I Samuel 28

Hook

If you grew up with even a passing exposure to biblical stories, you probably remember the "Witch of Endor" as a weird, spooky detour. It’s usually filed away under the "bizarre occult trivia" section of the Bible—a cautionary Sunday-school tale about why you shouldn't play with Ouija boards or consult tarot cards, featuring a desperate, wicked king who breaks his own laws because he’s losing a war.

It feels cartoonish, archaic, and deeply irrelevant to a modern life managed by spreadsheets, calendar invites, and therapy sessions. You weren’t wrong to bounce off this story if it was presented to you as a simplistic, rule-heavy morality play.

But let’s try again.

When you strip away the Sunday-school varnish, I Samuel 28 is not a story about spooky magic. It is a devastatingly modern psychological thriller about executive burnout, the agonizing silence of leadership, and the terror of being replaced. It is a story about what happens when your official systems of support—your mentors, your strategies, your spiritual anchors—completely collapse, leaving you to scream into a void that refuses to answer.

And, in a twist that ancient writers rarely allowed, it is a story about finding radical, life-saving empathy in the very places you have spent your life outlawing. Let’s look at Saul’s darkest night with fresh, adult eyes.

---

Context

To understand how King Saul ended up in a dark cave in Endor, begging a marginalized woman to summon a ghost, we need to understand the structural collapse around him.

• The Geopolitical Trap: The Philistines have mounted a massive, existential military threat against Israel I Samuel 28:1. This isn't a minor border skirmish; as Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz notes, this was "an actual war, which might prove decisive" Steinsaltz on I Samuel 28:1. To make matters worse, Saul’s chief rival and former son-in-law, David, is living as a double agent among the Philistines, playing a high-stakes game of political survival under King Achish I Samuel 28:1-2.
• The Dead Mentor: Samuel, the towering prophet who anointed Saul as king and served as his fierce, often hyper-critical mentor, is dead I Samuel 28:3. Saul is entirely on his own, standing on the edge of a precipice without a safety net.
• The Silence of the Divine: Facing a massive army, Saul tries every official channel to get direction. He prays, he looks for prophetic dreams, and he consults the Urim—the high-tech, oracle-like breastplate worn by the High Priest I Samuel 28:6. The response? Dead silence.

Demystifying the Occult Ban

In the ancient Near East, banning mediums and necromancers wasn't just a theological whim; it was an act of national consolidation and information control.

When Saul banned "ghosts and familiar spirits" from the land I Samuel 28:3, he was attempting to centralize power. In the ancient world, if anyone could consult their dead ancestors for advice, then authority was decentralized—every family had its own private oracle. By outlawing necromancy, Saul was declaring that the state (and the state's official prophets) held a monopoly on truth.

The tragedy of I Samuel 28 is that Saul is forced to break his own centralization policies. His turn to the medium of Endor isn't a cartoonish lapse in faith; it is the ultimate act of executive exhaustion. When every official channel goes silent, we all look to the shadows of our past just to hear a voice we recognize.

---

Text Snapshot

Saul disguised himself; he put on different clothes and set out with two men. They came to the woman by night, and he said, “Please divine for me by a ghost. Bring up for me the one I shall name to you.” ...

Then Saul knew that it was Samuel; and he bowed low in homage with his face to the ground. Samuel said to Saul, “Why have you disturbed me and brought me up?” And Saul answered, “I am greatly troubled. The Philistines are attacking me and God has turned away from me—and no longer answers me, either by prophets or in dreams. So I have called you to tell me what I am to do.”

— I Samuel 28:8, 14-15

---

New Angle

Insight 1: The Executive Void and the Tyranny of the Unanswered Inbox

There is a unique brand of terror reserved for those who are supposedly in charge but have run entirely out of answers.

In the corporate world, we call this the "loneliness of the C-suite." In family life, it’s the quiet panic of the parent who realizes they don't know how to fix their child's suffering. We build elaborate structures—budgets, strategic plans, therapy appointments, self-help books—to give us a sense of control. We consult our modern "oracles" (metrics, data, consultants) to tell us what to do next.

But what happens when the screen goes blank?

[Official Channels: Offline]
  ├── Dreams: Silent
  ├── Oracles (Urim): Unresponsive
  └── Prophets: No Signal

Saul’s situation in I Samuel 28:6 is the ultimate depiction of this executive void. The text notes that Saul inquired of God, but received no answer "either by dreams or by Urim or by prophets."

Imagine your phone screen going black in the middle of a forest fire. The Urim was the ancient equivalent of a direct line to the divine dashboard—a physical object that would light up or cast lots to give a binary "yes" or "no" to strategic questions. To have the Urim go silent is to experience the complete failure of your decision-making technology.

To understand the depth of Saul's panic, we have to look at the political chess match happening simultaneously behind the scenes. The Alshich, a 16th-century commentator, unpacks the terrifying psychological pressure Saul was under by looking at David’s posture Alshich on I Samuel 28:1:1. David is trapped in Philistine territory, forced by King Achish to march against his own people. Achish says to David, "You know, of course, that you and your men must march out with my forces" I Samuel 28:1.

The Alshich notes that David is forced to play a highly dangerous double game, responding with deliberate ambiguity: "You surely know what your servant will do" I Samuel 28:2.

Achish interprets this as fierce loyalty and rewards David by making him his personal, lifelong bodyguard I Samuel 28:2. The Malbim clarifies that Achish did not want David fighting in the general ranks—fearing David might turn on him to reconcile with Saul—but trusted David's personal honor enough to guard his own head Malbim on I Samuel 28:1:2.

Saul, standing on the hills of Gilboa, knows his rival is in the enemy camp. He knows his own army is terrified. He knows his mentor is dead. And he knows his God has stopped replying.

When we are in this state of deep isolation, we do what Saul did: we disguise ourselves I Samuel 28:8. We strip off our "royal robes"—our titles, our professional armor, our curated public personas—and we go out into the dark, looking for anyone who can tell us what to do.

Saul’s journey to Endor is a literal and psychological descent. He takes off his crown, puts on civilian clothes, and walks through the night into enemy territory just to find a backdoor to the past. He isn't looking for magic; he is looking for a performance review from the only boss he ever really had.

When Saul finally succeeds in getting the medium to bring up Samuel, the ghost's response is devastatingly cold: "Why have you disturbed me and brought me up?" I Samuel 28:15.

Saul’s reply is a raw, unvarnished confession of adult burnout: "I am greatly troubled... God has turned away from me and no longer answers me... So I have called you to tell me what I am to do" I Samuel 28:15.

This is the cry of every adult who has ever wished they could call their deceased parents, their retired bosses, or their childhood mentors to ask: How do I navigate this? I am out of my depth, and the adults in the room are gone. I am the adult now, and I don't know the way.

Samuel offers no comfort. He essentially tells Saul, I told you so. The kingdom is gone, it has been given to David, and tomorrow you and your sons will be dead with me I Samuel 28:16-19.

It is a brutal, unyielding verdict. The old mentor has nothing new to offer but the cold comfort of past judgments. Saul collapses to the earth, paralyzed by fear and completely empty, having not eaten for a day and a night I Samuel 28:20. He is a hollowed-out shell of a leader, face-down in the dirt of a stranger's cave.

Insight 2: The Witch's Kitchen—Radical Grace at the End of the World

If the story ended with Samuel’s curse and Saul’s collapse, it would indeed be a grim, moralistic tale about the dangers of disobedience. But the true climax of I Samuel 28 is not the summoning of the ghost; it is what happens after the ghost leaves.

It is the story of the medium herself.

Let’s look closely at the power dynamics in that cave. The medium is a nameless woman living on the margins of society. She practices a banned art. Saul—the very man standing in her living room—is the executive who signed the death warrants of her colleagues I Samuel 28:3, 9. She is vulnerable, hunted, and deeply traumatized by the state's crackdowns on her community.

When Saul first asks her to perform her craft, she is immediately suspicious: "Why are you laying a trap for me, to get me killed?" I Samuel 28:9.

Saul, in a moment of supreme irony, swears an oath to her by the very God who has abandoned him: "As God lives, you won’t get into trouble over this" I Samuel 28:10.

The commentators Metzudat David and Metzudat Zion unpack this oath, noting that Saul uses the phrase Chai Hashem (as God lives) to swear that no "punishment" (avon) or "harmful event" (mikreh) will befall her Metzudat David on I Samuel 28:10:1. He uses his residual royal authority to guarantee her safety, even as his own world is crumbling.

Once the ritual is complete and the ghost of Samuel delivers his terrifying prophecy, Saul collapses into a catatonic state on her floor I Samuel 28:20.

At this point, the medium has every reason to throw him out, run away, or even hand him over to the Philistines to secure her own safety. He is the architect of her oppression, he is a failing king, and he is a liability.

Instead, she does something extraordinary. She steps into the role of a pastor.

The text describes her approaching the shattered king:

The woman went up to Saul and, seeing how greatly disturbed he was, she said to him, “Your handmaid listened to you; I took my life in my hands and heeded the request you made of me. So now you listen to me: Let me set before you a bit of food. Eat, and then you will have the strength to go on your way.”

— I Samuel 28:21-22

When Saul refuses to eat, saying "I will not eat," she doesn't back down I Samuel 28:23. Along with his servants, she coaxes him, urges him, and gently insists that he sit up.

She doesn't just offer him stale bread. The text notes that she had a "stall-fed calf in the house"—an incredibly valuable asset, essentially her life savings—and she "hastily slaughtered it, and took flour and kneaded it, and baked some unleavened cakes" I Samuel 28:24.

The Medium's Radical Care:
  ├── Risked her life to perform the ritual
  ├── Offered deep emotional attunement ("seeing how greatly disturbed he was")
  ├── Slaughtered her most valuable asset (the stall-fed calf)
  └── Baked fresh bread to give him strength for his final journey

This is a feast of radical hospitality prepared by an outcast for her oppressor. She knows he is going to die tomorrow; Samuel just said so. She knows his dynasty is over. She has nothing to gain from him—no political favors, no money, no protection. Yet, she feeds him.

This is a profound lesson for adult life. When our official systems of belief, leadership, and community fail us, we often find grace in the most unexpected, "unorthodox" places.

We find it in the secular support group, the stranger at the bar, the coworker who doesn't share our background but recognizes our exhaustion, or the therapist who sits with us in our darkest hours without judgment.

The medium of Endor does not lecture Saul. She does not say, I told you your laws were foolish. She does not gloat over his impending doom. She simply sees a broken, starving human being on her floor, and she bakes him bread.

She gives him the physical and emotional strength to face his inevitable end with dignity. Because of her meal, Saul is able to stand up, dust himself off, and walk out into the night to meet his fate I Samuel 28:25.

This matters because it reframes our understanding of care. Sometimes, the people we have spent our lives categorizing as "outsiders," "sinners," or "the opposition" are the only ones capable of offering us unconditional humanity when we hit rock bottom. The "Witch's Kitchen" is actually a sanctuary of grace.

---

Low-Lift Ritual

The Shadow Council

When you are facing a high-stakes decision, a career transition, or a personal crisis, and the "official" channels of logic, data, and advice are completely silent, try this 2-minute practice to access your own internal mentors.

1. Close your eyes and take two deep breaths. Let go of the need to find an immediate "analytical" answer.
2. Invoke a "Ghost." Think of one person from your past who represented safety, wisdom, or fierce clarity to you. It could be a deceased grandparent, a teacher from high school, a former boss who believed in you, or even a younger, more courageous version of yourself.
3. Ask the Silent Question. In your mind, state your dilemma in one simple sentence (e.g., “I don’t know if I should stay in this job,” or “I feel like I’m failing as a parent.”).
4. Listen for the Echo. Don't try to construct a response. Just listen to what that specific person's voice would say to you in this moment. What was their core guidance?
   • Note: Unlike Samuel, who brought judgment, invite the voice that brings clarity. Often, our subconscious already knows the answer, but we need to "summon" the authority of someone we trust to give ourselves permission to hear it.
5. Acknowledge and Return. Thank the memory of that person, take one deep breath, and open your eyes.

This is a clean, psychological way of doing what Saul tried to do in Endor: accessing the deep, historical wells of our own life stories when the present moment feels entirely dry.

---

Chevruta Mini

Chevruta is the traditional Jewish practice of studying texts in pairs, focusing on debate, shared questioning, and personal application. Here are two questions to discuss with a partner, a friend, or to journal about tonight:

1. The Disguise: Saul had to take off his royal robes and put on common clothes to seek the help he actually needed I Samuel 28:8. What are the "royal robes" (titles, reputations, expectations of expertise) that you find yourself wearing in your adult life? In what spaces or relationships do you feel safe enough to take them off and show up as your raw, exhausted self?
2. The Unexpected Host: The medium of Endor offered radical care to the very king who had outlawed her existence I Samuel 28:21-24. Can you recall a time in your life when you received profound comfort, advice, or hospitality from someone you previously misunderstood, judged, or kept at a distance? How did that encounter shift your boundaries?

---

Takeaway

The story of I Samuel 28 is not a spooky cautionary tale about magic; it is a profoundly compassionate look at the limits of human endurance. It reminds us that:

• Leadership and adulthood are lonely. There will be times when the "oracles" go silent, the inbox is empty, and we don't know what to do.
• Nostalgia can be a trap. Running back to the harsh mentors of our past I Samuel 28:15 rarely gives us the easy answers we crave; it often just reminds us of the limitations we are trying to escape.
• Grace is found on the margins. When our official systems collapse, the most sacred spaces of healing are often the unofficial ones—the quiet kitchens of the outcasts, the strangers who bake us bread when we are face-down in the dirt, and the radical acts of empathy that cross every political and social divide.

You weren't wrong to bounce off the spooky cartoon version of this story. But when we look closer, we see that the Bible isn't interested in simple moralizing. It is interested in the raw, messy reality of what it means to be human, to run out of answers, and to be fed by a stranger in the dark.