Who is David? Who is the son of Jesse? There are many servants nowadays who are breaking away from their masters. Shall I take my bread and my water and my meat that I have killed for my shearers, and give it to men who come from I do not know where? (1 Samuel 25:10–11)
Nabal’s answer may have been heartfelt, but it was certainly not effective.
And David said to his men, “Every man gird on his sword!” And every man of them girded on his sword; David also girded on his sword; and about four hundred men went up after David, while two hundred remained with the baggage. (1 Samuel 25:13)
According to the Bible, David received his tribute, Nabal dropped dead, and David claimed his widow—the beautiful Abigail—as a new wife for himself. These events may have actually happened as described in the Bible, or they may express in a vivid and colorful way a familiar situation in the southern highlands between village nobles and bandits. Either way, the situation is illuminating.
So too is the hint that David had a larger strategy than just isolated acts of violence and plunder. After Keilah, he was recognized by the local population as a welcome protector and avenger. After his great victory over the Amalekites, he offered a generous share of his booty to all the local elders of the highlands of Judah who had supported or sheltered him (1 Samuel 30: 26–31).* It is not surprising that a short while later the same elders pronounce David “king” of Judah in their assembly at Hebron. From a nobody and a bandit, David rose to be recognized as a popular leader over the sparsely settled southern hills. But Hebron had always been only the second most important town in Judah. No wonder the biblical narrative describes David soon setting his sights on Jerusalem—the key to control over the entire southern highlands.
FROM BANDIT TO CHIEFTAIN
The rise of an Apiru leader to political power was not unprecedented. The Amarna letters provide many indications that local rulers—especially in the highlands—may have come from Apiru backgrounds themselves. Although Abdi-Heba’s letters used the term “Apiru” in angry denunciation, it is likely that he himself cooperated with these groups against the lowland cities when it served his interests. It is not out of the question that Abdi-Heba may have risen to power from an Apiru background himself.
That is certainly what occurred in neighboring regions. In the northern part of Mount Lebanon, near the present-day border between Lebanon and Syria, two chiefs, named Abdi-ashirta and Aziru—a father and a son—expanded their influence from their small and remote highland village down to the hilly area at the foot of the mountains and then into the coastal plain in the vicinity of the modern city of Tripoli in northern Lebanon. They first conquered a local city-state and then took over an Egyptian administrative center. They established the influential state of Amurru, which stretched over a large territory, including both coastal and mountainous areas. A few generations later, in the thirteenth century BCE, this state was strong enough to shift the balance of power between the Egyptian and Hittite empires.
Another example—closer to Judah—is that of Labayu, the ruler of the northern highland city of Shechem. The conspiracies and maneuvers of Labayu, originating in the hill country, eventually expanded to cover large parts of the country—from Gezer and Jerusalem in the south to the Jezreel Valley and beyond in the north. The Amarna letters describe his attempts—possibly in cooperation with groups of Apiru—to expand into the Jezreel Valley and to gain territories from the city-states of that region, including Megiddo. His strategy failed. Condemned as a criminal, he was captured and killed by his neighbors, who acted in the service of the Egyptian authorities.
Unfortunately, we cannot closely follow the political situation in the southern highlands over the four hundred years, between the time of Abdi-Heba in the fourteenth century BCE and David’s presumed activities in the tenth century BCE. Egyptian texts are few and highly fragmentary. The biblical narrative indicates that a people called Jebusites were the rulers of Jerusalem at the time of David’s conquest. We have no information about them and their time, or how they came to power, but from the archaeological indications, the general settlement patterns of the Amarna age seem to have persisted.
In Jerusalem, remains from the Early Iron Age (the late twelfth century to about 900 BCE) are a bit more substantial than those of the Late Bronze Age, probably indicating that the small hamlet of Abdi-Heba gradually grew in size. Excavations on the eastern slope of the City of David, above the Gihon spring, exposed a system of stone terraces that were probably built to support a fort or even a palace, but we cannot tell if this occurred under the rule of Abdi-Heba’s dynasty, or if new leaders emerged to wrest power from his heirs. Nor do we know what relation the Early Iron Age rulers of Jerusalem might have to the biblical descriptions of the Jebusites.
Outside Jerusalem in any case, little was changed. The hill country to the south was still sparsely inhabited, even though the number of settled sites grew modestly. All in all, surveys recorded the remains of only about twenty permanent Early Iron Age settlements in the southern highlands. Their population can be estimated at a few thousand people, to which must be added the roving bandit groups and the large herding communities.
What can we say about the role of David in all this?
The traditional system of banditry was a makeshift way of life, dealing in a haphazard and brutal way with the society’s inner stresses and inequalities. But sometimes the growing power and support for Apiru leaders resulted in a permanent change of regime—with some influential or successful bandit chieftains taking the reins of highland rule themselves. Whether we can perceive a historical kernel in the biblical account of David’s conquest of Jebusite Jerusalem through a daring assault, we can recognize a familiar pattern of ancient regime change. Throughout the centuries Jerusalem was not merely the southern highlands’ most prominent stronghold; it was the ceremonial focus and political anchor for the traditional form of dimorphic chiefdom that encompassed the entire southern highlands area.
The modest expansion of building activities in Early Iron Age Jerusalem is extremely difficult to link to the Bible’s events. Whether the terraces and other structures on the eastern slope of the City of David were meant to support a citadel, we cannot say for sure.* We do not even know when, exactly, within the first few centuries of the Iron Age these construction works took place. We know only that at some point, the followers and descendants of David acknowledged Jerusalem as their capital. The official trappings of David’s new regime would have been modest. Business would have been conducted with the highland clans through face-to-face encounters and social interaction. Storytelling would have been a key to his maintaining the continued support of the people of the southern highlands, now that he had been transformed from their occasional protector to their permanent chief.
THE STRATIGRAPHY OF HEROIC TALES
Though the demographic, social, and political realities behind the David-as-Apiru stories all seem to reflect the memories of an early period—possibly memories of the actual realities if not events in the tenth century BCE—it is clear that these stories were not put in writing at that time. The cycle of David-as-Apiru stories, containing some fairly reliable memories about conditions in the highlands at the very start of his career, were probably orally transmitted for some two centuries, until the eighth century BCE, when the first signs of widespread literacy appear in Judah. For two hundred years, David would have been the hero of tall tales and folktales that celebrated his extraordinary career. Yet oral transmission is quite fluid. There can hardly be a doubt that the form in which we have these stories today—incorporated first into the coherent “Rise of David” narrative and then into the larger Deuteronomistic History—is quite different from that of the original tales. Centuries of exaggeration and storytelling surely transformed some of the elements, deleted others, and added successive layers of political and theological interpolation that reflected the concerns and realities of the tellers.
So how can we begin to separate the layers? The Am
erican biblical scholar Stanley Isser suggests that we look at the process of folktale creation itself. He examined the narrative of “David’s Rise to Power” and identified the common mythic themes it shares with bandit tales and hero myths in different historical periods and in different parts of the world. Particularly intriguing are the literary “fossils” interspersed in the text of David’s story. Snatches of ancient heroic tales seem to have been cut and pasted into the narrative at various places. This apparent urge to collect and incorporate all known traditions resulted in two of the most awkward passages in an otherwise well-written text.
Before and after the farewell speech of the dying David—oddly placed in the midst of the narrative of the king’s later years of rule—comes a series of colorful yet almost telegraphic summaries of heroic acts (2 Samuel 21:15–22; 23:8–39) of David’s followers at the very beginning of his career, mainly in the wars against the Philistines. To all appearances, the editor or editors who stitched these passages together had collected additional information about the exploits of some of David’s most important followers but failed to integrate these episodes into the free-flowing narrative. So they are placed as something of an appendix containing brief summaries of some stories that must have been well-known folktales themselves.
And Ishbi-benob, one of the descendants of the giants, whose spear weighed three hundred shekels of bronze, and who was girded with a new sword, thought to kill David. But Abishai the son of Zeruiah came to his aid, and attacked the Philistine and killed him. Then David’s men adjured him, “You shall no more go out with us to battle, lest you quench the lamp of Israel.” (2 Samuel 21:16–17)
And there was again war at Gath, where there was a man of great stature, who had six fingers on each hand, and six toes on each foot, twenty-four in number; and he also was descended from the giants. And when he taunted Israel, Jonathan the son of Shimei, David’s brother, slew him. (2 Samuel 21:20–21)
…Josheb-basshebeth a Tahchemonite; he was chief of the three; he wielded his spear against eight hundred whom he slew at one time. (2 Samuel 23:8)
…Eleazar the son of Dodo, son of Ahohi. He was with David when they defied the Philistines who were gathered there for battle, and the men of Israel withdrew. He rose and struck down the Philistines until his hand was weary, and his hand cleaved to the sword; and the LORD wrought a great victory that day. (2 Samuel 23:9–10)
…Shammah, the son of Agee the Hararite. The Philistines gathered together at Lehi, where there was a plot of ground full of lentils; and the men fled from the Philistines. But he took his stand in the midst of the plot, and defended it, and slew the Philistines; and the LORD wrought a great victory. (2 Samuel 23:11–12)
And three of the thirty chief men went down, and came about harvest time to David at the cave of Adullam, when a band of Philistines was encamped in the valley of Rephaim. David was then in the stronghold; and the garrison of the Philistines was then at Bethlehem. And David said longingly, “O that some one would give me water to drink from the well of Bethlehem which is by the gate!” Then the three mighty men broke through the camp of the Philistines, and drew water out of the well of Bethlehem which was by the gate, and took and brought it to David. But he would not drink of it; he poured it out to the LORD, and said, “Far be it from me, O LORD, that I should do this. Shall I drink the blood of the men who went at the risk of their lives?” (2 Samuel 23:13–17)
Now Abishai, the brother of Joab, the son of Zeruiah, was chief of the thirty. And he wielded his spear against three hundred men and slew them, and won a name beside the three. (2 Samuel 23:18)
And Benaiah the son of Jehoiada was a valiant man of Kabzeel, a doer of great deeds; he smote two ariels of Moab. He also went down and slew a lion in a pit on a day when snow had fallen. And he slew an Egyptian, a handsome man. The Egyptian had a spear in his hand; but Benaiah went down to him with a staff, and snatched the spear out of the Egyptian’s hand, and slew him with his own spear. (2 Samuel 23:20–21)
None of these acts of daring are mentioned in the body of the David story. It is noteworthy that they take place in the same area as his recorded acts, in the Judean hills and their immediate vicinity. Yet in the form they are presented they strip the stories of all their drama and beg as many questions as they answer. Why did Josheb-basshebeth have to battle eight hundred warriors alone? Where was the battle at which the hand of Eleazar the son of Dodo cleaved to his sword? Why was Shammah the son of Agee in a field of lentils? What were the circumstances (and the meaning) of Benaiah the son of Jehoiada slaying “two ariels of Moab,” “a lion in a pit on a day that the snow had fallen,” and an Egyptian with his own spear?
The content in these summaries is extraordinary (as are some of their details, like the description of the warrior with twelve fingers and twelve toes), but they seem intended more to remind the reader of well-known tales, whose details were familiar, rather than provide an authoritative historical account. Isser pointed out that these literary traces are apparent fragments of an early body of epic ballads that celebrated the exploits of David and his men. The tales were popular among the people of Judah, but were not incorporated fully into the biblical account. As mere summaries, they provide us with the clear recognition that the compilers of the biblical narrative had at their disposal a vast body of tradition for inclusion in their work. Some tales were selected, others were abbreviated, and yet others were probably rejected altogether. Theirs was a task of collection and heavy editing, surely not an accurate recording of history.
We have not yet discussed what is surely the most famous folktale of all about David: his miraculous victory over the Philistine giant Goliath of Gath, the shaft of whose spear “was like a weaver’s beam” (1 Samuel 17:7). One can hardly even think of the young David today without calling it to mind. It is the act that is probably most widely remembered, and it is presumed by many biblical readers to be a historical event. But among the short summaries we have just mentioned is the following, surprising report:
And there was again war with the Philistines at Gob; and Elhanan the son of Jaare-oregim, the Bethlehemite, slew Goliath the Gittite, the shaft of whose spear was like a weaver’s beam. (2 Samuel 21:19)
Who killed Goliath? As we will show in a later chapter, the David-and-Goliath story as we now have it shows the clear influence of much later periods. But here, in one of the abbreviated folktales, presumably an early stratum of legend, we hear of Elhanan’s achievement. Could this represent an early version of one of the world’s most famous biblical tales? Was Elhanan the real name of a hero who toppled a Philistine giant or, as some scholars have suggested, was Elhanan the original name of Judah’s future king?
TALES FOR COLD WINTER NIGHTS
The ancient tales of the bandit hero and his mighty men, recited around campfires and at public celebrations, were meant to impress his followers with his extraordinary exploits, and thereby to instill respect for the hero’s power. He was a man of the people, a brave rebel who fought fiercely against enemies and injustice. He was a man of strong desires and an equally strong determination to resist the overlords, and the injustices that so many of his contemporaries had learned to accept. In every story of his smashing victories and the astounding acts of bravery of his closest comrades, listeners gained vicarious satisfaction and an enhanced sense of security. As the colorful tales spread from mouth to mouth and from village to village, their details grew more miraculously entertaining and (no doubt) less accurate.
The most plausible historical scenario we can propose—based on the passages of 1 Samuel that match the archaeological and anthropological conditions of the tenth century BCE in the highlands of Judah—is that an Apiru-like leader known as David emerged as a local strongman at a time of political chaos. He eventually gained enough support among the southern highland population that the respected elders of the area proclaimed him chieftain in the old tribal center of Hebron. Before long he established his seat of his power in Jerusalem and ruled over the r
egion’s farmers and herders, much as Abdi-Heba had done some centuries before. Since the southern hill country was remote from the main trade routes and centers of lowland power, the rise of the historical David would have been a local matter, of concern at first perhaps only to those Philistine cities that faced Judah’s western flank. In that respect, the highly localized stories of David’s bandit days in the cave of Adullam, his coming to the rescue of the people of Keilah, his protection of Ziklag, and his dealings with arrogant sheep raisers would have bound the listeners among the villages of the southern highlands and eastern Shephelah into a community of sympathy and support.
It would be a mistake to assume that the people of the southern hill country had a single, uniformly defined national identity at the time of David. The region was fragmented among its farmers and shepherds, and among its many crosscutting clans. Only later would the people of Judah look back and assume that their designation as a single people had always been so clear. That was due in no small measure to the continual transmission and elaboration of the ancient stories about the founder of their dynasty, whose value lay in the sense of local community solidarity they helped to create. In the following chapters we will trace the layers of mythmaking and historical reinterpretation that were gradually added to the earliest stratum of the Davidic bandit tales. Not everything is clearly datable and many questions remain. But we will present archaeological evidence that can show step by step, era by era, how the biblical legend of David and, later, his son Solomon was formed for an ever-wider coalition of communities—eventually for western civilization as a whole.
David was the founder of something new in the Judean hills in the dawning epoch we now call the Iron Age. There may have been—and probably were—other local heroes in the highlands of Canaan. But David was different from all others. His career was not just a meteoric moment of triumph doomed to live on only in the folktales of a famous local bandit king and soon be forgotten. Whether by cunning, intelligence, or extraordinary historical circumstance, he alone, of all the now-forgotten ruffians and freebooters who roamed the rugged country between the Dead Sea and the Judean foothills, established a dynasty that ruled for the next four hundred years. And even after it lost its political power, it was continuously remembered and revered for millennia.
David and Solomon: In Search of the Bible's Sacred Kings and the Roots of the Western Tradition Page 5
