Unrest or The Tenenbaum Children Express Paternal Discontent

W e pick up David’s story in 2 Samuel 11, where the now established king is soaking up the summer sun at his palatial Jerusalem pad, while Joab and the Israelite army utilize the nice weather to finish off those annoying Ammonites. No longer participating in warfare himself, David spends most of his time sipping Cristal, working on his tan and playing 20 Questions with Turk and Virgil Malloy. But just when it seems like the humble, ginger king can do no wrong, his boredom as a stay-at-home ruler has him lounging around all day spying on his neighbors like L.B. Jefferies. One fateful evening, he spots a hottie bathing in the apartment across the street. The story is often told to suggest the woman, Bathsheba, was an exhibitionist and David the lucky beneficiary, like Larry Gopnik spotting Vivienne Samsky from his roof. But the text reads that “from the roof he saw a woman bathing” (v. 2), not that he saw a woman bathing on a roof. Had it been a custom for women to bath in public in Jerusalem, guys would’ve likely collapsed every roof in the city spying on them. What David sees is something he isn’t supposed to see, probably through an open window. The truth is Bathsheba was bathing in the privacy of her home and he peered in on her harder than Bluto Blutarsky. Smoking hot Bathsheba has David foaming at the mouth worse than Ed Hocken. As Dog 7 would say, “Baby, you’re so fine I’d drink a tub of your bath water.” Compelled by her bare-ass beauty, David asks around and finds out she’s married to Uriah, one of his loyal soldiers. But Bathsheba’s bombshell body trumps her marital status. As Eddie Valiant would say, “You don’t know how hard it is to be a man looking at a woman looking the way you do.” So David uses his kingly position to initiate some questionable consent. There’s no wooing session. He doesn’t stand under her window and play “In Your Eyes” on a boombox. He’s the king, not Lloyd Dobler. It’s impossible to say exactly how Bathsheba came to David. While it could’ve been forceable, it also may have been mutual (v. 4). As rule #113 of the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition states: “Always have sex with the boss.” David is king, after all—and he can sing and play an instrument. Bathsheba may have been a David groupie who grew up with posters of him on her bedroom wall. Or maybe she has a thing for redheads. Whatever the case, their one-nighter is all it takes to get her knocked up, because the king doesn’t wear jimmies (v. 5). Upon hearing the news, David immediately goes into cover-up mode. He summonses Uriah from the battlefield under the guise of wanting an update, so he can send him home for a quickie. But Uriah foils the king’s scheme by refusing to take advantage of the comforts of home when his brothers in arms are still in the muck. When David finds out, he holds Uriah over another day. This time, he wines and dines Uriah in the hope he’ll go home and 69 his wife. But even drunk, Uriah has more self-control than his king and once again refuses to hook up with Bathsheba.

Still desperate to hide the affair, David wields his power with illicit intent, sending Uriah back to Joab with a letter more damning than the one Fernand Mondego condemned Edmond Dantès with. David’s instruction is to place Uriah on the front lines to guarantee he’s killed in battle (v. 15). Yikes. The plan works. Uriah is killed and after mourning her hubs, Bathsheba is moved into David’s place. David thinks he’s dodged a bullet because the citizens of Israel didn’t find out, but God isn’t happy about it and, in chapter 12, sends the prophet Nathan to call out the king with a “what the hell, hero!?” parable that sees David unwittingly convict himself: “[T]he man who has done this deserves to die” (v. 5), only to have Nathan inform him, “It’s you, numbnuts!” (v. 7). This is promptly followed by God’s judgment: “You have struck down Uriah … with the sword [and] have taken his wife to be your wife … Now therefore, the sword shall never depart from your house … I will even take your wives before your eyes and give them to your companion” (vv. 8-12). David’s life is spared when God transfers his death sentence to the kid produced from his hookup with Bathsheba—a brutal exchange that devastates David (and his family) but never alters his view on God. He accepts responsibility for causing the whole sordid affair. There’s psalm for that. “Psalm 51” dishes out a heavy dose of the blues. Scripture says David “comforts” Bathsheba with his bedroom eyes and she gives birth to several more kids, the last of which is Solomon (see 1 Chron. 3:5), who God publicly identifies as his favorite.

Meanwhile, the long war with Ammon finally comes to a breaking point and David uses his privilege as king to join in at the last minute to deliver the headshot and take all of the credit like Cisco. To be fair, Joab is cool with it and isn’t compelled to break out the Maalox like Melvin Smiley. The Ammonites are subdued, but David isn’t through with them by a damn sight. He gets medieval on their asses like Marsellus Wallace for their uninstigated attacks and notorious child sacrifice practice, which makes Maax and the Juns look like amateurs.

Then, chapter 13 suddenly introduces some of David’s older kids as main characters with a twisted story that recalls God’s word in 12:11. The trouble starts when his pervy son Amnon comes down with a serious case of blue balls from obsessing over his half-sister Tamar. He’s hotter for his sis than Sabastian Valmont. But besides being his half-sister, Tamar is also a fully accredited virgin who wears her purity ring with more pride than Dawn O’Keefe (v. 2). So Amnon concocts a plan that sees him faking illness better than Farris Bueller, earning a visit from his king dad and providing an opportunity to request Tamar to be his nurse. But when she arrives with a bowl of chicken noodle soup, Amnon sends everyone away and makes his move. Tamar desperately tries to talk him down since incest is a big no-no in Israel (rewind to Leviticus 18:9). But Prince Charmless is already dead-set on another big no-no: rape. And he’s no kinder in the aftermath of the assault. As soon as he’s finished, he gives her the Amityville “Get out!” treatment (v. 15).

David is pissed when he finds out what Amnon has done, but the text doesn’t mention any punishment for the royal rapist. Traumatized and humiliated, Tamar sequesters herself 24/7. Her brother Absalom reacts a bit differently when he hears about Amnon’s Emperor Commodus behavior. First, he encourages his sister not to file charges. For a moment, it sounds like he’s another douche bag bro, but it quickly becomes evident that he knows the opening narration to Law & Order: SVU by heart. As Cyrus the Virus would say, “I despise rapists. For me, you’re somewhere between a cockroach and that white stuff that accumulates at the corner of your mouth when you’re really thirsty.” He even goes on to name his daughter after his sister (14:27). Absalom quietly bides his time for two long years, leading everyone to think he doesn’t hold a grudge over the mistreatment of Tamar. So, when he throws a party and invites all of his siblings, no one expects a thing. What they don’t know is Absalom has instructed his servants to ice Amnon when he starts dunking his head in the punch bowl (v. 28). Apparently, no one notices the framed copy of “Ten Little Indians” on the wall or the ten figurines on the dinner table when they arrive—but when Amnon’s corpse hits the floor, the other siblings bum rush the exit like Justice Wargrave just entered the room (v. 29).

Once his revenge is complete, Absalom quickly leaves town on a Tron Cycle to avoid judgment from a jury of his peers. He goes to Gesher to live with Talmai, his grandfather on his mom’s side, where he remains for three years waiting for his dad to cool off. But his location is no secret, thanks to regular FaceTime chats with his mom. Eventually, David starts to miss Absalom, but can’t bring himself to issue a pardon (vv. 37-39). Joab, who has experience with revenge killings (3:27) recognizes the dilemma and devises an elaborate plan to ensure Absalom’s return. And it works. In chapter 14, Absalom is quietly escorted back to Jerusalem through the backdoor. But his Mr. Fanservice appearance is impossible to keep under wraps. When Thor returns to Asgard, everyone notices. And it doesn’t help that he makes a production out of visiting Calvin Palmer’s barbershop once a year to have four pounds(!) of his Fabio hair trimmed off (v. 26). Dude is a Locks of Love legend.

After two more years of radio silence, Absalom DMs Joab to request an audience with his king dad. But when Joab ghosts him, he gets his cousin’s attention by burning his barley field. Joab is compelled to cooperate and secures the long-awaited reunion. But even once they’re on speaking terms again, it’s clear Absalom no longer respects his dad and, with Amnon out of the picture, he’s second in line to the throne. Animosity and ambition sees him strategically siphoning power in chapter 15 by charismatically politicking the public with Mayor Joseph Fitzgerald O’Malley Fitzpatrick O’Donnell the Edge Quimby “I’d vote for you” tactics (vv. 2-6). David’s life is officially turning into an episode of Dallas, with Absalom in full J.R. mode. Absalom wins the People’s Choice Award by a landslide. He even erects a monument to himself, because he claims he has “no son,” even though he has three (red flag!) (see 18:18). With momentum and popularity on his side, he makes a play to usurp the throne. It doesn’t hurt he gains the support of David’s once trusted advisor Lord Belasco, who goes by the name Ahithophel here. As Frank Underwood would say, “Proximity to power deludes some into believing they wield it.” The overthrow is complete when he travels to Hebron to pronounce himself king (vv. 10-12). His leverage in Israel leaves David no other option than to flee for his life. Everyone loyal to the king grabs a bug out bag and exits stage right. The only people who stay behind are ten girls David puts in charge of keeping the marble polished (v. 16).

And just like that, David is back on the run. God’s word to turn his own family against him as a result of his dangerous liaison with Bathsheba has arrived (instant replay 12:11). On his way out of town, David asks his pal Hushai to stay in Jerusalem to be his Russell Stevens deep cover agent in Absalom’s organization, then, with his family and hundreds of loyal besties at his side, he makes tracks to the country, where citizens still view him as king. There’s a psalm for that. Check out “Psalm 3” and “Psalm 55.” The Levites are prepared to join him with the ark of the covenant, but David waves them off, saying, “If I find favor in the sight of [God], then He will bring me back” (v. 25). David knows the ark isn’t a lucky charm. His trusts God, not the fancy box associated with him.

But not everyone is broken up about David’s misfortune. In chapter 16, Shimei, one of Saul’s Kentucky kinsmen, confronts David’s splinter group like Briar Gates out to settle a blood feud. He pelts the king with rocks and cusses so much Scripture has to use a 10-second delay. Like Ralphie Parker’s old man, Shimei works in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay. David’s nephew Abishai (Joab’s brother) kindly offers to remove Shimei’s head, but David talks him down, allowing Shimei to follow them, relentlessly cursing and kicking up dust (vv. 5-13).

Miles away, Absalom marches into Jerusalem, where he’s met by his dad’s mole Hushai, who convincingly swears allegiance and embeds himself in the administration deeper than an Alabama tick. Turncoat evil chancellor Ahithophel advises Absalom to hook up with the ten girls (concubines) David left behind to solidify the transfer of power. Sex with ten chicks is something Absalom can get behind and sets up an exhibitionist lounge on the palace roof, where he logs more public sex than Chev Chelios (v. 22). In chapter 17, Ahithophel suggests sending the army to intercept David while he’s on the ropes. Ahithophel knows David is harder to kill than Mason Storm and wants all the advantage he can get. But after getting a second opinion from Hushai, Absalom unwittingly agrees to council that will give David more time. When his advice is rejected, Ahithophel immediately gets his last will and testament in order and hangs himself higher than Jed Cooper (v. 23). He knows that if David returns, his suicide will save his family from losing everything.

Absalom pursues his dad with Amasa (Joab’s cousin) now leading the Israelite army, but thanks to Hushai, David is prepared. He’s even confident enough to instruct his men to go easy on Absalom. Chapter 18 reveals the in-house throwdown takes place in the forest of Ephraim, which, according to the text, is no less dangerous than the Fire Swamp, complete with lightning sand, flame spurts and rodents of unusual size: “the forest devoured more people that day than the sword” (v. 8). Absalom manages to be a casualty of both. While riding his faithful steed in the forest, he gets his big, beautiful hair tangled in low branches, leaving him dangling vulnerably. He’s more caught up than Caroline Mulford, only no one offers to cut him free. And when his predicament is related to Joab, he has zero compunction about breaking David’s amnesty request for his son and stabs Absalom to death where he hangs (v. 14). David takes the news exceptionally hard. Chapter 19 sees him in full ugly crying mode. He’s more grief-stricken over his son’s death then Jeff Denlon. David is on the brink of initiating a deadly series of tests from Jigsaw when Joab steps in and gives him the Loretta Castorini “Snap out of it!” treatment (vv. 5-7).

Following Absalom’s defeat, there’s the inevitable debate among the tribes on how to handle the awkward situation of having tried to off their king. David assures everyone it’s nothing personal and as a good faith gesture promises his nephew Amasa can keep his position as Israel’s new military leader while Joab lurks ominously in the background (v. 13). David’s triumphant return is greeting by none other than Sir Swears-a-Lot Shimei, begging forgiveness with family-friendly language. David has to put a leash on Abishai again, but gives Shimei a get out of jail free card. Sheba, another one of Saul’s Benjamite brethren, is less welcoming and rallies Israel away from David in chapter 20 with some sharp words and fancy Dizzy Gillespie horn work (vv. 1, 2). David doesn’t wait for things to escalate. He dispatches Amasa to stop the anarchy play before it can gain traction. On the way, Joab joins in, tricking Amasa with a no-hard-feelings handshake, before unceremoniously gutting his cousin (vv. 8-10). The savage Klingon promotion stops the soldiers in their tracks and almost causes dissension in the ranks. At this point, Joab has more kill tally scars than Erik Killmonger. He resumes command of the army and chases Sheba to the city of Abel, where a diplomatic spokeswoman negotiates their withdrawal by killing Sheba in-house and catapulting his head over the wall (v. 22).

Back at the palace, David’s first order of business is turning the ten concubines Absalom publicly plowed into shut-ins. David regards the violated girls as if they’d slept with Bill Lumbergh. The text calls them living widows (v. 3). And you thought Memoirs of a Geisha was a drag. David is still unpacking when the Philistines come knocking in chapter 21. The text makes no effort to downplay the threat, calling them “descendants of the giant” and even reveals the six-fingered man Count Rugen to be in their ranks (vv. 18-20). David is compelled to join the Israelite army to face-off against their archnemesis once again, but he’s no longer the rangy Rambo he used to be and faints more dramatically the Grover (v. 15). David’s guard dog Abishai has to step in like AAA-rated Michael Bryce to protect him. The close call is enough to sideline David from ever joining his men in battle again.

In chapter 22, after hanging up his sword and shield and spear and slingshot and bow staff and nunchucks and brass knuckles—as Bobby Jay Bliss would say, “You go ahead. This might take a while”—the aging warrior-poet retreats to his recording studio to compose a soaring tune, mostly comprised of gratitude to God for bailing him out of countless jams. The popular tune is later remastered as “Psalm 18.” David’s ode to retirement is immediately followed by a list of his Howling Commandos in chapter 23, a group of 37 dudes with some serious badass credentials: Adino (who some scholars believe to be Joab) drops 800 bodies in battle at one time (v. 8), one-man army Elazar boots a Philistine invasion without a kicking tee (vv. 9, 10), three unnamed dudes infiltrate enemy-occupied Bethlehem just to get David the Evian water he’s craving (vv. 15, 16), Abishai collects more blood slide keepsakes than Dexter Morgan (v. 18) and Benaiah takes out two boss level Moabites, a giant Egyptian mook and wins a pit fight with a lion “on a snowy day” (vv. 20, 21). Respect!

The book of Samuel comes to a close in chapter 24 with a head-scratching incident that’s also recorded in 1 Chronicles 21—activate your split screen now! God is pissed off with Israel (again). The reason is unclear. Maybe he’s mad because they picked team Absalom? It’s hard to know for sure. What we do know is it somehow entices David to take a headcount of the kingdom. Chronicles goes so far as to point a finger at Satan, which immediately recalls Spider-Man pointing at Spider-Man. The census takes the better part of a year and a Simba walking-across-a-log timelapse to complete. The final tally is still in question, though. Compare verse 9 with 1 Chronicles 21:5, where Michael Bolton (the one who doesn’t suck) misplaces the decimal point. David hits the confessional as soon as he gets the results and God responds by sending the prophet Gad with multiple choice retribution: (a) Seven years of famine (three years according to Chronicles), (b) three months of being chased by enemies or (c) three days of God-supervised destruction. David has lived on the run enough in his life to choose door number three: “[D]o not let me fall into the hand of man” (v. 14). This makes for an interesting statement when compared to the “how can God be so cruel?” sentiment. In David’s experience, the cruelty of humans sucked more than the judgment of God. That’s saying something. So God drops a pestilence bomb, costing 70,000 people their lives. God regrets the death strike halfway through and pumps the breaks in verse 16, where a literal avenging angel is visible over the city. David and the Israelites hit the dirt like Viet Cong surrendering to Dr. Manhattan (1 Chron. 21:16). The event skids to a halt at Mount Moriah, the famous location of Abraham’s sacrificial fake out (scene select Genesis 22 to rewatch) and current location of Araunah’s farm. With instruction from the prophet Gad, David buys the land and builds an altar to make peace offerings. Chronicles reveals the area will become the designated site for the future temple. And while David is banned from working on the temple’s construction, that doesn’t stop him from clearcutting more lumber than Paul Bunyan, so his successor won’t have to go to Home Depot (see 1 Chron. 22:2-5).

The opening chapters of 1 Kings records David’s final days as an old man in desperate need of a tropical epilogue. Dressed in more layers that Randy Parker, David is still unable to keep warm. They even try putting him in the carcass of a tauntaun. Nothing works, so a Star Search call is put out and Miryea Mendez is selected to be the aging king’s official bodywarmer (vv. 1-4). As King Louis XVI would say, “It’s good to be the king!” David’s condition has him spending more time snuggling behind closed doors than overseeing the kingdom, which has his son Adonijah (Absalom’s younger brother) preemptively picking out new curtains for the throne room. With Joab’s endorsement, Adonijah goes public by throwing a kegger. But when David is pulled out of the bacta tank and informed, he immediately passes the crown to Solomon and has him paraded down Main Street in Cadillac One (v. 38). There’s a psalm for that. “Psalm 72” puts Hallmark on notice with its litany of well wishes. The news of Solomon’s coronation ends Adonijah’s party with the mother of all record needle scratches and has him biting his fingernails to the quick—but newly inaugurated Solomon is Joe Cool to his brother from another mother and allows his run at the throne to slide.

David’s reign lasts a combined 40 years, from Hebron to Jerusalem. The text doesn’t say how old he is when he dies, but some basic Count von Count addition indicates he was about 71. His story concludes in chapter 2, where he expresses his final wishes to Solomon, including to make sure kill happy Joab will get what’s coming to him: “[D]o not let his grey hair go down to [the grave] in peace” (v. 6). It’s only fitting David’s life ends with the promise of more gratuitous violence. If the book of Samuel does anything, it shines a brighter light on absolute power than the De-Pelter Turbo. Even so, David’s flawed but faithful legacy holds up to this day as one of the highest regarded scriptural patriarchs. He didn’t experience the ground-level intimacy of heavy hitters like Abraham or Moses—and he didn’t benefit from the protection of being a made man (1 Sam. 16:13). He lost his prime years living on the run, navigated more attempts at his life than Danny Greene and his interfamily drama makes the Carringtons look like the Brady Bunch. But he still went out of his way to side with God, no matter what. And it’s true, it’s hard to not admire a dude whose biggest mistake was living in an era when the Trojan gauntlet was at its peak. A box of Durex would’ve changed the course of history here. As it is, David’s story has it all: war, political intrigue, family drama, betrayal, murder, sex, lies and videotape. If any scriptural story is primed to be made into an epic film trilogy, this is it.

But David isn’t all Mr. Vengeance in the eleventh hour. He also encourages Solomon to play hide-and-seek with God, saying, “If you seek Him, He will let you find Him” (1 Chron. 28:9). That’s right. It’s another example of God’s inexplicably accessible nature. There’s no need to call in Walter Sherman. We’re the kids who suck at hide-and-seek and God is the nice guy who leaves his foot sticking out of the closet. It’s strange to think of God as a personally invested being, but it’s all over the Tanach. Even his controversial disciplinarian actions indicate a high level of dedication to the meaningless mortals roaming the small blue planet in the middle of the infinite who-knows-where. And maybe that’s the problem. God isn’t aloof. He’s more omnipresent than the TARDIS. That’s why he pushed back on building a temple (2 Sam. 7:7). His address is everything everywhere all at once. If anything, he’s too involved. God has rules and his discipline often hits harder than Saitama. That can be tough to reconcile. David knew this better than most (12:14), but it didn’t alter his perspective or affect his deathbed advice. And, if for no other reason, his hard-earned résumé makes it worth noting.