Samuel 10: In Writing

Everyone is a prophet these days 

betting on the end of days--

will it be today, or tomorrow

can you make the wedding

and how many low-flying

wings make a divination?

I lower the shutters. 

Burrow deep in bed. Know 

that always there is more 

to lose. Every call a beginning

of a new loss. Better

to crouch between the bags

that you pack--or don't pack--

for the shelter. Think of what to take

or not take. Bite your tongue.

Don't answer. Silence is always 

the best measure. 

Samuel: Chapter 10

 

Are you a seeker,

or are you saught?

And who do you find

deep down, within? 

For full chapter, click here

This chapter continues seamlessly from the previous one, with its fable-like pattern of trees (3 signs, 3 actions, 3 men, 3 kids, 3 loaves of bread), and it's leitwords of seeking (ב'ק'ש)and found (מ'צ'א). The Saul who set out in quest of the asses is now sought by his father, and later by the entire nation as he hides away from Samuel's announcement of his kingship. Yet now that  "God is with him", his hands can do all that they "seek"--he is seeker and saught at once.

After anointing Saul as king, Samuel immediately shifts to giving him a series of signs--implying  fundamental doubt. These signs revolve around a series of give (נ'ת'נ) and take (ל'ק'ח)--echoing Samuel's address to the people about the royal right to confiscate at will. 

The placement of Saul's encounters by "the burial place of Rachel" further scopes us back to the primal story of Joseph and his brothers, which began with a similar search (It is my brothers I search for"), and splits into a bifurcation between Joseph's receiving and Judah's taking. The signs are not passive proofs, but transformative, forcing Sual to wrest with the issues of kinship: you will become a different man.

 
One of those issues is prophecy, as Saul's body is taken over by the spirit of God, and he is mitnabeh, in a reflexive form that echoes Hanna's discovery of a new level of prayer. This sign is not only an exercise in transformative submission, it also raises one of the book's thematic concerns: the relation of fathers and sons, and its impact on the question of hereditary leadership. Eli's sons did not follow in his footprints; Samuel's sons did not follow in his. In both cases, this disjunction is juxtaposed to the question of kingship. Here, Saul's prophecy causes people to exclaim, "What’s happened to the son of Kish? Is Saul too among the prophets?” prompting the riposte: “And who are their fathers?” 

Some gifts are sui generis, with no relation to antecedents. The prophets prophesize without relation to their fathers, and Saul prophesizes without relation to Kish. And yet, if that is the case, why the turn to kingship, with its focus on fathers and sons, and why the placement of Saul within the context of his foremother Rachel--and within the context of his tribe, Benjamin? 

The story is placed within the boundaries of Benjamin, and as it continues, the echoes of Benjamin's story become more insistent. Benhamin is the "smallest of tribes" because they were nearly annihilated in the civil war triggered by the incident that took place at Geva--Saul's own hometown. Saul is appointed king in a lottery that echoes the lottery that accompanied the war on Geva, while he is attacked by bnei Bliyaal--rabble--the same word used to describe the guilty parties in the incident at Geva. 

The individual and his family in a fraught, tension-filled dance. Saul is head and shoulders above the rest of the nation, a perfect individual--and very much Kish's son, a Benjaminite. A leader is a person--yet can perhaps become a dynasty. The story is both Samuel's an Saul's, shifting between the two, as Samuel's latest convocation at Mitzpah places the fairytale interlude back within the larger story of the state, and Samuel's negative view of kingship. At stake is the issue of the heart--another leitword of this chapter--as Saul's heart is transformed, and those "with heart" accompany him home.

Samuel 9: In Writing

On my third quest

up Yehuda HaNasi--

drop off, pickup, pickup again-- 

I want to believe

I'm the hero

of my own story.

I feel like the car.

Or the ass.

Giddyup donkey. 

Pack apple squeezies,

and baby carrots, pack

crackers, nuts and tangarines.

They won't eat them anyway.

In other lands, women jump handsprings

with hair unbound.

In other lands, they video themselves

setting photos on fire. I look

at the gloaming gold

torching the trees. How it sets fire

to yesterday's puddles.

We play hide and seek

in the dry fountain 

under fruit-bare lemon trees

I am not allowed to say

I see them

as they crouch

behind the wall.

Samuel: Chapter 9

 

Who do you find
As you rise, as you fall
looking for
this day, this hour, this now

For full chapter, click here

After the drama and heartbreak of the previous chapter's depiction of Samuel's old age, this chapter opens with a new beginning--and a new protagonist: "There was a man in Benjamin whose name was Kish son of Abiel...a Benjaminite, ..He had a son whose name was Saul". This sonorous introduction deliberately echoes the exact syntax of the opening verses of the book:  "There was a man from Ramathaim...whose name was Elkanah son of Jeroham son of Elihu ... an Ephraimite. And he had two wives..." , as does the focus on food and sacred eating. If until now, we have been reading the saga of Samuel, it now turns into the story of Saul.

The name itself emphasizes the linkages between the two protagonists: the name  Saul (Shaul ש'א'ל--lit. "asked for""lent") takes us back to Hannah's introduction of her own son: "This is the child I prayed for, and God has given me my request (sha'alti ש'א'ל) that I asked (sha'alti ש'א'ל) of him. I in tוrn lend him (hish'altihu ש'א'ל) to God...For as long as he lives, he is lent (shaul ש'א'ל) to God"--Saul retroactively taking the place of Samuel.

The change in protagonist comes with a shift in ambiance, as the narrative switches to a fable-like quest of threes, full of direct dialogue, and replete with allusions to earlier biblical narratives, from Abraham to Joseph to Moses to Gideon. In this version, Samuel is no longer the national leader, but a local "seer", come to play his part in a quest of "searching" and "finding" (מצאו)--two leitworts of the chapter.

The appointment of a king is also redefined: not as idolatrous betrayal, but as an act of mercy analogous to the Exodus itself: "He will deliver My people from the hands of the Philistines; for I have taken note of the plight of My people, and their outcry has come to Me”.  

Yet the chronotope of this fairytale-like story is complex. Space is defined by a continuous oscillation between rising and falling, echoing Hanna's song of flux; meetings happen at liminal spaces, heavy eith expectation. Time opens with a retrospective look at history ("Formerly in Israel...the prophet of today was formerly called a seer), then narrows down to focus on a specific day ("one day before" "on this day" "this time appointed" "just then"): far from being timless, this fable is almost breathlessly of a moment, easily missed and transient. 

Samuel 8: In Writing

De-escalation is key. Lower

your voice. Crouch

down. Slow your body,

though your heart

might pound and if you tense

he’ll feel it. Be calm.

Listen! He screams,

You don’t listen to me!

Stare at the gaping maw

the screaming teeth. Feel

nothing. I thought, he gulps

I thought you said…

But I didn’t say, I want

to say, but don’t– 

to de-escalate.

I thought you said

it’s for me. I want 

it to be mine.

And I want to give him

what is mine

to swerve the storm

to escape.

No, I say. Walk--

slowly, slowly

--to not escalate.

 

Samuel: Chapter 8

 

Hear the sounds beneath words

The breathing spaces

What was put, what is given, what is asked

Who listens, who screams.

For full chapter, click here

After the heights--the fall. If the previous chapter portrayed Samuel's greatest triumph, as he "restores" what was lost in a great victory over the Philistines, this chapter portrays his decline. The youthful beloved usurper now becomes, in turn, "old" like the aged Eli, and like his mentor, he too cannot control his children, who waywardly do not "follow in his ways." As in the case with Eli, alternative leadership must be found: "Appoint (sima שימה) upon us a king, so we might be like the other nations.")

Yet if the problem is one of a lack of continuity between father and sons, then appointing a king is counterproductive--it is, after all, defined as hereditary leadership: "rule over us, also you, also your son, also your son's son," the nation begged Gideon, the last time they requested a king--and learned to their detriment the problems of such leadership.  

And indeed, the demand for a king is driven by something far deeper and more visceral than the failures of Samuel's sons. "It is not you they are rejecting, but Me...Like everything else they have done ever since I brought them out of Egypt to this day—forsaking Me and worshipping other gods—so they are doing to you," says God, creating a clear and shocking camaraderie between Himself and Samuel.  Idolatry and the desire for a king are presented as driven by parallel desires--for distance, for control, for the estratz. And indeed, Gideon responded to the initial request for kingship by returning power to God--"No I will not rule over you,God will rule over you"--before slipping himself into idolatry. 

Here, the rejection of Samuel makes the problem more acute. Throughout, the chapter emphasizes Samuel's role as intermediary between God and Israel by  repeated dedicated sections that highlight that  act of communication per se: "Samuel prayed to God" "Samuel reported all of God's word to the people"  "when Samuel heard all that the poeple had said, he reported it to God" "And God said to Samuel... and Samuel said to the poeple."

What begins as a demand for an alternative judge--appoint us a king to judge us like the other nations--is quickly revealed to be something far broader: "'No' said the people, we must have a king over us so we may be like the other nations: he will judge us and go out at our head and fight our battles." What the people are rejecting is not Samuel's sons, but Samuel's mode of doing battle: his demand to look into their "hearts" and "remove the alien gods." 

The biblical command to appoint a king does not define the king as judge: the Levites and judges are clearly differentiated from the temporal power of the king, who is appointed (שימו) by the people themselves, not set up by the judge. The people's confusion and slippage between the position of judge and king, spiritual leader and warleader, reveals a deep ambiguity.

The rejection of Samuel expresses a desire to not be led by a prophet. To not be in constant dialogue with a hidden voice. The people don't want to be exceptional. They want a leader "like all the other nations", with all the accoutrements of power that can be respected, mocked and resented. Samuel's very warnings about the dangers of worldly power evoke the crie de cour: let us be like everyone else.

There is a desperation in this cry. And because it's desperation, it cannot be ignored. Samuel hears "all" their words, the text and subtext. "Listen to their voice" commands God, despite his anger. There are inner necessities that become external realities. In a parallel construction to God's command to Abraham to listen to Sarah, God closes: "Listen to them and appoint them a king." 

 

 

Samuel 7: In Writing

 Recursive 

On my forty-fifth birthday, my credit

card gave to me:

30% off at Fox (clothes and home goods)

(calculate school shirts, sweatpants, are PJs included?)

a hand lotion from Sabon

a cake of choice at Zariffa, 

which I will eat

though I know I shouldn’t.

For the first time

in almost ten years, 

I will not

stock up on baby clothes.

For the first time 

in almost ten years

there is no baby 

strapped against my chest

or billowing my belly.

Wait and wait for the weight to lift

only to try to weigh down again–

blanket, vest, power workouts–

ways to broaden the britteling bones

make being dense

and pin my shadow in place

to be sewn down with a lost thimble. 

Of course everything circles round

and one day I’ll look back

and laugh–

or cry–

because all water incubates

in the sea and will return

to the sea

even our tears, with their salty traces

and our salt blood

stained red by iron

like the scraps of metal

in the bucket that seeps rust

darkening the water

that will replenish my rickety lemon tree

whose scrawny branches 

 struggle to bud

or even unfurl their wings

unlike the irridecent sunbird

that darts between them

searching for the sugar water

I forgot to leave in its feeder

because leftovers and decay 

are another’s nourishment

mother other udder

merging and switching

like rippes distorting the pond

that flee my finger

and then still

resolving to a face.  

Samuel: Chapter 7

 

Loop around

and return

back to where you began

back to your heart

For full chapter, click here

The saga of the Ark's capture, which seemed to end in the previous chapter with the Ark's return, is now revealed to be part of a longer saga of twenty years of longing and displacement. For "return" (sh'v שב)--the chapter's key word--is a process. The Ark has physically returned to Israeli territory, but remains decentered, tucked away on a hill outside of national consciousness. The Philistines' "sending forth"  of the Ark undoes its physical taking, but not the distance from God that precipitated its capture.  Only after time and space become saturated with "longing" can this distance be addressed.  

The saga, which is introduced with  Samuel's "word going forth to all of Israel" can only be resolved by Samuel. Return, he tells the people, begins within: God will only return when "you return to God with all of your heart." Samuel, indeed, goes back in history, all the way back to Joshua, and his final address to the people, where he demands that they remove "the alien gods from within you" and "prepare their hearts" for God.

Israel's removal of the alien gods precipitates a second address, as Samuel calls the people together in Mitzpa (a redemption, perhaps, of the last gathering of "all" Israel in Mitzpa, which ended in civil war), which becomes a reprise of the fatal war with the Philistines--with profound differences. This time it is the Israelites rather than the Philistines who fear the "sounds" in the camp; this time, the people pray, rather than mechanically attempting to control God; this time, it is God, rather than the Israelites, who makes the noises that terrify the Philistines.  This reprise ends in victory, offering a way back, as the territory previously lost "returns" to Israel. 

The looping nature of this saga of restoration is highlighted by the location "Even HaEzer"--the "helping stone": previously introduced as the site of Israel's great defeat and the loss of the Ark,  it is here reintroduced as indicating that "God has helped us unto here". The reprise has redefined the beginning. 

Samuel 6: In Writing

Drop the lights

Take down the walls

Uncover the sky.

Tomatoes ripen--

Seedlings wait to be planted-- 

God pulses through the rising

Vine, through the purpled geranium bud

Through the flower-shaped milk 

Ducts, that fill and ache and drip-- 

Through the cat that prowls its territory

And the fallen leaf that scrapes the floor-- 

The light that breaks through the grid

Of leftover schach

And through the hospital window

Where Ram breathes in his sap rise

Feels the air enter and rush through his wind

Pipe, feels the wind brooding deep

As worldwide people ping

Photos of the sky

To the phone he will not touch. 

Samuel: Chapter 6

 

What do you see 

making its way towards you?

Will you rise

Or will you fall?

For full chapter, click here

This chapter continues several of the leitworts of the previous chapter, repeating the thematic hand (y'd) and heavy-honor (k'v'd). Yet the root k'v'd, which previously echoed the despairing "honor is lost from Israel" of the defeated Israelites, here gains deeper resonance, stretching back all the way to the Exodus, with Pharaoh's heavy (k'v'd) heart: "Why harden you hearts as Egypt and Pharoah did" warn the Philistine magicians.

And indeed, the Philistines take heed. Now, instead of taking the Ark as they did before, they send it (sh'l'kh)--another leitword, that echoes Pharaoh's sending forth the Israelites. The power of God's hand loosens the human hand. Relinquishin the control they previously celabrated, the Philistines embody their elided shame in forever-gold, offereing it to God. 

Yet the relinquishment is not total: rather, it is a provisinal test. They  free the Ark, placing it on a wagon drawn by two nursing cows, and see if it can override the biological imperative of motherhood to make its way back (the last of the chapter's keywords), rising and fallng to Isralite terratory. This "seeing" is the last remnant of transgresive control, and remains dangerous. The Isralites, overjoyed to see the Ark coming towrads them through the fields, are punished for their casual gaze.

The story which was introduced with the declaration that "God continued to show himself to Samuel in Shilo" closes with a punishment for those who gaze on God unbiddne outside Shilo's confines.