34 Hero and Heroine Narratives in the Old Testament

The Hebrew Bible attests to the fact that

the Israelites not only enjoyed good sto-

ries, but excelled in crafting them. This

article examines briefly three hero and

heroine narratives that move comfortably

in the circle of world masterpieces. Ow-

ing to space limitations, I focus my inves-

tigation primarily upon two dimensions

of storytelling: principles of selectivity and

techniques and devices. I explore these

factors in order to discover more about

how and why these stories “work.”

The narratives selected are the Abraham

cycle, the story of Deborah and Barak, and

the career of King David. In the case of

Abraham and David I examine the narra-

tives as a whole. The Abraham and David

stories are lengthy enough to be designated

as “macro-narratives.” The story of

Deborah and Barak, on the other hand, is

more like an episode in a larger narrative

unit—a “micro-narrative.”

The Abraham Cycle

It is hardly surprising that Abraham is

so highly regarded. He was, after all, the

progenitor of the people of Israel. His life

took on heroic proportions in the traditions

of Israel and in the subsequent development

of the various “Judaisms.” By the second

century B.C., he was portrayed as having

already observed the Torah (Jub. 15.2; 16.28;

20.1-10), and by the time of the first Chris-

tian century his piety had achieved such

merit that its surplus might be applied to

Jews who fell short on judgment day! (See

already Lk 3:8; cf. Bik. 1:4; B. Qam. 8:6; B.

Mes. 7:1; ‘Abot 5:2, 3). In addition to his na-

tional and theological significance, the tra-

dition portrays Abraham as a powerful,

wealthy chieftain whose roots reached back

to the birthplace of earliest civilization. On

at least one occasion (Ge 12:10-20), he even

encountered the rich and famous, the sort

of people that perpetually intrigue us. In

short, the story of Abraham possesses in-

herent human interest.

The Abraham cycle, recorded in Gen-

esis 11:26-25:11, exhibits a narrative unity

clearly discernible in its structure and plot.

The individual episodes comprising this

larger story are not diaries or chronicles,

but artfully and delightfully told family

stories, a dimension sometimes over-

looked by those trained in historical-theo-

logical methods. We begin with the most

obvious feature, namely, the chronologi-

cal structuring of the episodes. After a

brief outline of our hero’s family tree (Ge

11:27-30), the plot unfolds sequentially,

with the bulk of the story occurring be-

tween Abram’s 75th and 100th year. Need-

less to say, we are surprised to learn that

he lived another 75 years and, in fact, fa-

thered six more sons well after his 100th

year (Ge 25:1, 2). Clearly more is going on

here than a story about a man in his re-

tirement years raising a family!

The Abraham cycle is essentially an

obstacle story, that is, a narrative in which

the hero undergoes a series of trials or

tests. The outcome of these trials vindi-

cates the hero, who thus serves as a role

model. In terms of classical literary criti-

Hero and Heroine Narratives

in the Old Testament

Larry R. Helyer

Larry R. Helyer is Professor of Biblical

Studies at Taylor University in Upland, In-

diana. He is the author of Yesterday, To-

day and Forever: The Continuing Relevance

of the Old Testament (Sheffield Publish-

ing Company), as well as several signifi-

cant articles on Old and New Testament

topics. He is currently writing a volume on

Second Temple Judaism.

cism, the Abraham cycle is a comedy be-

cause it ends happily. I have earlier sug-

gested that Abraham faced eight crises.

This is not a modern observation, for by

the second century B.C., the author of Ju-

bilees speaks of “the ten trials of

Abraham” (Jub. 19.8 cf. 17.17). I prefer

eight because of what I perceive as the

unifying theme. The cycle revolves

around an urgent question: Who will be

Abraham’s heir? Each of the eight crises

calls in question Yahweh’s promise that

Abraham would be the progenitor of

many nations.

The plot is more complicated than this,

however. The initial promise to Abram

also includes the Land of Canaan as an

everlasting possession (12:7). Running

throughout the Abraham cycle is the stark

contrast between this promise and its non-

fulfillment. Sarah’s death throws the dis-

parity into sharp relief, since he does not

even own a burial plot (Ge 23:4). Three

times the narrative refers to the indig-

enous peoples of Canaan, which further

underscores the tension between promise

and fulfillment (Ge 12:6, 13:7, 15:21). The

portrayal of Abram as a semi-nomad,

moving seasonally back and forth along

the central ridge of Palestine, between the

desert and the fields, likewise draws at-

tention to the disparity between what

Yahweh promises and what Abram actu-

ally experiences. Abraham stakes his

claim to Canaan by literally driving his

stakes into the ground.

But the driving force of the Abraham

Cycle is the all-important issue of his heir.

Note how the entire cycle is introduced:

“Now Sarai was barren; she had no child”

(Ge 11:30). The narrator reminds us of this

ongoing problem throughout the cycle: “I

continue childless” (15:2); “Now Sarai,

Abram’s wife, bore him no children”

(16:1). Like a musical reprise the problem

recurs. At the end of the story, however,

we have a satisfying resolution: “After the

death of Abraham God blessed his son

Isaac” (Ge 25:11). Between the introduc-

tion and the conclusion, Abraham and

Sarah endure the eight crises that threaten

Yahweh’s promise, a pledge that is reiter-

ated six times in the cycle. This use of an

obstacle story sustains the interest of the

listener/reader.

Dialogue is rather sparse in the

Abraham cycle. When it occurs between

Abraham and someone other than

Yahweh an interesting portrayal of

Abraham emerges. Except for two times

when he must explain his way out of du-

plicity, in these instances he is preemi-

nently a man who seeks to live peaceably

with his family and with his neighbors.

Thus, he says to Lot, “Let there be no strife

between you and me…” (Ge 13:8). He sol-

emnly vows to the king of Sodom, “I [will]

not take a thread or a sandal thong or any-

thing that is yours…” (Ge 14:23). Caught

in a nasty dispute between Sarai and

Hagar, he meekly defers to Sarai: “Your

slave-girl is in your power; do to her as

you please” (Ge 16:6). He resolves a dis-

pute over the ownership of a well not by

violence, but by a gift and covenant (Ge

21:25-34). There is also the interesting ne-

gotiation over a burial site for Sarah, for

which most commentators agree

Abraham paid an exorbitant price (Ge 23).

His opening words in each speech before

the elders are instructive: “I am a stranger

and an alien…” (v. 4); “If you are

willing…hear me and entreat for me

Ephron…” (vv. 8, 9); “ If you only will lis-

ten to me! I will give the price of the

field…” (v. 13). A consistent picture of a

peace-loving man emerges. He embodies

what it means to be a good neighbor; as a

good neighbor he epitomizes hospitality.

One thinks immediately of the famous

passage in which the Lord visits Abraham

(Ge 18). He is not depicted as warlike or

aggressive. Only once does he take up

arms, and then because the fate of his

nephew Lot hangs in the balance. He does

not usurp the promised land. This image

of Abraham is extraordinary when placed

against Israel’s history throughout the

period of the Judges and the monarchy.

The scenes in which Abraham speaks

with Yahweh offer the most significant dia-

logue. The longest of these when Abraham

intercedes for Sodom.

Depicted as a bar-

gaining session, the dialogue creates sus-

pense. As often noted, this is the first time,

but by no means the last, when a biblical

character calls God’s justice into question.

More than that, it paints an indelible pic-

ture of Abraham: he is one who stands in

an unprecedented relationship with

Yahweh. It is in this role as a friend of

Yahweh that Abraham assumes a heroic

stature in the traditions of Israel, and, for

that matter, in Christianity.

So what is the significance of the

Abraham cycle? Surely we have a hero nar-

rative with more substance than that sug-

gested by Philip Davies. He says, among

other quite astonishing things, that the story

of Abraham is really about male bonding—

a sort of high stakes poker game between

Yahweh and Abraham—with, of course,

Yahweh holding the winning hand!

If we allow structure, plot, and charac-

terization to be our guides, we behold

something quite different. We discover

that

[t]he entire Abraham cycle under-

scores Yahweh’s faithfulness to his

covenant promise. It demonstrates

that Israel exists only because of di-

vine intervention. This divine initia-

tive, however, calls for a response—a

response of faith and commitment.

Abraham is supremely a man of

faith.

Abraham’s faith, a faith that withstands

severe trial, is why he is a national hero

and why his story transcends national

boundaries: he is “the ancestor of all who

believe” (Ro 4:11; cf. Heb 11:8-9). This is

hardly a novel observation, and several

commentators have come to this conclu-

sion without employing a literary ap-

proach. But an appreciation for the

literary artistry of this masterpiece pro-

vides new ways of seeing the familiar in

surprising and unexpected ways. What

Leland Ryken said about the parable of

the Good Samaritan applies equally to the

story of Abraham:

The story does not primarily require

our minds to grasp an idea but in-

stead gets us to respond with our

imagination and emotions to a real-

life experience. It puts us on the

scene and makes us participants in

the action. It gets us involved with

the characters about whose destiny

we are made to care.

The Story of Deborah and Barak

Deborah occupies a storied place in

Israel’s past for good reason. She was not

only a prophetess, she was also a military

leader. She was granted the highest acco-

lade a Hebrew woman might receive: “a

mother in Israel” (Jdg 5:7). The structure

of Deborah’s story requires special atten-

tion. Unique to the hero stories of the Old

Testament, this one has both a prose and

poetic version. Each sheds light on the

other. The plot of the Deborah narrative

is also unique in the Hebrew canon be-

cause it contains a dramatic role reversal

that must have left quite an impression

on its original hearers/readers.

As is easily observed, the story of

Deborah is part of a stereotyped presen-

tation of a series of national “saviors”

raised up by Yahweh to deliver Israel from

her enemies. The recurring pattern is

apostasy, oppression, repentance, and

deliverance. Within this pattern the nar-

rator singles out six major judges to illus-

trate the dismal record of Israel’s failures

to remain steadfast to the stipulations of

the Sinai covenant. Brief thumbnail

sketches are provided of four other “mi-

nor” judges bringing the total to ten.

Ehud was a left-handed assassin

(clearly a sinister figure!). Gideon needed

significant encouragement to serve, and

tarnished his illustrious victory by fash-

ioning a golden ephod that “became a

snare” to him and his family (Jdg 8:27).

Abimelech, of course, is not one of the

judges, but rather is an anti-hero. Noth-

ing is said about Yahweh calling him and

the surprisingly full story of his self-pro-

claimed kingdom speaks for itself. Note

that his name (“my father is king”) may

bespeak ambitions that Gideon himself

suppressed, but covertly encouraged in

his numerous offspring. Jephthah was the

son of a prostitute and an outlaw. How-

ever one interprets Jephthah’s rash vow,

it leaves a bad taste in one’s mouth. And

what can one say about Samson? He was

a womanizer whose deceit and violence

toward his enemies beggar description,

and one who breaks his Nazirite vows as

easily as the city gates of Gaza.

Out of the six judges detailed, only

Othniel and Deborah have nothing nega-

tive either stated or implied about them. It

is obvious that Deborah is quite different

from her colleagues. No discernible flaws

appear in her character or deportment. She

is competent, courageous, and charismatic.

The Lord speaks to and through her. The

tribes look to her for leadership.

Not only does Deborah outshine the

men who served as judges, even the mili-

tary leader Barak lacks the nerve she pos-

sesses. To the best of my knowledge,

nowhere else in the Hebrew canon does a

woman upbraid a man of considerable

standing for his lack of faith. She asserts,

“But because of the way you are going

about this, the honor will not be yours,

for the Lord will hand Sisera over to a

woman” (Jdg 4:9). Only the book of Judith

contains a similar, perhaps stronger, criti-

cism of male deficiencies in faith and pi-

ety (Jdt 8:11-27).

How does the two-sided structure of

the Deborah story function? Apparently

the narrator/editor effectively suppresses

information in the prose version only to

supply it in the poetic account and thereby

provide a surprise resolution. Deborah’s

initial instructions to Barak make perfect

military sense. Because the steep slopes

of Mount Tabor effectively rule out a

chariot charge up the mountain, she or-

ders Barak to occupy the high ground at

its peak. Her next order, however, seems

to run counter to all sound judgment. She

orders a frontal assault on the waiting

chariots at the foot of Tabor, which bor-

ders on a suicide mission. The narrator

records, “So Barak went down from

Mount Tabor with ten thousand warriors

following him” (4:14). We marvel at the

transformation. Just a short while prior to

this he would scarcely let go of Deborah’s

hand and lead the troops on his own (4:8).

Suddenly, he is a fearless commander,

leading his troops into what seems to be

a trap. Perhaps the narrator intends that

we understand just such a transformation.

This may not be the story’s intention,

especially when chapters four and five are

read as one. The poetic version of this fa-

mous battle provides details unmentioned

in the prosaic version. For example, 4:15

says, “And the Lord threw Sisera and all

his chariots and all his army into a panic

before Barak….” Judges 5:4 and 5:21 add,

“Lord, when you went out from Seir,

when you marched from the region of

Edom, the earth trembled, and the heav-

ens poured, the clouds indeed poured

water. The mountains quaked before the

Lord, the One of Sinai, before the Lord,

the God of Israel…. The torrent Kishon

swept them away, the onrushing torrent,

the torrent Kishon….” In other words, a

violent thunderstorm moves into the

Jezreel Valley from the southeast. This

cloudburst turns Jezreel into a quagmire

and virtually immobilizes the chariots of

Sisera, which explains why he abandons

his chariot and flees on foot (4:15). The

upshot is that this additional information

gives the story a new twist. The material

provided in the poetic section proves that

it was not Barak’s superior military

maneuverings that secured a victory, but

the Lord’s intercession, just as Deborah

had promised. The poetic version does

rehabilitate Barak as a bold warrior, who,

after initial reservations, waged war effec-

tively. He receives equal billing alongside

Deborah. His name, however, is men-

tioned after hers, a point that should not

be overlooked (5:1).

The poetic version also underscores a

major motif in the larger composition of

the book of Judges, namely, the disintegra-

tion of the tribal federation. Several lines

of the “Song of Deborah” draw attention

to lack of participation and indifference on

the part of the Reubenites, Gileadites,

Danites, and Asherites (5:15b-17). This

episode anticipates the major theme of

chapters 17-21, signaled by the editorial

refrain: “In those days there was no king

in Israel; all the people did what was right

in their own eyes” (17:6; cf. 18:1, 19:1, 21:25).

In addition, the poetic version provides

something quite extraordinary in Hebrew

storytelling. The narrator momentarily

adopts an “inside” view of this decisive

encounter from the vantagepoint of

Sisera’s mother. One thinks of The Iliad and

the scene depicting Andromache mo-

ments before she hears the report of the

death of her husband, Hector. She is de-

scribed as busying herself in domestic

duties, reminding her maids to prepare

Hector’s bath when he returns (Iliad 22:

437-445). In Judges five, Sisera’s mother,

peering out the latticed window, tries un-

successfully to allay her rising fears about

Sisera’s delay by suggesting plausible rea-

sons for it. Her maids hover about, also

trying explain away what is becoming

increasingly and appallingly evident. This

scene, conveyed primarily through dia-

logue, is poignant and universal in its

appeal. The sympathy created does not

last long, for it is quickly erased by the

rather jarring, nationalistic conclusion,

“So perish all your enemies, O Lord! But

may your friends be like the sun as it rises

in its might” (5:31).

The exaltation of Deborah, and later on

of Jael, draws attention to a theme worthy

of epic poems. They eclipse the achieve-

ments of Barak and his ten thousand war-

riors. Here are women who achieve what

men cannot. This kind of unexpected role

reversal is the stuff of ancient Canaanite

epics. The “Song of Deborah” thus reflects

its common roots in the Canaanite literary

tradition (as attested at Ugarit) as well as

in the larger Mediterranean world.

The

poetic narration of Jael’s murder of Sisera

is conveyed with masterful artistry. The

poet writes, “She put her hand to the tent

peg and her right hand to the workmen’s

mallet; she struck Sisera a blow, she

crushed his head, she shattered and pierced

his temple.…He sank, he fell; where he

sank, there he fell dead” (5:26-27).

Given the way the narrator chooses to

recount the events, the meanings of the

lead character’s names possess irony and

humor. As many scholars have noted,

when the story is read in light of these

meanings, readers experience a delight-

ful sense of recognition.

The Canaanites formed a coalition un-

der the able leadership of Sisera, whose

name still remains unexplained and un-

attested elsewhere. He may have been a

Philistine. Remarkably, a name similar to

that of Jabin, king of the Canaanites, has

been discovered in excavations at Hazor,

suggesting that it was a dynastic name for

Canaanite kings who ruled from Hazor.

The Canaanites’ primary deity was Baal,

a fertility god reputed to have power over

the rains who was often depicted as shak-

ing a thunderbolt menacingly above his

head. The irony here is that the Israelites

succumb to the debasing ideology and ritual

of Baal worship only to find themselves

subdued by the indigenous worshipers of

Baal. To the rescue comes Barak, whose

name means “lightning.” His lightning at-

tack upon the immobilized Canaanite chari-

oteers was like a thunderbolt.

Barak, however, is hardly the real hero.

He takes a backseat to two heroines,

Deborah and Jael. Deborah’s name means

“honey bee.” She stings the usurpers with

her charismatic leadership, reminiscent of

the “hornet” whom Yahweh promised to

send ahead of the Israelites in their con-

quest of Canaan (Ex 23:28; Dt 7:20; Jos

24:12). She is further identified as the wife

of Lappidoth, a word also connected with

lightning. In which case, we may say that

Sisera was struck twice by lightning! Jael’s

name, “nanny goat,” is delightfully appro-

priate, inasmuch as she “drugs” the vil-

lain Sisera with goat’s milk. After running

many miles, he is totally exhausted, and

Jael has just the concoction for him. Jael’s

husband was named Heber, a term related

to a Semitic root connoting community

and friendship. Ironically, it is her pretense

of being “a friend in time of trouble” that

finally does in the villain.

The Career of King David

The story of David is a compelling ex-

ample of a Hebrew epic narrative. Span-

ning 1 Samuel 16 through 1 Kings 2:12, this

portrayal of Israel’s most illustrious hero

is without peer in the literature of the an-

cient Near East. David’s popularity is not

hard to understand. He was an immensely

successful politician with all the glamour

that goes with such an achievement. As

with all popular politicians, his story con-

tains the elements that virtually every gen-

eration finds fascinating: power, intrigue,

treachery, violence, romance, sex, and scan-

dals. The overall story falls into two dis-

tinct parts: 1 Samuel 16 – 2 Samuel 10 (the

Rise and Success of David) and 2 Samuel 11

– 1 Kings 2 (the Fall and Failures of David).

The turning point is, of course, David’s af-

fair with Bathsheba. As with the Abraham

cycle, we have an essentially chronologi-

cal portrayal of the hero.

The record of David’s early life em-

ploys a common plot technique, namely,

a story about a hero who must overcome

a number of trials or obstacles. David’s

story begins with a meteoric rise from

obscurity to a national hero. The young-

est of eight sons of a quite undistinguished

Judean family, David first catapults to the

very center of national power by becom-

ing a musical therapist for the tormented

King Saul. Then, in a spectacular victory

over the gigantic Goliath, David captures

the gratitude and affection of an entire

nation (1 Sa 18:16). Saul promotes him to

the rank of “commander of a thousand”

and even makes him a son-in-law by mar-

rying him to his daughter Michal. This is

heady business and the stuff of which epic

heroes are made. It is truly a “rags to

riches” story.

But the ensuing fame and adulation

were too much for a paranoid Saul. David

becomes persona non grata in the eyes of

the monarch and is plunged into the first

of several low points, and Saul cannot rest

until David is dead. David must live the

life of an outlaw in the Judean wilderness,

matching wits with Saul’s henchmen, who

hunt him like an animal.

During each low point of David’s ca-

reer, the narrator conveys the certainty of

David’s manifest destiny. For example,

Jonathan’s covenant with David already

anticipates the outcome of the struggle be-

tween Saul and David: “Then Jonathan

made a covenant with David, because he

loved him as his own soul. Jonathan

stripped himself of the robe that he was

wearing, and gave it to David, and his ar-

mor, and even his sword and his bow and

his belt” (1 Sa 18:3-4). On at least two oc-

casions, David could have killed Saul, but

did not. He refused to take matters into

his own hands. Instead, he trusted in

Yahweh’s providence, which was some-

thing Saul demonstrated he could not do.

At one particular low point during this

deadly cat-and-mouse game, the text says,

“Saul’s son Jonathan set out and came to

David at Horesh; there he strengthened

his hand through the Lord. He said to him,

‘Do not be afraid; for the hand of my fa-

ther Saul shall not find you; you shall be

king over Israel, and I shall be second to

you; my father Saul also knows that this

is so’” (23:16-17).

Like Abraham, David occasionally

wavers in his faith in Yahweh’s protection.

Twice David defects to the Philistine en-

clave under the protection of Achish. The

first time he must degrade himself by

feigning madness and the second nearly

pits him against Saul’s army at Gilboa. The

detailed account of the battle of Mount

Gilboa and its aftermath highlights

David’s surprising, continuing loyalty to

Saul. This is conveyed not only by the

prose account of the Amalekite’s execu-

tion (2 Sa 1:1-16), but also by a poetic com-

position of great pathos, the “Song of the

Bow” (2 Sa 1:19-27).

David’s last-minute reprieve at

Aphek—our narrator does not tip his

hand whether David would actually have

fought against Saul—is quickly followed

by another near disaster, a sneak attack

by the Amalekites upon David’s village

of Ziklag (1 Sa 30:1-20). The narrator

places this episode right before the ac-

count of the Battle of Gilboa. A similar

technique for slowing down the narrative

and creating suspense is employed when

Abraham’s intercession for Sodom in

chapter eighteen appears before the ac-

count of its destruction in chapter nine-

teen.

Beyond that, the juxtaposition of

two episodes involving Amalekites is

striking and the irony of an Amalekite’s

presence at Saul’s demise is certainly in-

tentional (cf. 1 Sa 15).

Regardless, the Amalekite raid signals

an all-time low. “Then David and the

people who were with him raised their

voices and wept, until they had no more

strength to weep…. David was in great

danger; for the people spoke of stoning

him, because all the people were bitter in

spirit for their sons and daughters” (1 Sa

30:4, 6). The narrator laconically con-

cludes this episode with a virtually the-

matic statement: “But David strengthened

himself in the Lord his God” (v. 6b). This

phrase reminds us of a similar thematic

statement in the Abraham cycle follow-

ing the Lord’s announcement that Sarah

would have a son of her own: “Is anything

too wonderful for the Lord? (Ge 18:14). In

similar fashion we have the announce-

ment of Deborah that “…the road on

which you are going will not lead to your

glory, for the Lord will sell Sisera into the

hand of a woman” (Jdg 4:9). Obviously

the narrator greatly admires David and

portrays him as a role model.

This low point is followed in quick suc-

cession by events that elevate an erstwhile

exile to the rank of tribal king. After a long

civil war, during which the House of David

steadily increases its power vis-à-vis the

House of Saul, a key defection occurs.

Abner agrees to side with David and, for

all practical purposes, hand the kingship

of all Israel to David. He is on the verge of

scaling the summit. But just as the summit

is in sight, a disastrous fall threatens when

a vengeful Joab assassinates Abner, and the

carefully laid plans to unify the country are

at risk. David must convince a substantial

majority of northerners that he did not per-

sonally authorize Abner’s murder. He is

able to do this, and his rise to greatness is

back on track.

David at last ascends the throne of a

united Israel. The narrative adds an ever-

increasing list of impressive accomplish-

ments to his résumé. He repels the most

dangerous enemy, the Philistines, and

captures Jerusalem, unifying the region of

Canaan and the Transjordan for the first

time in history. He creates Jerusalem as

the religious center of his new, fledgling

state. One by one, neighboring states are

either subdued or forced into alliance with

the House of David. Israel becomes the

most powerful nation state in the region,

reminiscent of the modern State of Israel.

David stands victorious.

This situation does not endure. The

narrator’s relation of David’s affair with

Bathsheba and the subsequent unraveling

of his family and kingdom are master-

pieces. To this point the plot resembles the

Abraham cycle with its series of crises or

trials. Now, however, we have a story of

retribution. A deep sense of tragedy hangs

over most of the ensuing episodes.

When Nathan appears with a supposed

case of stolen sheep for the king to adju-

dicate, David virtually sentences himself

(2 Sa 12). In accordance with the Mosaic

Law, fourfold restitution was required for

theft of a sheep. “Four little lambs” were

exacted from David: the unnamed child

by Bathsheba, Amnon, Absalom, and

Adonijah. As each son dies, three vio-

lently, David is plunged into sorrow. But

this sorrow is nowhere more poignantly

portrayed than when he learns that

Absalom is dead: “O my son Absalom, my

son, my son Absalom! Would I had died

instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my

son!” (2 Sa 18:33 [MT 19:1]).

At the end of his life, feeble and dimin-

ished by the infirmities of old age, David

is almost oblivious to matters of state. Even

more dangerous is his unawareness of the

intrigue surrounding the choice of his suc-

cessor. Influential figures must prod him

to be decisive and end the power vacuum.

His final words of advice to Solomon re-

flect a curious mixture of piety and poli-

tics: observe the Law of Moses, but make

sure Joab and Shemei die (1 Ki 2:1-9). This

last speech by David points to an inherent

tension within the narrative: the tension

between faith and politics.

Is the story of David a tragedy after all?

I think it is. And this is related to the larger

question of the significance of this match-

less epic. What does the narrator seek to

convey? In spite of all the obstacles over-

come, the trials endured, and the enemies

repulsed and subdued, the story does not

end on a happy note. Part two of the story

of David features rape and murder within

his own family, two major rebellions, one

led by his own son, a three-year famine

for which the remedy was a public execu-

tion of surviving Saulides, and finally, a

major plague killing seventy thousand

people. The one whom the Lord chose as

“a man after his own heart” (1 Sa 13:14)

was also capable of adultery and murder.

He unified a nation, inspired thousands

to follow him into the valley of death, but

failed as a father and, in certain respects,

as a monarch.

Finally, I call attention to the women in

David’s life. Only three female characters

are developed to any degree, but each one

plays a key role in David’s life at transi-

tional points in his career. Michal, daugh-

ter of Saul, is his first love. One gets the

impression that initially their relationship

was affectionate, even passionate. She is

the only woman in the Old Testament of

whom it is said that she loved a man.

Michal was important to David politically.

She represented a connection with the

royal house of Saul and the northern

tribes. She imparted to him a certain le-

gitimacy in the eyes of northerners that

he would not otherwise have had. Michal

stood by him despite of her father’s fond

hopes to the contrary. But this relationship

soured. A forced separation and marriage

to Paltiel certainly did not help matters,

nor did David’s relationships with

Ahinoam and Abigail. Be that as it may,

the narrator does not offer explanations;

he lets description and dialogue convey

the breakup. The dialogue is particularly

effective—a bitter exchange followed by

a laconic announcement that Michal had

no children.

The second woman is Abigail, the sen-

sible wife of the fool, Nabal. The text does

not use the same passionate language it

employed with Michal, but one gets the

impression that David’s relationship with

Abigail was one of sincere admiration and

respect. She provided the needed stability

for David during a momentous transition

from tribal chieftain to that of king of all

Israel. Curiously, she drops out of the nar-

rative once David is firmly ensconced in

Jerusalem. My impression, however, is that

her contribution was considerably more

than our narrator chooses to disclose.

The third woman is the most notori-

ous. Indeed, the story of David’s affair

with Bathsheba tantalizes as much by

what it omits as by what it narrates. In-

terestingly, this relationship apparently

outlives the others. None of the other

wives figures in the struggle for succes-

sion except Bathsheba. Of course,

Abishag, the young virgin selected for the

aging monarch, plays a role in the struggle

for succession, but it is a passive role. She

is the object of desire by one of the aspir-

ants to the throne, and the narrator point-

edly tells us that her relationship to David

is strictly as a nursemaid, not a lover. In

the end it is Bathsheba’s second son by

David who succeeds to the throne.

David’s human frailty is seen through

his interaction with these women. Though

the narrator does not moralize, he expects

the reader to read with discernment. He

also wants readers to appreciate grace and

forgiveness. Thus, Bathsheba is not re-

membered primarily for her infidelity, but

as another “Mother in Israel.”

The achievements of David in terms of

the geopolitical history of Israel are monu-

mental, but this does not seem to be the pri-

mary reason for the epic. All one has to do

is compare it with the Chronicler’s version

and it is clear that we are dealing with quite

different agendas.

To be sure, our narra-

tor is an admirer of David, and it is no doubt

true that one purpose is to reflect on how

much better things were during the united

monarchy than they had been during the

days of the tribal federation, though the

narrator also does not shirk from reporting

his shortcomings and failures.

First Maccabees provides another in-

structive comparison for it lionizes a fa-

mous family who resists religious

persecution and restores the nation to sov-

ereignty. But what a contrast! This author

chooses not to see, or at least record, the

shortcomings others saw. Witness the dif-

ferent assessments found in some

pseudepigraphic works and the Dead Sea

Scroll community (cf. Jub. 23:20-21; 1 Enoch

12-16; 89:73; T. Mos. 4:8; 5:3; Pss. Sol. 8:9-

14; CD 5:6-7; 11QTemple passim; 4QMMT).

First Maccabees is best labeled as propa-

gandistic. The epic of King David is not.

Furthermore, a good case can be made

that the personal history of David should

be read as a mirror image of the national

history of Israel. That is, there is a certain

ambiguity present in the narrative about

the rise of kingship and the establishment

of a bureaucratic state.

The narrative as

we have it reflects this vagueness. The

second half points to an underlying pur-

pose that transcends both a significant

milestone in national history and the theo-

logical tension inherent in Hebrew king-

ship. In this connection, the two poems in

2 Samuel 22 — 23 convey programmatic

significance.

The first chapter recounts

the rise of David to power. The song cel-

ebrates the Lord’s providential guidance

and protection of the man after his own

heart. The second is a tacit admission that

David’s personal reign was not all it

should have been. It does this by draw-

ing attention to God’s covenant promise

to David. The Davidic kingdom will ulti-

mately prosper and be secure. But the

song looks beyond David to one of his

descendents who will rule over the people

justly, in the fear of God, and will be like

the light of morning (2 Sa 23:3-4). The

messianic overtones are clear.

The story of David sends a strong mes-

sage about the abuse of power. In this con-

nection, the Abraham cycle and the story

of Deborah are relevant to the national

epic of King David, since the stories illu-

minate each other. Abraham and Deborah

are positive role models in the matter of

faith and politics. The story of David,

however, depicts just how seductive

power can be. After all his successes,

David violates the fundamental principle

that, as the king of Israel, it was incum-

bent upon him to uphold the Sinai Cov-

enant and to be subject to its stipulations.

In the Uriah incident he fails miserably

and acts as if he were above the law by

taking another man’s wife and commit-

ting murder.

David, the greatest king

Israel ever had, was not above abusing his

power, and it hardly needs mentioning

that no other king had a perfect record in

this regard either. If, in the days of the

tribal federation, “there was no king in

Israel: all the people did what was right

in their own eyes” (Jdg 21:25), it was also

the case that when there were kings in Is-

rael, they did what was right in their own

eyes (cf. 1 Sa 8:10-18).

Conclusion

This brief survey of hero and heroine

narratives in the Old Testament has barely

scratched the surface of this great topic.

The longer one ponders their construc-

tion, the more one’s admiration for their

artistry grows. The narrators select and

craft episodes in light of carefully con-

ceived plots. The Abraham cycle and the

first part of the career of King David em-

ploy the obstacle story (or trial by ordeal)

as the basic pattern of plot development.

Deborah’s story centers around a major

crisis in the history of Israel and features

a nice example of the role reversal so

prevalent in the ancient Near Eastern sto-

ries. The second half of the story of King

David consists of a fall from morality and

its tragic consequences.

Clearly, the genius of these stories lies

as much in what is not said as by what is.

In other words, good storytelling consists

in the fine art of omission. The reader must

“read between the lines” and infer mean-

ings, motives, and intentions. This plot

development includes delightful in-

stances of irony, type scenes anticipating

the direction of the story, delay for spe-

cial effect, word plays on the meanings of

names, and dialogue that advances the

story line, discloses motives, signals ma-

jor themes, and occasionally conveys the

viewpoint of the implied narrator.

Finally, it is crucial to observe that be-

hind the various plots and techniques a

larger agenda operates. These stories are

really part of a larger story. The Old Tes-

tament is, simply put, part one of a two-

volume story of redemption. The final

reference point for all the individual sto-

ries is the overarching story of the com-

ing of God’s kingdom to earth.

As this

mega-story unfolds, many theological in-

sights emerge from the individual stories,

such as how one gets right with God and

lives a life of faith. The abuse of power, so

graphically depicted in David’s life, is

symptomatic of an even more profound

and pervasive problem, the problem of

human sin. When all the individual hero

stories are finally read as part of one story,

we realize that, ultimately, there is only

one true hero in the Old Testament sto-

ries. This hero is none other than the God

of Israel who stoops and saves fallen he-

roes and heroines.

ENDNOTES

Larry R. Helyer, “The Separation of

Abram and Lot: Its Significance in the

Patriarchal Narratives,” Journal for the

Study of the Old Testament 26 (1983) 77-

88; and Helyer, “Abraham’s Eight Cri-

ses: The Bumpy Road to Fulfilling God’s

Promise of an Heir,” Bible Review 11/5

(October 1995) 20-27, 44.

I have profited greatly from the close

reading of Genesis 18 and 19 by Robert

Ignatius Letellier, Day in Mamre: Night

in Sodom: Abraham and Lot in Genesis 18

and 19 (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1995). See my

review of his book in Shofar 16/2 (Win-

ter, 1998) 99-101.

Philip R. Davies, “Abraham & Yahweh—

A Case of Male Bonding,” BRev 11/4

(August 1995) 24-33, 44-45. For a further

sampling of Davies’ approach to read-

ing the Bible see his Whose Bible is It Any-

way? Journal for the Study of the Old

Testament Supplemental Series 204

(Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press,

1995) and a review of the aforemen-

tioned work by Dale Patrick in Journal of

Biblical Literature 117/1 (1998) 116-117.

Helyer, “Abraham’s Eight Crises,” 44.

Leland Ryken, How to Read the Bible as

Literature (Grand Rapids: Zondervan,

1984) 15.

See Daniel I. Block, “Will the Real Gideon

Please Stand up?” Journal of the Evangeli-

cal Theological Society 40/3 (September

1997) 353-366, for a negative assessment

of Gideon and the other judges, ex-

cept for Othniel. Curiously, though

he mentions Deborah, he says noth-

ing about her.

Jasper Griffin draws a sharp contrast

between the Iliad in which there is

sympathy for enemies and the Old

Testament “where the national en-

emy is the enemy of God and where

there can be no question of sympa-

thizing with the defeated foe”

(“Reading Homer After 2,800

Years,” Archaeology Odyssey 1:1

[1998] 36-37). One should not, how-

ever, conclude that the Greek tradi-

tion was thereby morally superior

to that of the OT.

"Canaanite epic glories in telling

about interesting women, especially

those who eclipse their male asso-

ciates. In Judges 4 and 5, Deborah

and Jael surpass Barak and all their

other male contemporaries. This at-

titude may possibly explain the

prominence given in Greek epic to

the Amazons, the peers of men in

battle” (Cyrus H. Gordon, The Com-

mon Background of Greek and Hebrew

Civilizations [New York: W. W.

Norton, 1965] 145).

See John H. Stek, “The Bee and the

Mountain Goat: A Literary Reading

of Judges 4,” in A Tribute to Gleason

Archer, ed. Walter C. Kaiser, Jr. and

Ronald F. Youngblood (Chicago:

Moody, 1986) 53-86 and most re-

cently, Steven D. Mathewson,

“Guidelines for Understanding and

Proclaiming Old Testament Narra-

tives,” Bibliotheca Sacra 154 (Octo-

ber-December 1997) 410-435.

See Wayne Horowitz and Aaron

Shaffer, “A Fragment of a Letter

From Hazor,” Israel Exploration Jour-

nal 42 (1992) 165-167.

See Shimon Bar-Efrat, “Some Obser-

vations on the Analysis of Structure

in Biblical Narrative,” in Beyond Form

Criticism: Essays in Old Testament Lit-

erary Criticism, ed. Paul R. House

(Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns,

1992) 191-193.

I disagree with Adele Berlin’s con-

clusion that Michal was a wife

whose love was unrequited. Fur-

thermore, her characterization of

Michal as masculine is not convinc-

ing to me. See “Characterization in

Biblical Narrative: David’s Wives,”

in Beyond From Criticism: Essays in

Old Testament Literary Criticism, ed.

Paul R. House (Winona Lake, IN:

Eisenbrauns, 1992) 221-222.

A point ably made by John W.

Wright, “The Founding Father: The

Structure of the Chronicler’s David

Narrative,” JBL 117/1 (1998) 45-59,

especially his conclusion on p. 59.

As argued by Joel Rosenberg, “1

and 2 Samuel,” The Literary Guide to

the Bible, eds. Robert Alter and Frank

Kermode (Cambridge, MA: Belknap,

1987) 141-43.

See Herbert K. Klement, “Structure,

Context and Meaning in the Samuel

Conclusion (1 Sa. 21-24),” Tyndale

Bulletin 47.2 (November 1996) 367-

70. Note especially his opinion that

“(t)he last section (2 Sa. 24), which

deals with David’s sin, is therefore

not to be regarded as accidental. It

acts as an unmistakable warning,

that the greatness and might of the

Davidic empire and the wide extent

of its borders must not give rise to

self-deception. Yahweh is prepared

to maintain his faithfulness to the

house of David, but not even a

David can reign against the will of

Yahweh” (370).

Bar Efrat says that the primary con-

cern of the narrative about David,

Bathsheba, and Uriah is David’s

treatment of Uriah. “Observations,”

205.

See Larry R. Helyer, Yesterday, To-

day and Forever: The Continuing Rel-

evance of the Old Testament (Salem,

WI: Sheffield Publishing Company,

1996) 10-18, 175-80, for a further dis-

cussion.