The Story of Ruth

Ruth’s journey reminds us that nothing is random—every twist in her story was part of G-d’s greater plan.

The Escape to Moab

The story of Ruth, which we traditionally read on Shavuot, begins with Elimelech—a prominent Jewish leader of his time, and the descendant of Nachshon ben Aminadav, the hero who leapt into the Red Sea moments before it split. His wife, Naomi, was a woman of great righteousness—true to her name, which means “pleasant,” she was known for her kindness and generosity. Together, they had two sons: Machlon and Kilyon.

During that period, a famine struck the land of Judah. Instead of standing by his people in their time of need, Elimelech chose to leave. Fearing that everyone would soon be knocking at his door with charity requests, he fled with his family to the land of Moab.

Not long after they arrived, tragedy struck and Elimelech died. The Midrash explains that his death came as a punishment for abandoning the Jewish people when they needed him most. (From this, the sages teach: never separate yourself from the community—for the community will ultimately be saved.)

In Moab, Machlon and Kilyon married two Moabite princesses—Orpah and Ruth, who the Midrash identifies as daughters of King Eglon. The Zohar notes that they converted, though only for the sake of marriage. And then tragedy struck again: both sons died as well.

Now Naomi was left utterly alone—no husband, no sons, stranded in a foreign land with two foreign daughters-in-law, with whom she had little in common.

Ruth’s Conversion

After ten long years in Moab, Naomi decided it was time to return home to Judea. The famine had passed, and word reached her that G-d had once again blessed the land with sustenance. Before leaving, she turned to her daughters-in-law and said gently, “Go back to your mothers’ homes.” According to the Midrash, she was embarrassed to come back to Israel with Moabite women at her side.

Orpah listened and returned. But Ruth refused to go. She wanted to join Naomi—not just in travel, but in faith. She wanted to convert. She knew the Torah said, “A Moabite may not enter the congregation of G-d” (Deut. 23:4), and the common understanding at the time was that this applied even to women, even if they converted. Naomi surely told her that. But Ruth still chose to go.

She gave up everything—her family, her future, her royal status—to follow a path that offered no promise of marriage, no security, and no welcome. She still chose Judaism.

The Midrash describes how Naomi began telling her the details of what it meant to be Jewish, to try to dissuade her. 

“Jewish women don’t go to theaters,” she said. Ruth replied, as the verse puts it, “Where you go, I will go.”

“We don’t live in homes without mezuzahs,” Naomi added. Ruth responded, “Where you sleep, I will sleep.”

“Your people are my people”—Ruth accepted the obligations and consequences of halachah.

“Your G-d is my G-d”—she accepted every mitzvah.

The Talmud (Yevamos 47b) takes it even further:

“Where you go”—refers to not walking beyond Shabbat boundaries.

“Where you sleep”—no seclusion with men.

“Your people are my people”—a full acceptance of all 613 mitzvot.

“Your G-d is my G-d”—a rejection of idolatry and acceptance of G-d alone.

Ruth wasn’t just tagging along—she was committing completely.

Meeting Boaz

When Naomi saw how determined Ruth was, she stopped trying to convince her otherwise, and the two of them returned to Judea together. As it turned out, the very day they arrived in Beit Lechem, a prestigious funeral was taking place. Boaz—the leader of the Jewish people—had just lost his wife, and the entire town was heading to the cemetery.

As the procession passed, people noticed two poor women entering the city. One was older, the other young. They didn’t recognize the younger woman, but after a moment, someone gasped: “Is that… Naomi?!”

The Midrash explains their shock. This was a woman who used to ride in fine carriages—now she walked barefoot. Once dressed in silk—now in rags. Once glowing with good health—now pale from hunger.

They returned to Naomi’s old home, which had been abandoned for a decade. But now it was more than just empty—it was desolate. No food. No furniture. No family.

Ruth decided to go out and gather leftover stalks in the fields. The Torah commands that anything dropped during the harvest must be left for the poor and for the convert. It was the first wheat harvest since the famine, and the atmosphere in town was upbeat.

And just then, Boaz arrived at the field. As the leader of the generation, he wouldn’t normally come check on his farms himself, but after the famine, he wanted to see things with his own eyes. He greeted the harvesters, “G-d be with you,” and they answered, “May G-d bless you.”

(The Baal Shem Tov would often greet Jews with “How are you?” just to get them to say “Baruch Hashem.” He taught that when a Jew says those words, it brings immense joy to G-d. Here we see that the tradition begins with Boaz.)

Boaz noticed Ruth and asked, “Who is that young woman?” Now, why would an eighty-year-old leader be curious about a stranger in the field? The Zohar explains: he saw something in her—her modesty, the way she kept her eyes down, the kindness in her presence. He recognized that the spirit of G-d rested upon her—and that royalty would come from her.

He soon learned that Ruth was his relative! Boaz was brother’s with Elimelech, Ruth’s former father-in-law. So, when he learned who she was, he told her not to gather in any other field—she should stay right there. The Midrash says that he was very impressed by her. He told her, “You are destined for greatness. Your children will one day lead the Jewish people.”

When Ruth returned home and told Naomi what had happened, Naomi responded, “Blessed is G-d, who has not abandoned His kindness with the living or the dead.” (This is one of the clearest places in the Torah that hints to our belief in the soul’s survival after death—that G-d watches over the departed just as He watches over the living.)

Naomi’s Idea

One of the recurring themes in this story—and really, throughout the entire Tanach—is that nothing is random. Every step is guided by Divine Providence.

The Talmud tells us it was no coincidence that Boaz’s wife passed away on the very day Ruth arrived in the Land of Israel. As Rashi puts it, “This teaches that G-d prepares the cure before the wound.” In other words, G-d lays the solution in place before the problem even begins. And our job? To trust Him.

So how did this all unfold?

At the end of the harvest season, the townspeople were celebrating—relieved and grateful that the famine was finally over. Naomi turned to Ruth and said, “Boaz will probably be at the threshing floor tonight. Get ready—bathe, put on perfume, wear your best clothes, and go there. After he lies down to sleep, uncover his feet and lie there. He’ll tell you what to do.”

And that’s exactly what Ruth did. In the middle of the night, Boaz woke up suddenly, startled to find someone at his feet. “Who are you?” he asked. “I am Ruth, your maidservant,” she replied. “Spread your wings over me, for you are a redeemer.”

Now, in Torah law, a go’el—a redeemer—is a close relative who steps in to help family members in distress. He redeems their property, defends their honor, and in some cases, marries the widow of a deceased relative—similar to the mitzvah of yibbum, or levirate marriage. Ruth was coming to ask Boaz to do the same.

According to the Midrash, Boaz asked Ruth, “Are you a woman, or a spirit?” She said, “A woman.” He asked, “Why have you come?” She answered, “To fulfill the verse: ‘If your brother becomes impoverished and sells his property…’” Boaz told her, “Stay here until morning.” Ruth asked, “Are you just giving me words?” And he swore by G-d, “No—I will follow through.”

Boaz gave that oath to show how serious he was. “Stay the night,” he said, “and I promise I won’t touch you.” The Midrash says that night was one of the hardest tests of his life—on the same level as the test Yosef faced in Egypt. And Boaz passed.

The next morning, Boaz went to the city gate, where the elders and judges sat. Just then, the closer redeemer happened to pass by. His name was Tov, and he was a brother to both Boaz and Elimelech.

Boaz said, “Naomi is selling the field that belonged to our brother Elimelech. I wanted to let you know—if you want to redeem it, do so. But if not, I will, since I’m next in line.” Tov responded, “I’ll redeem it.”

But Boaz added, “Just know—if you redeem the field, you’re also taking Ruth the Moabite as your wife, to raise up the name of the deceased on his land.” At that, the redeemer backed out. He was already married and didn’t want to create conflict in his home.

So Boaz turned to the elders and formally declared that he would redeem the land and marry Ruth. The Megillah describes in detail how he made it legal and public.

The Surprising Ruling

But here’s the dramatic twist—and it’s not stated outright in the Megillah. Even after everything Ruth had done, there was still a serious halachic problem: the Torah says, “A Moabite may not enter the congregation of G-d.” So how could Boaz marry Ruth, even if she had converted?

That’s why Boaz went to the court—not just to make the marriage legal, but to clarify the halachah itself. The court reviewed the case and ruled: the ban applied only to Moabite men, not women. Why? Because the Torah gives a reason for the ban: the Moabites didn’t come out to greet the Jews with bread and water. But that’s not something expected of women. So the court ruled definitively: a Moabite woman who converts may fully join the Jewish people.

But this story raises a big question. How could this halachah have been forgotten? Isn’t Torah passed down carefully through the generations? Even years later, people were still unsure whether David—Ruth’s descendant—was halachically eligible to be king.

The Gemara tells us that when King Saul saw David succeeding, he asked, “Who is this young man?” Why suddenly ask about his lineage? Because Saul had put his royal armour on David—and they fit him perfectly, even though Saul was the tallest man in Israel. That was a sign that David was destined for kingship. So Saul asked: Who is this person really?

That’s when Doeg the Edomite raised the old question: “Before asking if he’s worthy of the crown, ask if he’s even halachically Jewish! He’s descended from Ruth the Moabite.” Avner responded with the accepted ruling: “The Torah says a Moabite man, not a Moabite woman.”

Doeg tried to challenge that ruling by comparing it to other laws, but he was silenced. Still, he pushed forward—trying to disqualify David. At that moment, a sage stood up, drew his sword, and declared, “This halachah I received from the court of Shmuel HaNavi: Moabite man, not Moabite woman. Anyone who disputes it should be prepared to face the consequences.”

So even generations later, the halachah wasn’t widely known. Why not?

Rabbi Reuven Margolies suggests that the spiritual leaders of early Israel may have intentionally kept this ruling quiet—to prevent mass intermarriage with Moabite women. Even though the halachah was known to certain scholars going back to Moshe, they chose not to publicize it too soon.

But on the day Boaz married Ruth, the truth came to light. The halachah was clarified, reaffirmed, and made public for all time: a Moabite woman who converts is fully welcome in the Jewish people.

Punishment or Kindness

The Sages teach that the very night Boaz brought Ruth into his home, he passed away. But this wasn’t a punishment—it was part of a deeper Divine plan. Boaz had no more years left in his “book of life,” but G-d delayed his passing just long enough for him to father a child with Ruth—so that David, and ultimately Moshiach, could be born from these two spiritual giants.

But at the time, not everyone saw it that way. Some said Boaz was punished, just like Elimelech and his sons. Others hoped no child would come from the union. And when a baby was born, only the local women celebrated—where were the elders who had blessed the marriage? Maybe even they were unsure. Maybe they thought Boaz had made a tragic mistake.

That’s why the Megillah ends by stating it clearly and publicly: “He is the father of Yishai, the father of David.” G-d made it known—this was no mistake. This was His plan all along.

And here’s the takeaway:

There are moments in life—whether our own or someone else’s—when things seem like a failure, a punishment, or a dead end. But later we discover they were really the beginning of something extraordinary. Boaz’s sudden death looked like a tragedy. In truth, it was the final act of a mission completed. It was G-d setting the stage for the birth of David, and the eventual arrival of Moshiach.