Judges 9

Hook

Do you remember that moment on the last night of camp, sitting in the circle, the embers of the fire dying down, and someone starts humming a niggun that feels like it’s pulling the stars a little closer to the ground? It’s a melody that doesn’t need words to tell you: we are here, we are connected, and we are accountable to one another.

There’s a song we used to sing, "The trees of the field will clap their hands," but today, in the wild, chaotic, and frankly brutal story of Judges 9, the trees aren't clapping. They’re refusing to lead. It’s a story of ambition, bad actors, and the kind of "fire" that consumes everything when we mistake power for purpose. As we navigate the weight of Tzom Tammuz—a day that marks the breaching of walls and the breakdown of community—we have to ask: who are we letting lead our hearts?

Context

• The Power Vacuum: Gideon (Jerubbaal) has died, leaving a nation without a clear center. Abimelech, his son by a concubine, seizes this moment of instability not through merit, but through blood-kinship and the manipulation of local grievances in Shechem.
• The Fable of Ambition: Jotham, the sole survivor of Abimelech’s murderous purge, climbs Mount Gerizim—a literal high ground—to deliver the oldest fable in the Bible. It’s a story about the "best" people refusing to settle for the hollow crown of leadership.
• The Metaphor of the Forest: Think of leadership like a forest canopy. The olive, the fig, and the vine are the productive, nourishing parts of the ecosystem. They provide oil, sweetness, and wine. The thornbush, however, has nothing to offer but shade that burns—a perfect metaphor for leaders who offer protection but ultimately demand that you sacrifice your growth to fuel their ego.

Text Snapshot

"The trees said to the thornbush, 'You come and reign over us.' And the thornbush said to the trees, 'If you are acting honorably in anointing me king over you, come and take shelter in my shade; but if not, may fire issue from the thornbush and consume the cedars of Lebanon!'" — Judges 9:14–15

Close Reading

Insight 1: The Trap of "Good Enough" Leadership

Malbim, in his brilliant commentary on the trees’ request, points out something deeply human: when the "best" people—the wise, the spiritual, the ones who provide the "rich oil" of wisdom—refuse to step up, the community doesn't just stop looking for leaders. Instead, they pivot to the "wealthy" and the "performative." They look for someone who can provide immediate, sugary gratification—the "sweet fruit" of the fig tree.

In our modern lives, we fall into this trap every day. We often look for leaders—in our families, our workplaces, or our politics—who can provide the "sweetness" of quick results or the comfort of group-think. We want the "rich oil" of deep change, but we are too often seduced by the "sweetness" of an easy answer. Jotham’s warning is clear: when we settle for a "thornbush" leader—someone who is all sharp edges and defensive insecurity—we aren't just getting a boss; we are inviting a fire. The thornbush needs the cedars to come under its shade because, on its own, it has no real substance. The fire it promises isn't a byproduct of its power; it is the only thing it has to give.

On this day of Tzom Tammuz, we remember the breaking of the walls. The "fire" that Jotham describes is exactly what happens when community trust is replaced by "spirit of discord" Judges 9:23. When we prioritize "flesh and blood" (our own clan or our own narrow interests) over the common good, we end up sowing our own cities with salt. True leadership, as the olive tree understood, requires us to keep "yielding our rich oil." It means staying true to our core purpose, even when the world is screaming at us to take the stage and "wave above the trees."

Insight 2: The Danger of the "Underestimated"

The climax of this story is both tragic and ironic. Abimelech, the man who thought he could control everything through violence, is ultimately undone not by an army, but by a single, unnamed woman with a millstone. He begs his armor-bearer to kill him because he cannot bear the shame of being defeated by a woman.

This is the ultimate failure of the "thornbush" ego. Abimelech spent his life obsessing over status, masculinity, and the optics of power. He was so busy looking for threats from Gaal and the men of Shechem that he completely missed the "everyday" reality of a woman on a roof doing her work.

In our homes, we often miss what’s right in front of us because we are so focused on the "big" drama. We worry about the major conflicts, the "four hiding places" of our stress, and the "columns" of our to-do lists. But the Tzom Tammuz mindset is about noticing the cracks in the wall before the wall falls. It’s about realizing that the most significant actions aren't always the ones performed by those in the "king's" seat. It is the person who quietly keeps the house running, the one who drops the "millstone" of truth into a conversation, who ultimately shifts the trajectory of the story. Don't be the thornbush looking for shade; be the one who offers the oil and the wine, and keep your eyes open for the quiet, transformative power of the people around you.

Micro-Ritual: The "Three Trees" Check-in

This Friday night, or as you close out the week for Havdalah, set aside two minutes to do a "Canopy Check" with your family or friends.

1. The Offering: Ask each person: "What 'oil' or 'sweetness' have you contributed to our home/community this week?" (e.g., "I listened to my sister," or "I helped with the dishes.")
2. The Thornbush Warning: Ask: "Where have we been tempted to act like a 'thornbush'—trying to control or demand, rather than nourish?"
3. The Niggun: Close by humming a simple, slow melody—something like the opening of Adon Olam or a favorite camp song—to transition from the "fire" of the busy week into the cooling shade of Shabbat.

Niggun Suggestion: Use the melody of "Oseh Shalom" but slow it down significantly, focusing on the spaces between the notes. It’s a reminder that we need to create space for each other, not shade that burns.

Chevruta Mini

1. Jotham flees to Beer because he knows the thornbush can only offer destruction. When you feel "fire" in a situation—anger, conflict, or defensiveness—what is your version of "fleeing to Beer"? How do you find a safe, quiet space to reset?
2. The trees asked the thornbush to be king. They were complicit in their own destruction. Can you think of a time when a group you were part of chose the "easy/sharp" path over the "productive/wise" path? What would it have looked like to say "no" to the thornbush?

Takeaway

Leadership isn't about being the tallest tree in the forest; it’s about the quality of the fruit you bear. Today, on Tzom Tammuz, stop reaching for the crown of the thornbush. Find one way to offer "oil" or "sweetness" to someone else—and remember that the most important changes often come from the quiet, unexpected places, not the ones seeking the spotlight.