that jubilee. Talk about pinpoint accuracy! And in the third year of that week, ’Ĕmzârâ bore him Shem. Two years later, came Ham. And then, in the first year of the sixth week, they had Japheth.

Three sons, each destined to become the patriarch of a major branch of humanity. The Book of Jubilees, in its matter-of-fact way, lays out the timeline. It connects the grand sweep of cosmic justice to the intimate details of family life. It shows us that even in the midst of divine decrees and world-altering events, life – and family – goes on.

It's a reminder that history isn't just about big events. It's about the everyday moments, the births and marriages, the relationships that shape who we are. And perhaps, just perhaps, the choices we make in those everyday moments have a way of echoing out into the cosmos, influencing that very same "heavenly table."

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