I Samuel 9

Hook

In the winding, stone-carved alleyways of ancient Jerusalem and the historic quarters of Aleppo, there is a recurring Jewish memory of a lamp lit in the dark. It is not the lamp of Hanukkah, nor is it the candle of Shabbat, but rather the quiet, daily flame lit by an ancestor named Aviel, who placed oil lamps in the pitch-black corridors of his neighborhood so that travelers would not stumble. This simple, elegant act of public service—preserving the safety and dignity of the community—is the hidden spark that ignited the royal dynasty of Israel. When Saul set out to find his father's lost donkeys, he was not merely wandering the rugged hills of Benjamin; he was walking the path of an ancestral legacy of light. In the Sephardi and Mizrahi tradition, the search for the lost is never just a chore; it is a sacred overture to destiny, chanted in melodies that have echoed across the Mediterranean and the Levant for generations.

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Context

To understand how the story of Saul’s search in I Samuel 9 resonates within the Sephardi and Mizrahi heritage, we must ground ourselves in a specific time, place, and community that elevated biblical narrative into living art:

• Place: Aleppo, Syria (known historically as Aram Soba), and the wider Levantine basin, including Damascus and Jerusalem. These cities served as major trading hubs and intellectual sanctuaries where Torah study, Hebrew grammar, and Middle Eastern musical traditions fused into a seamless cultural tapestry.
• Era: The late Ottoman period (16th through early 20th centuries). During this era, the Sephardic communities of the Levant, consisting of both indigenous Arabic-speaking Jews (Musta'arabim) and descendants of Spanish exiles (Sephardim), cultivated a highly sophisticated system of liturgical music (maqamat) and meticulous biblical cantillation (ta'amim).
• Community: The Ba'alei Korah (master Torah readers) and Paytanim (liturgical poets) of the Syrian-Sephardic tradition. This community did not view the biblical text as a static historical document. Instead, they treated every grammatical variation, every spelling anomaly (keri and ketiv), and every emotional shift in the text as a musical cue. For them, Saul's journey was an invitation to explore the human condition—the transition from the mundane worry of lost property to the sublime weight of spiritual leadership.

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Text Snapshot

Below are key selections from I Samuel 9, tracing Saul's journey from a dutiful son searching for lost beasts to a future king standing before the prophet Samuel.

וַיְהִי־אִ֨ישׁ מִבֶּנְיָמִ֜ין וּשְׁמ֨וֹ קִ֜ישׁ בֶּן־אֲבִיאֵ֨ל בֶּן־צְר֧וֹר בֶּן־בְּכוֹרַ֛ת בֶּן־אֲפִ֥יחַ בֶּן־אִ֖ישׁ יְמִינִ֑י גִּבּ֖וֹר חָֽיִל׃
וְלֽוֹ־הָיָ֨ה בֵ֜ן וּשְׁמ֤וֹ שָׁאוּל֙ בָּח֣וּר וָט֔וֹב וְאֵ֥ין אִ֛ישׁ מִבְּנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל ט֣וֹב מִמֶּ֑נּוּ מִשִּׁכְמ֣וֹ וָמַ֔עְלָה גָּבֹ֖הַ מִכׇּל־הָעָֽם׃
וַתֹּאבַ֙דְנָה֙ הָאֲתֹנ֔וֹת לְקִ֖ישׁ אֲבִ֣י שָׁא֑וּל וַיֹּ֨אמֶר קִ֜ישׁ אֶל־שָׁא֣וּל בְּנ֗וֹ קַח־נָ֤א אִתְּךָ֙ אֶת־אַחַ֣ד מִן־הַנְּעָרִ֔ים וְק֥וּם לֵ֖ךְ בַּקֵּ֥שׁ אֶת־הָאֲתֹנֹֽת׃

"There was a man of 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, and Kish said to his son Saul, 'Take along one of the servants and go out and look for the donkeys.'" — I Samuel 9:1-3

וַיֹּ֨אמֶר שָׁא֧וּל לְנַעֲר֛וֹ ט֥וֹב הַדָּבָ֖ר לְכָ֣ה נֵלֵ֑כָה וַיֵּֽלְכוּ֙ אֶל־הָעִ֔יר אֲשֶׁר־שָׁ֥ם אִ֖ישׁ הָאֱלֹהִֽים׃

"Saul said to his servant, 'A good idea; let us go.' And they went to the town where the agent of God lived." — I Samuel 9:10

וּשְׁמוּאֵ֖ל רָאָ֣ה אֶת־שָׁא֑וּל וַֽיהֹוָ֣ה עָנָ֔הוּ הִנֵּ֤ה הָאִישׁ֙ אֲשֶׁ֣ר אָמַ֣רְתִּי אֵלֶ֔יךָ זֶ֖ה יַעְצֹ֥ר בְּעַמִּֽי׃

"As soon as Samuel saw Saul, the Lord declared to him, 'This is the man that I told you would govern My people.'" — I Samuel 9:17

Grammatical and Textual Insights

To unpack the deeper layers of this text, we turn to the rich tradition of Sephardic and classical commentaries, which analyze every word with grammatical precision and spiritual sensitivity.

The Identity of Aviel and the Legacy of Light

The text introduces Saul’s lineage by naming his grandfather, Aviel. The great Spanish commentator Rabbi David Kimhi (Radak, 1160–1235, Provence) notes a textual discrepancy between our narrative and the genealogical records in the Book of Chronicles:

Radak on I Samuel 9:1:2: "Kish the son of Aviel. And in Chronicles it says, 'And Ner begot Kish' I Chronicles 8:33. But was not Ner the son of Aviel, and the brother of Kish and father of Abner, as it says in this book? It is possible to explain that Aviel's name was also Ner, and he had two names, just as we find many such instances in Chronicles... And I found in Leviticus Rabbah Leviticus Rabbah 9:2 that his primary name was Aviel, and they called him Ner because he would light lamps in dark alleyways."

The Malbim (Meir Leibush ben Yehiel Michel Wisser, 1809–1879), whose commentary is widely studied and respected across Sephardic yeshivot for its logical and grammatical rigor, expands beautifully on this Rabbinic tradition:

Malbim on I Samuel 9:1:1: "And it was... He mentions the causes for which the Lord chose Saul. First, on account of his lineage, that his father's name was Kish the son of Aviel... Our Sages of blessed memory explained that they used to call Aviel 'Ner' (candle/lamp) because he would light lamps for the public in dark alleyways. This is a sign of his good character traits, to bring merit to the masses. Furthermore, Kish himself was a 'mighty man of valor' (gibbor chayil), and the strength of a father breeds strength in the son."

Here, the commentaries reveal a foundational Sephardic value: leadership is not an arbitrary selection of raw power, but the organic fruit of generational kindness. Saul’s grandfather did not build monuments; he lit dark streets. The "valor" (chayil) of this family was rooted in silent, civic virtue.

The Metzudat David (Rabbi David Altschuler, 18th century, Galicia, whose commentaries became staples of Sephardic biblical study) clarifies the term ben ish yemini:

Metzudat David on I Samuel 9:1:1: "Ben ish yemini. That is to say: the son of a great man from the children of Benjamin."

Further, the Metzudat Zion defines the quality of chayil:

Metzudat Zion on I Samuel 9:1:1: "Chayil. The concept of strength and fortitude."

This strength is not merely physical muscle, but moral stamina—the capacity to endure the arduous, mundane tasks of life, such as searching for lost livestock. Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz, in his modern commentary, captures this beautifully:

Steinsaltz 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."

The Mystery of the Written Word: Keri and Ketiv

A fascinating grammatical detail occurs in the first verse regarding the spelling of Saul’s tribal origin. The text contains a Keri (how the word is read aloud) and a Ketiv (how the word is written in the scroll).

The Minchat Shai (Rabbi Yedidiah Solomon Raphael ben Abraham Norzi, 1560–1626, Mantua), whose work on the textual integrity of the Bible is the gold standard for Sephardic scribes (soferim), points out:

Minchat Shai on I Samuel 9:1:1: "Miben yemin. From Benjamin is read as one word (Mibinyamin), but written as two words (Miben yemin)."

The Radak echoes this observation:

Radak on I Samuel 9:1:1: "And there was a man from the son of Benjamin (miben yemin). Thus it is written as two words, but read as 'mibinyamin' as one word, and the meaning is the same."

Why write it as two words ("son of the right hand") but read it as one ("Benjamin")? In the Sephardic tradition of text analysis, this indicates a tension between Saul's external reality and his internal potential. "Benjamin" is the smallest of the tribes, yet "Ben Yemin" represents the "son of the right hand"—the place of strength, honor, and destiny. The text hints that while Saul appears to be just an ordinary citizen of a minor tribe, his spiritual reality is aligned with the strength of God’s right hand.

The Dynamics of Humility: Saul and the Servant

When Saul and his servant run out of food and hope, the servant suggests seeking out the "seer" (Samuel). Saul hesitated, wondering what they could offer. The servant produced a quarter-shekel of silver.

The Malbim analyzes the subtle psychological shift and the divine providence at play in this dialogue:

Malbim on I Samuel 9:10:1: "And Saul said [to his servant, 'A good idea; let us go']: Saul saw that the youth's advice was good, that he [the youth] would be the primary negotiator (the one who asks and gives). Therefore, he said, 'Come, let us go'—meaning, you will be the principal in our walking, and I will be secondary. This, too, was from the Lord, so that Saul would think to disguise himself before the seer, so as not to appear before him as an honorable man. Yet, despite this, the seer recognized that his crown would shine upon him."

Saul’s willingness to let his servant lead, to make himself "secondary" (tafel), is the ultimate proof of his humility. He does not stride into town as a nobleman; he walks behind his servant, seeking only to find his father's donkeys. Yet, as the Malbim notes, this very act of self-effacement was orchestrated by God. True leadership in the Sephardic worldview does not seek the spotlight; it is thrust upon those who are busy serving others.

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Minhag/Melody

In the Sephardic and Mizrahi world, the reading of the Prophets is not a flat recitation. It is a highly theatrical, emotionally charged musical experience governed by the complex system of Maqamat (singular: Maqam). A Maqam is more than a musical scale; it is a melodic mode that carries specific emotional associations, cultural histories, and spiritual moods.

                  [ The Spiritual Journey of Maqam ]
                  
     Sorrow & Searching                   Kingship & Stability
       (Maqam Saba)                         (Maqam Rast)
             │                                    ▲
             │                                    │
             ▼                                    │
   [ Saul seeking donkeys ] ──────────────► [ Saul anointed King ]
     (Wandering in the hills)                 (Standing before Samuel)

The Syrian-Sephardic Maqam System

The Jews of Aleppo developed a magnificent liturgical practice: they assigned a specific Maqam to each weekly Torah portion (Parashah) and its accompanying Haftarah (prophetic reading). The selection of the Maqam is never random. It is carefully chosen by the Hazzan (cantor) and the elders of the community to match the thematic and emotional landscape of the text.

If we were to chant the narrative of I Samuel 9 in the Syrian-Sephardic tradition, we would witness a magnificent musical transition:

• Maqam Saba (The Mode of Longing and Pain): The chapter begins with loss. Kish’s donkeys are gone. Saul is wandering through the dry hill country of Ephraim, Shalishah, and Shaalim, finding nothing. To capture the exhaustion, the worry of a father, and the sense of being lost, the reader would employ Maqam Saba. This mode is characterized by its minor-like, weeping microtones, evoking a sense of deep yearning and human vulnerability.
• Maqam Rast (The Mode of Leadership, Truth, and Beginnings): As Saul approaches the gate of the city and meets Samuel, the tone changes. God reveals to Samuel that this is the chosen leader. The reader's voice shifts seamlessly from the plaintive cries of Saba to the triumphant, stable, and majestic tones of Maqam Rast. Rast is the "father of all maqamat," representing authority, divine order, and the establishment of the kingdom.

This musical shift is not just aesthetic; it is a form of oral commentary. The congregation does not merely hear the words; they feel the transition from wandering to purpose, from dust to royalty.

The Baqashot: Singing in the Dark

The theme of searching in the dark of night connects directly to one of the most beloved and distinctive paraliturgical customs of the Syrian-Sephardic and Jerusalemite-Sephardic communities: the singing of Baqashot (Petitions).

Originating in the kabbalistic circles of Safed in the 16th century and reaching its artistic zenith in Aleppo, the Baqashot are a collection of sacred poems (piyutim) sung in the synagogue during the long winter nights.

• The Setting: On Shabbat morning, long before the sun rises—typically starting around 3:00 AM—the community gathers in the dimly lit sanctuary. The air is cool, scented with rosewater and Turkish coffee.
• The Performance: No musical instruments are used out of respect for Shabbat. Instead, the men and youths sit in a circle, their voices blending in complex vocal harmonies. They sing a series of piyutim arranged according to the Maqam of the week.
• The Connection to Saul: The spiritual energy of the Baqashot mirrors Saul's journey. Just as Saul set out in the dark, searching for what was lost, the singers of the Baqashot wake up in the dark, searching for the Divine Presence. They sing of exile, of the longing for redemption, and of the sudden, luminous encounters with prophecy.

One of the most famous piyutim sung during these dawn sessions is Yadid Nefesh ("Beloved of the Soul") or the poems of Rabbi Israel Najara (1555–1625, Damascus/Gaza). When the community sings:

"Draw your servant, O Beloved, to Your will... let him run like a young deer to bow before Your majesty..."

They are channeling the very energy of Saul running up the ascent of the town to meet Samuel the seer. The search for the lost donkeys becomes a metaphor for the human soul searching for its Creator.

The Art of the Ba'al Korah

In Sephardic synagogues, the Ba'al Korah (Torah reader) is a highly respected figure who must undergo years of rigorous training. Unlike other traditions where the reading can sometimes be rapid or monotonous, the Sephardic reader is expected to savor every syllable.

When reading the genealogies in I Samuel 9:1, the reader uses the ta'amim (cantillation marks) to create a dramatic lineage. Each name—Kish, Abiel, Zeror, Becorath, Aphiah—is given its full phonetic weight. The reader’s voice rises and falls, ensuring that the listener understands that these are not just dead names, but living links in a chain of light.

When the text describes Saul’s height—"from his shoulders up he was taller than any of the people" (I Samuel 9:2)—the reader might use a Zarka or Segol cantillation mark to elevate the tone, physically mimicking the height and stature of the future king through the rising pitch of the melody.

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Contrast

The beauty of the Jewish world lies in its diversity. By examining how different communities approach the same text and liturgical moments, we gain a deeper appreciation for the rich kaleidoscope of Jewish practice. Here, we respectfully contrast the Sephardi/Mizrahi approach to biblical reading and musical liturgy with the Ashkenazic tradition.

Feature	Sephardi / Mizrahi Tradition	Ashkenazic Tradition
Musical Framework	Dynamic Maqam System: Melodies change weekly based on the emotional and thematic content of the Torah/Haftarah portion.	Fixed Melodic Modes (Tup): Melodies are governed by fixed regional scales (e.g., Niggunim, Steiger) that remain constant regardless of the weekly theme.
Haftarah Chant	Chanted in major/neutral modes (like Rast or Sigah), emphasizing clarity, flow, and narrative drive.	Chanted in a highly distinct, minor-key plaintive melody that emphasizes longing, historical struggle, and drama.
Pronunciation & Phonetics	Strict preservation of guttural consonants (Ayin, Het) and distinct vocalic values, maintaining Semitic linguistic roots.	Softened or silent gutturals, with distinct regional vowel shifts (e.g., the Kamatz pronounced as 'oy' or 'aw').
Liturgical Participation	Communal Chanting: The congregation actively sings along with the reader, echoing key phrases and maintaining a continuous vocal drone.	Silent Listening: The congregation typically listens in silence to the reader, responding primarily with "Amen" at designated intervals.

Fluidity of Melody vs. Fixed Cantillation

In the Ashkenazic tradition, the Haftarah has a beautiful, deeply moving, and ancient melody. However, this melody is fixed. whether the prophet is consoling the people, rebuking them, or telling a historical story like Saul's search, the musical mode remains largely the same. The emotional variation is carried solely by the reader's vocal inflection.

In contrast, the Sephardic reader has a vast palette of maqamat at their disposal. If the weekly portion deals with joy, the Haftarah is sung in a bright, major key like Maqam Ajam (which sounds like a Western major scale). If it deals with law or boundaries, it is sung in Maqam Nahawand or Hijaz. This makes the Sephardic reading highly contextual and emotionally dynamic. The music is not just a vehicle for the words; it is an active interpreter of the text.

Phonetic Landscapes: The Guttural Legacy

The way the text is pronounced also differs significantly. When a Sephardic Jew reads I Samuel 9:1:

"Vayehi ish miben yemin ushmo Kish..."

The consonants are sharp and resonant. The Ayin in words like Ma'alah (taller) is pronounced deep in the throat, creating a distinct, earthy sound that is linguistically close to classical Hebrew and Arabic.

In the Ashkenazic tradition, the Ayin and the Aleph are generally silent, and the vowels are shaped by the linguistic history of Eastern and Central Europe. These phonetic differences are not merely matters of accent; they represent different historical journeys. The Sephardic pronunciation keeps the text firmly rooted in its original Middle Eastern geography, allowing the listener to hear the story of Saul in the same acoustic environment in which it originally occurred.

The Communal Experience: Shared Chanting

In many Ashkenazic communities, the reading of the Haftarah is a solo performance. The designated reader stands at the bimah (podium), and the congregation listens in respectful silence.

In Sephardic and Mizrahi synagogues, the atmosphere is far more participatory. When the reader chants, the congregation is not silent. They sing along with the well-known cadences of the ta'amim. If the reader makes a slight grammatical error, several members of the congregation will immediately and passionately call out the correction. This is not out of rudeness, but out of a shared sense of ownership over the text. The Torah and the Prophets belong to everyone; the reading is a collective, democratic act of creation.

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Home Practice

The rich heritage of Sephardi and Mizrahi Jewry is not confined to the synagogue. It is designed to be lived, tasted, and felt within the walls of the home. Here are two practical ways anyone can adopt the spirit of this tradition:

Bringing the Pizmonim to Your Table

You do not need to wake up at 3:00 AM for Baqashot to bring the flavor of this tradition into your home. You can introduce the singing of Pizmonim (paraliturgical songs) to your Shabbat table.

• The Practice: Instead of singing only the standard Shabbat songs, explore the classic Sephardic pizmonim. Many of these songs use Arabic, Turkish, or Spanish melodies adapted to sacred Hebrew lyrics.
• How to Start: Find a recording of a classic Syrian or Moroccan pizmon, such as Yapa L'Atzil or Ki Eshmera Shabbat. Play it during the week to learn the melody, and then sing it with your family or guests around the Shabbat table.
• The Lesson: This practice transforms the dining room into a sanctuary of song, echoing the ancient Levantine custom of using music to elevate the physical act of eating into a spiritual celebration.

       [ Creating a Sephardic "Ner" in Your Home ]
       
   ┌─────────────────────────────────────────────────┐
   │ 1. Set up a dedicated "Kindness Corner"         │
   │ 2. Keep a jar of coins for local needs          │
   │ 3. Place a candle/lamp to welcome guests        │
   │ 4. Dedicate one anonymous act of service weekly │
   └─────────────────────────────────────────────────┘

Honoring the "Ner" in Your Neighborhood

Inspired by Saul’s grandfather, Aviel (Ner), who lit lamps in dark alleys, you can create a practice of "Illuminating the Path" for others.

• The Practice: Identify a "dark alley" in your community—not necessarily a physical street, but a place of loneliness, confusion, or neglect.
• Action Steps:
  1. The Hospitality Lamp: Keep a beautiful lantern or candle near your entryway. When guests arrive, let them see the light burning, signaling that your home is a sanctuary of warmth and safety.
  2. Anonymous Civic Service: Perform one small, quiet act of service for your neighbors each week without seeking credit. Sweeping a shared hallway, bringing a neighbor's trash can back from the curb, or leaving a small treat for the mail carrier.
• The Lesson: By doing these quiet, unheralded acts of goodness, you honor the legacy of Aviel. You teach yourself and your children that the path to true greatness—to "kingship"—is paved with the quiet stones of daily kindness.

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Takeaway

The story of Saul in I Samuel 9 reminds us that we rarely know where our daily chores will lead. Saul went out to find lost donkeys and found a kingdom. But the text, illuminated by the Sephardic sages, reveals that this was no accident. Saul was the grandson of Aviel, the man who lit lamps in the dark. The crown did not find Saul because he was tall; it found him because he came from a lineage of quiet service, and because he had the humility to let his servant lead the way.

In the Sephardi and Mizrahi tradition, this truth is sung, not just spoken. Through the shifting modes of the maqamat, the early morning warmth of the Baqashot, and the meticulous preservation of every Hebrew letter, our ancestors kept this legacy alive. They taught us that when we feel lost in the dry hills of our own daily struggles, we are never truly abandoned. If we keep searching, keep singing, and keep lighting lamps for others, we will eventually find our way to the gate of the seer, where our own royal potential is waiting to be anointed.