I Samuel 9

Hook

Picture this: It is late Saturday night at camp. The campfire has burned down to a pile of glowing, orange embers that pulse in the dark like a slow heartbeat. The smell of damp pine, woodsmoke, and sweet toasted marshmallows hangs heavy in the cool night air. We are all sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on those rough-hewn wooden benches, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, swaying. The guitar player starts strumming a slow, minor-key progression—low and steady.

Then, the niggun starts. It’s that wordless, soulful melody we all know, the one that starts in the soles of your feet and climbs up into your chest:

“Yai-la-la, lai-lai-lai, yai-la-la, lai-lai-lai…”

(If you want a specific tune to hum right now to set the mood, hum the classic, slow Modzitzer Niggun or the opening strains of “Hamavdil Bin Kodesh L’chol.” Let it breathe. Feel that vibration in your throat.)

In that moment, under a canopy of infinite stars, you feel a strange mix of absolute safety and wild adventure. You don’t know what the upcoming week of camp has in store—which hikes will get rained out, which color war breaks will surprise you, or who you’ll sit next to in the dining hall—but you know you are exactly where you are supposed to be.

That is the energy of "Campfire Torah." It’s the ancient wisdom of our ancestors, but with dirt on its shoes and a song in its heart. Today, we are grabbing our metaphorical camp chairs and gathering around the fire to unpack a story about wandering, lost things, and the quiet, hidden legacies that make us who we are. We are diving into the book of Samuel, looking at a young man named Saul who went out to find some lost farm animals and stumbled into his destiny.

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Context

To understand where we are standing on the trail, let’s get our bearings with three quick guideposts:

• The Great Transition: We are at a massive turning point in Jewish history. Up until this moment, the Jewish people have been led by "Judges"—charismatic, temporary, ad-hoc leaders who stepped up in times of crisis. But the system is fraying. The people are crying out for stability, for structure, for a king "like all the other nations." They want a centralized government, a standing army, and a clear line of succession. This chapter is the origin story of Israel's very first king: Saul.
• The Mundane Mission: Before he is a king, Saul is just a kid doing chores. His father’s donkeys have gone missing, and Saul is sent on a wild goose chase through the rugged hill country of Ephraim to find them. It is an incredibly ordinary, frustrating task. There are no trumpets blowing, no angels appearing in the sky—just a dusty road, a tired servant, and a bunch of stubborn, wandering donkeys.
• The Outdoor Metaphor: Think of this story as a classic camp night-hike. You set out with your cabin mates, stumbling over tree roots, swatting away mosquitoes, utterly convinced that your counselor is completely lost. You are looking at the ground, trying not to trip, focused entirely on the next two feet of trail in front of you. You think you’re just trying to get back to the cabin without twisting an ankle. But then, suddenly, the trees clear, and you are standing on a ridge overlooking a moonlit valley, gasping at a view you never could have anticipated. Saul is looking at his feet, searching for donkeys; God is about to show him the horizon.

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Text Snapshot

Let’s look at a few key lines from this incredible narrative in I Samuel 9:1-3 and I Samuel 9:10 to set our stage:

"There was a man in Benjamin whose name was Kish son of Abiel son of Zeror son of Becorath son of Aphiah, a Benjaminite, a man of substance. He had a son whose name was Saul, an excellent young man; no one among the Israelites was handsomer than he; he was a head taller than any of the people. Once the donkeys of Saul’s father Kish went astray... Saul said to his servant, 'A good idea; let us go.' And they went to the town where the agent of God lived."

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Close Reading

Now, let’s pull up our camp chairs closer to the fire, open up the texts, and dig into the deep stuff. We aren't just reading this as ancient history; we are reading this to understand how we build our homes, raise our families, and navigate our own messy lives today.

Insight 1: The Legacy of Hidden Light (The Genealogy of Greatness)

When we open the book of Samuel to this chapter, we are immediately hit with a long, rhythmic list of names: Kish, son of Abiel, son of Zeror, son of Becorath, son of Aphiah, a Benjaminite... I Samuel 9:1. To a beginner, this looks like the "genealogy skip-zone"—the part of the Bible you skim through to get to the action. But at camp, we know that every name on the roster matters.

Let's look at how the great medieval commentator Radak (Rabbi David Kimhi) unpacks this family tree in his commentary on I Samuel 9:1:2. He notices a fascinating discrepancy between our text here and the lineage recorded in the book of Chronicles:

Radak on I Samuel 9:1:2: "קיש בן אביאל. ובדברי הימים אומר ונר הוליד את קיש ונר היה בן אביאל והלא היה אחי קיש ואבי אבנר כמו שאומר בזה הספר ויתכן לפרש כי אביאל היה שמו גם כן נר ושני שמות היו לו... ומצאתי בויקרא ברבה כי עיקר שמו אביאל והיו קוראים שמו נר לפי שהיה מדליק נרות במבואות האפלות."

Translation: "Kish son of Abiel: And in Chronicles (I 8:33) it says 'And Ner begot Kish,' and Ner was the son of Abiel... It is possible to explain that Abiel's name was also Ner, and he had two names... And I found in Leviticus Rabbah [9:2] that his primary name was Abiel, but they called him 'Ner' [which means candle/lamp] because he would light lamps in the dark alleyways."

Hold onto your camp hats, because this is beautiful. The Malbim (Meir Leibush ben Yehiel Michel Wisser) takes this Midrashic insight and elevates it even further in his commentary on I Samuel 9:1:1:

Malbim on I Samuel 9:1:1: "ויהי זכר הסבות שבעבורם בחר ה' בשאול, א) מצד יחוסו שאביו היה שמו קיש בן אביאל... ופי' חכמינו זכרונם לברכה שלאביאל היו קוראים לו נר על שהיה מדליק נרות לרבים במבואות האפלות, וזה אות טוב מדותיו לזכות הרבים, וכן היה קיש עצמו גבור חיל וגבורת האב תוליד גבורה בבן"

Translation: "And it was: He mentions the causes for which Hashem chose Saul. First, from the perspective of his lineage, that his father's name was Kish son of Abiel... and our Sages of blessed memory explained that Abiel was called 'Ner' because he used to light candles for the public in the dark alleyways. And this is a sign of his good character traits to merit the public. And so too was Kish himself a 'mighty man of valor' [gibor chail], and the strength of the father breeds strength in the son."

Let’s unpack this. Why was Saul chosen to be the first king of Israel? It wasn’t just because he was tall and handsome (though the text mentions that too!). The spiritual "why" of his election goes back generations. It goes back to his grandfather, Abiel, who had a nickname: Ner (The Lamp).

Why did they call him Ner? Because he walked out into the dark, pitch-black, muddy alleyways of his town and hung lanterns so that people wouldn't trip and fall. He didn't do it for fame. He didn't do it for a tax write-off. There were no social media stories to post, no plaques with his name on them. He just saw dark spaces where his neighbors were stumbling, and he decided to bring light.

The Metzudat David (Rabbi David Altschuler) on I Samuel 9:1:1 adds a layer of status to this family, noting:

Metzudat David on I Samuel 9:1:1: "בן איש ימיני. רצה לומר: בן אדם גדול מבני בנימן"

Translation: "A son of a Benjaminite: That is to say, the son of a great man from the children of Benjamin."

And the Metzudat Zion defines the word chail (often translated as wealth or valor) in I Samuel 9:1:1 as:

Metzudat Zion on I Samuel 9:1:1: "חיל. ענין כח ואומץ"

Translation: "Chail: An expression of strength and courage."

When we synthesize these commentators, we get a breathtaking picture of what "greatness" actually means in the Jewish tradition. True strength (chail) and true nobility (ish yemini / a great man) are not about conquering others or hoarding wealth. They are about the quiet, consistent, generational work of lighting up dark alleyways.

The great modern commentator Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz sums up this lineage beautifully in his commentary on I Samuel 9:1:

"Kish could trace his lineage back to one of the ruling dynasties of the tribe, and he himself was a valiant and capable man, a powerful, or wealthy and well-respected, individual."

But notice where that capability comes from. It is rooted in Abiel's lanterns.

Bringing the Light Home

Think about your own home, your family, or your community. Who are the "candle-lighters" in your life?

At camp, we have those legendary staff members—the ones who wake up at 5:00 AM to make sure the hot water is working, or the ones who spend their only free hour sitting with a homesick camper on the dining hall steps. They don't get the loudest cheers at the campfire, but they are the ones who keep the camp running. They are the Ners.

In our homes, we often get caught up in wanting our kids or ourselves to achieve "kingship"—to get the best grades, the highest-paying jobs, the most prestigious titles. But the Torah is whispering to us: Kings are born from the lineage of candle-lighters.

If you want to raise children who are "mighty of valor" (gibor chail), you don't start by training them to wear a crown. You start by teaching them to light up the dark alleyways.

• It’s the way you speak to the cashier at the grocery store.
• It’s the way you quiet your ego to listen to your partner when you are exhausted after a long day.
• It’s the act of leaving a cup of water out for the delivery driver on a hot day.

These are the "candles in the dark alleyways" of modern life. When we do these things, we are writing ourselves into the lineage of Abiel. We are creating a spiritual atmosphere in our homes where greatness can take root.

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Insight 2: The Servant as the Guide (The Humility of the Detour)

Let’s look at the second half of our text snapshot. Saul and his servant have been wandering for three days. Their water bottles are empty, their feet are blistered, and Saul is ready to call it quits. He says, "Let’s go back, or my dad is going to start worrying about us instead of the donkeys" I Samuel 9:5.

But the servant—the unnamed, low-ranking assistant—steps up and says, "Wait! There is a man of God in this town. He is highly esteemed. Let’s go to him; maybe he can tell us which way to go" I Samuel 9:6.

Saul hesitates. He says, "But we don't have any gifts left to give him! Our bags are empty" I Samuel 9:7. And the servant replies, "Look, I have a quarter-shekel of silver. I’ll give it to him" I Samuel 9:8.

Look at the power dynamic here! Saul is the tall, handsome son of a wealthy aristocrat. He is the one who is supposed to be in charge. Yet, he is completely out of ideas, out of resources, and out of energy. It is the servant who has the spiritual intuition, the servant who has the practical solution, and the servant who literally funds the journey with his own pocket change.

How does Saul respond? Does he get defensive? Does he say, "Know your place, I’m the boss here"?

No. Look at I Samuel 9:10: "Saul said to his servant, 'A good idea; let us go.' And they went..."

The Malbim has a stunning psychological insight into this verse:

Malbim on I Samuel 9:10:1: "ויאמר שאול ראה כי טובה עצת הנער שהוא יהיה השואל והנותן ולכן אמר לכה נלכה אתה תהיה העקר בהליכה ואני הטפל וגם זה היה מאת ה' שיחשוב שאול להתנכר לפני הרואה לבל יתראה לפניו כאיש נכבד וראה כי בכ"ז הכיר הרואה כי עליו יציץ נזרו"

Translation: "And Saul said: He saw that the youth’s advice was good, that he [the youth] would be the one who asks and gives. Therefore he said, 'Come, let us go'—meaning, 'You will be the primary one in this walking, and I will be secondary.' And this, too, was from Hashem, so that Saul would think to go incognito before the seer, not showing himself as an honorable man. Yet, the seer recognized that his crown would shine upon him anyway."

Let that sink in. Saul, the future king of Israel, willingly makes himself secondary (tafel) to his own servant (ikkar). He says, "You lead. I will follow."

The Malbim tells us this was a divinely orchestrated moment of mitnaker—of going incognito. Saul stripped away his ego, his status, and his pride. He didn't walk into the prophet's town with a security detail and a trumpet fanfare. He walked in behind his servant, dusty, tired, and humble.

Bringing the Humility Home

This is a masterclass in leadership and relationship dynamics for our own homes.

Think about how easy it is, as parents, spouses, or leaders, to fall into the "I must have all the answers" trap. We feel this immense pressure to be the "king" of our households—to always know the way, to always have the resources, to never show weakness. When our "donkeys go missing"—when our plans fall apart, when our finances get tight, when our kids act out—our instinct is often to assert control, to shut down, or to yell louder.

But Saul teaches us a different way. True leadership is the capacity to look at your partner, or even your child, and say: "Your advice is better than mine. You lead, and I will follow."

• It’s the parent who can look at their teenager and say, "You’re right. I handled that situation poorly. How do you think we should solve this?"
• It’s the spouse who can admit, "I am completely out of emotional resources right now. I don't know how to navigate this conflict. What do you think we should do?"
• It’s the ability to go incognito—to step down from your pedestal of "being right" and just walk as a humble seeker.

There is a beautiful paradox here. It was precisely because Saul was willing to let his servant lead, precisely because he was willing to be "secondary," that Samuel the Prophet recognized him as the king. The crown doesn't find the person who is chasing it; it finds the person who is busy listening, learning, and letting go of their ego.

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Micro-Ritual: The "Alleyway Light" Havdalah

Now, let’s take this campfire energy and bring it right into your living room. We don’t want this Torah to stay on the page; we want it to live in your bones.

To honor the legacy of Abiel (the grandfather who lit candles in the dark alleyways) and Saul (who learned to follow his servant’s light), we are going to introduce a micro-ritual for your next Havdalah—the ceremony that marks the end of Shabbat and the transition into the new week.

At camp, Havdalah is the peak of the week. We stand in a massive circle, arms linked, watching that multi-wick braided candle flicker in the darkness. It’s emotional, it’s sensory, and it’s deeply binding.

Here is how you can bring that exact vibe home with a specific "Alleyway Light" tweak:

The Setup

• The Candle: Use your standard braided Havdalah candle, but before you light it, turn off every single light in your house. Make it pitch black.
• The Mindset: Stand in the dark for just thirty seconds. Feel the quiet. Feel the mystery of the week ahead. Remember that just like Saul, we are about to step onto a trail where we don't know what we will find. We might think we are just looking for "lost donkeys" (our to-do lists, our chores, our work deadlines), but God has bigger plans for us.

The Action

1. Light the Candle in the Dark: As you strike the match and light the Havdalah candle, let its flame be the only light in the room. Watch how the shadows dance on the ceiling.
2. The "Abiel Blessing": Right before you sing the blessing over the spices (besamim) and the wine, take a moment of silence. Look at the flame.
3. The Sharing Circle: If you are with family or friends, pass the spice box around. As each person takes a breath of the sweet scent, have them answer this one simple prompt:

   "Who is one 'Abiel'—one quiet candle-lighter—who brought light into your dark alleyways this past week? And how can you be a 'Ner' (a lamp) for someone else in the week ahead?" (If you are doing this solo, write your answer down in a journal by the light of the Havdalah candle.)

4. The Melodic Transition: Sing the final blessings, and when you extinguish the candle in the wine, don't immediately turn the electric lights back on. Let the sweet, smoky darkness linger for a moment. Sing the words of “Hamavdil” or a simple niggun in the dark. Feel that connection between the light you just put out and the inner light you are carrying into the workday.

By doing this, you are transforming Havdalah from a rote routine into an active commitment to carry the legacy of Abiel and Saul into your Monday through Friday. You are promising to be a person who lights up the dark paths for others.

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Chevruta Mini

Grab a partner, your spouse, your oldest kid, or a good friend, and discuss these two campfire questions over a drink or a walk:

1. The Lost Donkeys of Our Lives: Saul set out on a mundane, frustrating chore (finding lost animals) and ended up finding his life’s calling (kingship). Can you look back at your own life and identify a "lost donkey" moment—a time when a plan failed, a detour occurred, or a frustrating task turned out to be the exact gateway to a major blessing or a new direction? How can we cultivate more trust when we are currently in the "wandering" phase?
2. Going Incognito: Saul was willing to let his servant take the lead and pay the way, stepping down from his status to find the truth. In your closest relationships (marriage, parenting, friendships), where do you find it hardest to "go incognito"? What is one practical way you can practice making your ego "secondary" (tafel) to help someone else shine as the "primary" (ikkar) this week?

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Takeaway

As the embers of our campfire start to fade and the stars shine bright above us, remember this:

You don’t need a crown to be a leader. You don't need to have all the answers, and you don't need your life to go exactly according to plan.

The story of Saul and his family teaches us that true greatness is built in the quiet, unglamorous moments. It is built when we step into the dark alleyways of our world and light a candle for someone else. It is built when we have the humility to listen to the quietest voices around us and say, "That's a great idea; let us go."

So, as you pack up your camp chair and step back onto the trail of your everyday life, take a deep breath. Smell the pine. Feel the warmth of the community around you.

Go out there and light some lamps.

“Yai-la-la, lai-lai-lai, yai-la-la, lai-lai-lai…”

Shavua tov! Have a beautiful, luminous week!