The Beginning of the End - Reflections on 2 Samuel 11:1-15

by Dr. John Holbert on Monday, July 22, 2024

The Beginning of the End

2 Samuel 11:1-15

The Peripatetic Hebrew Bible Preacher

          The brilliant narrator of the long story of Samuel, Saul, and David has given to us the very pinnacle of story art in this fabulous tale of David and his dalliance with Bathsheba and his calloused murder of her husband, Uriah. There is no better example of the genius of the Hebrew Bible narrative than this one. In one brief essay, I cannot begin to plumb the near bottomless depths of this unmatched story, but I can at the very least offer one or two places in the story where the teller has demonstrated his gifts.

          First, as always, the immediate context. Israel, under the peerless leadership of King David and his equally gifted general Joab, has at last routed all their near enemies, finally forcing the persistent Arameans eastward back inside their fortress at Rabbah, awaiting only their final defeat. All else is quiet, and Israel finds itself in relative peace. It is “spring of the year” (literally the “turn of the year,” i.e. spring) when the winter rains have ceased and the dry ground is available for the movement of armies. So, David sends Joab to complete the struggle against Aram. But the narrator is far from content simply to relate facts to us. The turn of the year is that time that “kings sally forth to battle,” so we fully expect the great warrior king, David, to go to Rabbah with his troops. But on a laconic note, while “Joab and his servants with him and all Israel ravage the Ammonites and besiege Rabbah, David was sitting in Jerusalem” (2 Sam.11:1). It may traditionally be the time when “kings sally forth,” but not this time. David sits instead. Why? 

          The ironies cut deeper in the verse. In the Hebrew text, the consonants of the word “mal’akhim” cause us to read “messengers,” while the verb “sally forth,” usually used with kings, indicates that we ought to read “kings,” melakhim, as many manuscripts say.  However, because this king does not sally forth, hence messengers must go, sent by a king who is not acting as he is expected to. Something is darkly amiss as the tale starts. And the question remains: why does he not go to Rabbah? 

          We are soon to discover if not why, at least we will learn what happens when the king does not sally forth. “At eventide,” that is near sunset, “David arose from his bed.” He is been asleep a very long time since the phrase “at sunset” is in direct contrast with “the time of sallying forth.” A noon siesta may be called for, and if so David has been napping for many hours. Those who take such lengthy naps are not looking for refreshment from being tired, but are often bored and anxious for their lives, lives that are becoming tiresome. David has many wives, countless children, and unnumbered mistresses; his reasons for battle seem finished, and he is happy to send faithful, murderous Joab to fight for him while he languishes abed in Jerusalem.

          Upon arising from his bed, he “walked about on the roof of the king’s house,” clearly the highest point in the city, and “he saw from the roof a woman bathing, and the woman was very beautiful” (2 Sam.11:3). Nonchalantly, or so it seems, he “inquired after the woman,” and was told, “Why, this is Bathsheba daughter of Eliam, wife of Uriah the Hittite” (2 Sam.11:3). It is unusual in the Bible to identify a woman by both father and husband. It may be that both men are members of the army just sent forth to the battle, and especially Uriah who we will later learn is a leader of certain of David’s forces. “Uriah” is a pious Israelite name (“YHWH is my light”), so though he is designated as a Hittite, he may well be a native Israelite, or at least a naturalized citizen of Hittite extraction. The nation of the Hittites, centered in modern-day Turkey, by the 10th century BCE has essentially disappeared into history. 

          David, the sleepy king, has now become enflamed by the stunning Bathsheba, though he well knows that she is the wife and daughter of well-known men. The action picks up dramatically. “David sent messengers” (just as he sent Joab earlier) and she came to him and he slept with her, she having just cleansed herself of her monthly impurity (thus the subsequent child can hardly be Uriah’s), and she returned to her house” (2 Sam.11:4). Not a word of dialogue is exchanged. In the heat of ferocious passion the man and the woman, the king and another’s wife, consummate their lust without comment, and she silently goes home. 

          But what seems like merely a one-night stand turns into something else entirely, when Bathsheba turns up pregnant. The first words she utters to David are just that: “I am pregnant,” and without further ado “David sent to Joab: ‘Send me Uriah the Hittite” (2 Sam.11:6). And Joab does precisely that. And we readers are now asked to guess what the king has in mind with respect to Uriah. Might he say, “Uriah, my faithful soldier, I spotted your lovely wife and simply could not restrain myself and slept with her, and now she is carrying my baby. These things happen, and after all, I am the king. There are, old boy, plenty of fish in the Israelite sea.” 

          But the David we have met with earlier in his story would hardly be so direct; we expect from him some subtlety, some clever plan, and we are not mistaken. He tries twice to urge Uriah to go down to his house in order to make it possible the child is his and not the king’s; but the plan utterly fails both times, because frankly, Uriah is simply a faithful soldier, refusing to find pleasure with Bathsheba while his fellow soldiers are fighting and dying at Rabbah. And so David, rather than come clean about his fling, concocts a ridiculous plan to have Uriah killed in battle, using his faithfulness against him. The plan is so absurd that Joab has to change it, sacrificing several innocent Israelites to cover the murder (2 Sam.11:16-17). 

          All of these monstrous actions are the result of a too-long afternoon nap, as experienced by a bored king who is well on his way to becoming a tyrant. And like many tyrants before and after him, he will die alone and cold in his freezing bed, perhaps the very bed that he and Bathsheba cavorted on so long before.

          I urge you to read the whole story for yourself very carefully, for the richness and cleverness of its language and the subtlety of its discourse. I know of no ancient literary narrations to match this one. After its conclusion, the inevitable demise of the great David is assured. Shakespeare would surely have been pleased and awed by this magnificent tale.