The real truth about King David.
Illegitimate child?
Lately, quite a few people have asked me if it’s true that King David was born to Yishai from a different woman. The question comes up because of a popular new TV series called House of David, which repeatedly claims that David was an “illegitimate child.”
To understand where this misunderstanding comes from, we need to go back to the Book of Ruth, which chronicles the story of King David’s great-grandmother.
Abandoning Judah
The story begins with a wealthy and influential man named Elimelech and his wife Naomi, who was known for being a very kind person. They had two sons, Machlon and Kilyon. When a famine struck the land of Judah, Elimelech chose to leave. The Midrash says that he was afraid that all of Israel would be turning to him for help—and he would lose his fortune. Instead of stepping up, he ran away to Moav.
Not long after they settled in Moav, Elimelech died. The Midrash explains that he was punished for causing the Jewish people to lose hope—he broke their spirit. They trusted him to lead, and he abandoned them.
Meanwhile, Machlon and Kilyon married Moabite women—Orpah and Ruth, daughters of Eglon, king of Moav. (According to the Zohar, they converted, but only for the sake of marriage). Not long after, both brothers also died, leaving Naomi alone: no husband, no sons, and just two foreign daughters-in-law in a foreign land. Meanwhile, the economy back in Judah had improved, and Naomi decided to return home.
She turned to her two daughters-in-law and told them to go back to their families—there was no reason for them to come with her. The Midrash adds that Naomi was embarrassed to bring them back to Israel. Orpah agreed and returned to her home, but Ruth insisted on staying. She wanted to convert and be part of the Jewish people—even though at the time, it was widely known that the Torah prohibited Ammonites and Moabites from marrying into the Jewish nation (Devarim 23:4).
Naomi and Ruth returned to the same empty, desolate home Naomi had left ten years earlier. It was the first wheat harvest after the famine, and there was a real sense of celebration in the air. But Ruth and Naomi still had no way to support themselves. So Ruth went out to gather fallen stalks of grain in the fields—something the Torah specifically permits for the poor: “You shall not pick up the gleanings of your harvest; you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger” (Vayikra 19:10).
On the very day Ruth went out to gather, the owner named Boaz came to check on the field. Boaz was a leader of the Jewish people—it wasn’t his style to pop by the fields—but because this was the first harvest after a national famine, he wanted to see how things were going.
Boaz noticed Ruth and asked his servant, “Who is that young woman?” When he learned that she was the Moabite who had come with Naomi, from the household of Elimelech, he told her not to gather in any other field. He made sure she felt safe and welcome—all the wheat she needed would come from his field.
The Plan
That evening, when Ruth told Naomi what had happened, Naomi’s ears perked up. Boaz, she explained, was a close relative—he was Elimelech’s nephew. He was looking out for his relatives.
At the end of the harvest, they held a big celebration—it was the first successful crop in years. Naomi came up with a bold plan. It so happened that on the day they had arrived in Beit Lechem, Boaz’s wife had passed away (Bava Basra 91a.) So she told Ruth: Boaz will likely stay the night in the field, so prepare yourself—wash up, anoint yourself, dress nicely, and go to the threshing floor. “When he lies down, uncover his feet and lie down nearby. He’ll tell you what to do next.”
Ruth did exactly as Naomi suggested. In the middle of the night, Boaz awoke with a start, noticed someone at his feet, and asked who she was. Ruth replied, “I am Ruth, your servant. Spread your cloak over me, for you are a go’el—a redeemer.”
In Torah law, a go’el is a close relative whose role is to redeem the property of a deceased family member, so it doesn’t fall into foreign hands. From Ruth’s words, it seems that in biblical times, the redeemer of the land would also marry the widow—essentially preserving the name and legacy of the one who had passed away.
The next morning, Boaz went straight to the Sanhedrin—the Jewish court—to clarify whether he was even allowed to marry Ruth, since she was a Moabite.
The court carefully reviewed the matter and ruled that the Torah’s ban on Moabites marrying into the Jewish people applied only to males: “Ammonite and not Ammonitess, Moabite and not Moabitess.” Why? Because the reason for the ban was that the Moabites didn’t greet the Jews with food and water when they left Egypt—something the women weren’t expected to do. It wasn’t their role to go out and greet travelers. So the court ruled: the ban didn’t apply to Moabite women.
That very day, the halacha was established—and Boaz was permitted to marry Ruth.
What Changed?
At first glance, this part of the story seems puzzling. How could there have been any confusion about the halacha? The entire Torah was passed down through tradition—how could such a major law be forgotten?
Rabbi Reuven Margolies (in Hamikra V’Hamesorah, p. 21) explains that it’s possible the Torah’s true ruling was known to the sages of the generation, but they deliberately withheld it. Why? Because they feared that publicizing the allowance would lead to widespread intermarriage with Ammonite and Moabite women. So although the law—that female converts from Moav and Amon are allowed to marry into the Jewish people—was known by select individuals from the days of Moshe, it was kept quiet to avoid unintended consequences.
The Midrash says that the very night Boaz married Ruth was also his final night in this world. He passed away the next morning. Many at the time saw this as a sign from Heaven—some even said it was a punishment, claiming that Boaz had made a mistake by marrying her. Some hoped no child would be born from this union. But G-d had other plans. That night, Ruth conceived, and from that child came Oved, the father of Yishai, the father of King David.
Yishai’s Problem
Yishai, David’s father, was a deeply righteous man. But in his later years, after fathering six sons, he began to worry: what if the court had made a mistake? What if the halacha was actually that even a Moabite woman was forbidden to marry into the Jewish people? If so, then he himself might be considered a Moabite—and his marriage to a Jewish woman could be forbidden. Driven by this doubt, Yishai separated from his wife.
Years later, he decided to marry his Canaanite maidservant—a match that, according to halacha, would be permissible. But the maid realized she wasn’t meant to take that place. She approached Yishai’s wife and suggested a plan—just like Rachel and Leah had switched places on the wedding night without Yaakov knowing, they would do the same here. And that night, Yishai’s wife went to him without him realizing who she was—and she conceived.
Three months later, her pregnancy became obvious. Her sons were horrified—they believed their mother had committed adultery and demanded she be punished. But Yishai, despite not understanding how this could have happened, knew his wife was a righteous woman. He told his sons to leave her alone. If they were wrong, they would be casting doubt on their own lineage. They agreed to let the child live, but insisted he be cast out. That child was David.
David was seen by his own brothers as illegitimate. As he says in Tehillim, “muzar hayisi l’echay, nachri livnei imi, I was a stranger to my brothers, a foreigner to the sons of my mother” (Tehillim 69:9). They kept him at a distance, sending him off to watch the sheep—because they were ashamed of him. Even Yishai, his father, still had doubts.
Then one day, everything changed. The prophet Shmuel arrived, sent by G-d to anoint a new king from among Yishai’s sons. One by one, Shmuel looked at the older sons—but G-d rejected them all. Finally, Shmuel asked, “Are these all your children?” And in that moment, something clicked for Yishai. Suddenly he realized—David really is his son. He sent for him. And as soon as David walked in, G-d told Shmuel, “Get up and anoint him, for he is the one.”
Well, this entire background will explain the key attribute we know about King David:
The Dancing Debacle
In the haftarah of this week, (Shmuel II, chapter 6), we read about David bringing the Ark of the Covenant—containing the Tablets—into the city of David, Jerusalem. Thousands of people took part in this celebration. David led the procession himself, “dancing with all his strength before G-d… as he and all the House of Israel brought up the Ark with shouts and blasts of the shofar.”
But not everyone was impressed. David was dancing like a Jew dances on Simchas Torah—but even more so. He was completely uninhibited, joyful, raw. And to some, that didn’t look very dignified. His wife Michal, daughter of King Saul, watching from the window, was embarrassed by what she saw. When David returned home after the celebration, he was met with a surprise—just like many Jewish husbands today. He might be treated like a king in his office, but at home? That’s a whole different story.
Michal came out to meet him and said sarcastically, “How distinguished today was the king of Israel—exposing himself in front of everyone like some lowly street performer.” In other words: You embarrassed yourself in public. This is not how a king should act.
The Midrash adds even more detail to Michal’s criticism. She said, “In my father’s house, royalty was dignified and elevated above your kind of kingship. G-d forbid if anyone in my family would be seen with even a hand or foot uncovered—they were far more honorable than you.” (Radak on the verse; Midrash Shmuel 4:20). She told David: I was raised in a royal home. I saw how a king is supposed to carry himself. My father was modest and dignified—look at how you behave! (Midrash Rabbah 4:20)
But David didn’t flinch. He responded, “It was before G-d, who chose me over your father and his household to lead His people. And before G-d—I will rejoice.”
The Midrash explains that David told Michal: Your family was focused on their own image and status, but I care only about honoring G-d. I wasn’t dancing to impress people—I was dancing for G-d. He chose me and lifted me up, so of course I’ll humble myself before Him. What you see as embarrassment, I see as the highest form of honor (Radak).
The Defining Trait
This week’s haftarah, and so many other stories about King David, reveal his defining trait: humility and nullification. As Chassidus teaches, the attribute of malchus—kingship—is unique in that “it has nothing of its own.” It is completely empty of ego and full of receptivity.
The Midrash tells us that King David minted a coin that had a shephard’s walking stick and sack on one side, and a tower on the other side. Everytime King David would pick up a coin, he would be reminded of his humble beginnings.
The Jerusalem Talmud reflects this idea with a beautiful explanation of Tehillim 131. When David says, “My heart was not proud,” he’s talking about when Shmuel anointed him. “My eyes were not raised” refers to when he killed Goliath. “I didn’t walk in grand things” when bringing the Ark to Jerusalem. “Or in wonders too great for me” when he was restored to the throne. He was always “like a baby in its mother’s arms” —that’s how humble he felt through it all. (Sanhedrin 2:4).
King David saw himself like a newborn, completely dependent on G-d. He knew that everything he had—his strength, his position, his success—was a gift from above. That’s why he said, “Everything comes from You, Hashem. The greatness, the power, the glory—it’s all Yours” (Divrei Hayamim I 29). This is the true David: humble, grateful, and aware that his kingship was never about him. And with that same faith, we await the day when a new leader will rise from the line of Yishai, filled with the spirit of G-d. May it be very soon.
This post is also available in: עברית