David and Solomon: A Reconstructed Golden Age

What Do We Know About the Historical Figures of David and Solomon?

Between Myth and Historiography

The historical narrative surrounding the figures of David and Solomon is based on a complex matrix of legends and popular traditions. Historiography, although relatively recent in the development of humanity, was initially expressed through various literary forms such as myth, poetry, hymns, elegies, proverbs, parables, riddles, and fables. When they began recounting the past of their civilizations, peoples often favored a legendary and captivating storytelling style over the pursuit of rigorous objectivity. Thus, historical accounts carried a strong narrative quality designed to feed the imagination of listeners or readers.

While the primary goal may have been to transmit events of public interest, such as armed conflicts or natural disasters, this concern eventually led to the emergence of more objective historiography. Nonetheless, even in historically developed societies that chose to record their past, historical accounts often remained intertwined with national traditions, transforming chronicles into genuine narratives. In this context, it falls to the historian to assess the narrator’s temporal and geographical proximity to the events recounted, the nature of the sources used (oral or written), and the overall methodological rigor. In light of these considerations, it becomes possible to examine the degree of historicity in the narratives concerning what is commonly referred to as the “united monarchy” of Israel and Judah.

An outright denial of the historical existence of David, the presumed founder of the royal dynasty of Judah, does not appear to be tenable. Two extrabiblical inscriptions attest to the existence of a royal lineage bearing his name: the problematic Mesha Stele of the king of Moab (line 31), and the Tel Dan inscription, attributed to Hazael, king of Aram, or to his son Bar-Hadad, both of which mention a kingdom referred to as the “House of David” (line 9). It is common for kingdoms to be designated by the name of the dynastic founder, as in the case of the “House of Omri,” a term the Assyrians continued to use even after Jehu overthrew that dynasty. Similarly, the kingdom of Aram Zobah was known as the “House of Rehob,” and that of Arpad as the “House of Agusi,” referencing their respective dynasties. However, we lack any reliable information concerning the historical personalities of the kings Saul, David, and Solomon, apart from an impressive but historically problematic narrative corpus, which casts doubt on the very existence of a united kingdom of Israel and Judah centered in Jerusalem. Since the publication of the works of Israel Finkelstein and Neil Silberman on this topic, no historian has effectively refuted their theses. However, the dating of several archaeological sites remains controversial, dividing scholars between proponents of the low chronology and advocates of the high chronology.

The United Monarchy: A Questionable Construction

Despite a relative consensus regarding the existence of a kingdom during the time of David and Solomon, specialists generally agree that the biblical account greatly exaggerates its geographical scope, political power, and cultural wealth. Even among scholars considered conservative, such as André Lemaire and Baruch Halpern, it is acknowledged that the so-called united monarchy, as described in biblical texts, does not correspond to historical reality—whether in terms of territorial size or supposed political or economic influence. This study aims to present new arguments challenging the existence of a “united monarchy” by re-examining the narratives found in the books of 1 Samuel (chapters 1–31), 2 Samuel (chapters 1–24), and 1 Kings (chapters 1–11), while also questioning the nature of the actual royal court that may have inspired such descriptions.

However, disagreement persists among archaeologists regarding the dating of archaeological layers from relevant sites. Do these layers belong to the Omride period (9th century BCE), or can they be attributed to the supposed reign of Solomon in the 10th century BCE? Ze’ev Herzog, Nadav Na’aman, David Ussishkin, and Finkelstein reject the idea of an independent political and economic entity under David and Solomon. It is worth noting that Finkelstein’s theories are grounded both in textual analysis and archaeological data. On the other hand, Amnon Ben-Tor, Amihai Mazar, Eilat Mazar, and Yossef Garfinkel argue that the fortifications at Megiddo, Hazor, Tel Gezer, Tel Qeiyafa, and the City of David all date to the 10th century BCE, supporting their hypothesis of a united monarchy during this period. Proponents of the high chronology accuse their counterparts of methodological minimalism, ideological deconstruction, and submission to the dominant critical spirit prevalent among the “New Historians.” In contrast, archaeologists affiliated with the “Tel Aviv school” label their opponents as “conservatives” or “fundamentalists.”

The interpretation of biblical texts concerning the “united monarchy” may serve as a privileged avenue for historical understanding—more so than the dating of archaeological strata. A synchronic reading of the relevant chapters allows, first and foremost, for an assessment of their literary genre. Their style bears little resemblance to ancient myths filled with deities, miracles, and wonders, such as those in Genesis (the creation of the world and humanity, the Garden of Eden, the Flood, the Tower of Babel) or in the Exodus narrative recounting the departure from Egypt. Nor can these texts be likened to popular legends recounting the exploits of judge-deliverers, to family sagas about the Patriarchs, or to the heroic tales of warfare. Nor do they share the characteristics of hagiographic accounts centered on Elijah and Elisha.

Narrative Realism: Signs of a Crafted Fiction

The descriptions of the reigns of David and Solomon, of the courtiers in their entourage, and of the palace intrigues stand out for their profusion of detail, imparting to the whole a tone akin to that of a historical novel. The authors clearly made a conscious effort to include a large number of characters to enhance the realism of the narrative. The density of proper names suggests that the writer had a direct familiarity with the individuals mentioned and presents himself as an eyewitness to the events described. The authors also took care to list a wide array of place names across Judah, Philistia, and Israel.

For illustrative purposes, I have counted a total of 221 different personal names and 183 toponyms in these accounts. No other category of biblical text features such a high level of detail in these two areas. Paradoxically, although 57 chapters of the books of Samuel and Kings are devoted to the three kings of the 10th century BCE, only 37 chapters cover all the kings of Israel and Judah combined. Moreover, while 40 monarchs ruled over the two kingdoms between 931 and 587 BCE, only three kings are discussed for the 10th century. A quantitative analysis reveals that the texts on Saul, David, and Solomon contain 29,927 words and 9,381 lines, while those devoted to kings as prominent as Omri and Ahab—a century later, including the accounts of Elijah and Elisha—total only 3,875 words and 320 lines.

All that we know about Omri, the founder of a renowned Israelite dynasty and mentioned in Assyrian inscriptions, is condensed in the Book of Kings into just six sentences and 238 words. Regarding Jeroboam II (793–753 BCE), one of Israel’s greatest kings who ruled for forty years, only seven sentences are devoted to him. Thus, it becomes evident that the older the kings, the richer the accounts in detail; and the more recent they are, the more sparse the information becomes—even when their historical importance is considerable. This disproportion naturally raises a number of questions in need of explanation.

As previously mentioned, the accounts of Saul, David, and Solomon could not have been transmitted orally from generation to generation to the biblical authors. In such transmissions, details tend to fade, and facts become diluted. Moreover, court narratives transmitted through popular traditions form a well-known literary genre in the Bible, particularly found in the tales of the non-writing prophets, predating those of the writing prophets such as Amos, Hosea, Micah of Moresheth, or Isaiah son of Amoz.

The popular stories of Elijah and Elisha, dating from the late 9th century BCE, are marked by a scarcity of personal and place names, a lack of precision and detail—compensated, however, by an abundance of miracles. Given the significant time gap between the events described and their literary recording, the authors were unaware even of the names of the kings of Israel or Aram—central figures in these stories. By contrast, the narratives concerning the “united monarchy” belong to an entirely different category: they abound in detail to such an extent that the reader is led to believe they were composed by a scribe who was not only an eyewitness to the events but also actively involved, and therefore able to reproduce even the smallest elements

The Emergence of Writing in Judah: Epigraphic Evidence

Let us imagine that scribes operating in the courts of these three kings had accurately recorded events as well as the inner thoughts of their protagonists. Such a hypothesis leads to an important question: was writing sufficiently widespread in Judah during the 10th century BCE to allow for the production of historiographical works of such scope and complexity? Are there comparable examples in the literature of dominant regional empires? A diachronic examination of epigraphic discoveries reveals a very different reality. Until the 9th century, no literary texts have been unearthed in Canaan—not even detailed administrative inscriptions. Discoveries from that period are typically limited to name mentions or a few graphic symbols inscribed on jars.

They include a few brief inscriptions, such as those from Serabit el-Khadim in the Sinai, from Beit Shemesh, Izbet Sartah, Tell es-Safi (Gath), two inscriptions from Tel Qeiyafa, and an alphabetic list from Tel Zayit. The Gezer Calendar, found in Philistia and composed in poetic form, constitutes another epigraphic testimony from that era. These fragmentary documents stand in stark contrast to the richly detailed literature associated with the “united monarchy.”

More elaborate inscriptions—particularly copies of letters written on ostraca—have only been uncovered from the third quarter of the 7th century BCE, nearly three hundred years after Solomon’s purported reign. These include, among others, a letter from the fortress of Hoshavyahu and another written by Hoshayahu of Lachish. Notably, these are not royal administrative correspondences, but rather personal grievances—such as a complaint from an agricultural worker against his employer, who had confiscated his tunic as collateral for allegedly failing to meet work obligations. The complainant claimed unjust treatment and formally requested the return of his garment. Dated to the last quarter of the 7th century, this letter primarily demonstrates a worker’s desire to formalize his grievance in writing, rather than rely on oral protest. It is highly probable that the worker did not write the letter himself but enlisted someone else to commit his complaint to writing.

Another inscription (Lachish Ostracon 3) takes the form of a letter draft, written on a damaged papyrus, in which Hoshayahu lashes out at his commander, Yaush, accusing him of being unable to read the letters he receives. This suggests not only that commanders could write, but that soldiers possessed at least some reading skills. This reality is further confirmed in other Lachish letters (Ostraca 2, 4, 5), which consist primarily of messages sent and received. By the end of the kingdom of Judah, writing and letter use had extended to the lower strata of society. Written correspondence had reached a point where it connected officers with their soldiers in neighboring camps, thereby establishing genuine epistolary exchanges. The subject matter and length of these letters are of major importance for understanding the evolution of writing.

The primary significance of these letters lies not only in their social diffusion but in the fact that they demonstrate the spread of writing beyond the confines of the royal palace and state administration. In this context, the literary emergence of the first writing prophets—who addressed a public capable of reading their thoughts on scrolls—becomes intelligible.

When History Becomes Literature

Certainly, a sophisticated literary culture already existed in Ugarit by the 14th century BCE. However, these were not historiographical works, but rather mythic or poetic narratives. Furthermore, it is crucial to avoid any comparison between the grand northern Mesopotamian kingdoms—prosperous and relatively advanced culturally—and the modest kingdom of Judah under King Ahaz (715–736 BCE), which only began to develop significantly with the wave of economic globalization initiated by the Assyrian Tiglath-Pileser III (745–727 BCE).

The cultural situation in the 10th century BCE was far from attaining that level of complexity. The correspondence between David and Joab belongs much more to the 7th-century context than to that of the 10th century: “David wrote a letter to Joab and sent it by the hand of Uriah. He wrote in the letter: ‘Place Uriah at the front line of the fiercest battle, then pull back from him so that he may be struck down and die’” (2 Samuel 11:14–15). The idea that the powerful narratives found in the books of Samuel and Kings could have been composed in the 10th century seems highly implausible and contradicts the socio-cultural realities of the time.

There is a significant gap between the quality, quantity, and nature of these narratives and the complete absence of detailed literary or administrative documents from the regions of Judah and Israel that could attest to the existence of developed kingdoms. Even if one were to assume that the scribes of David and Solomon’s court possessed the necessary knowledge to produce such a large-scale historiographical work, it remains unclear how this expertise and skill could have vanished under their successors.

How can we explain that, during the reigns of their successors, scribes were unable to transmit concrete information about Jeroboam (931–910 BCE) and Rehoboam (933–915 BCE), apart from a few fragments of oral tradition often written long after the events in question? Why did the scribes of the time not leave us detailed accounts of the military campaigns of Omri and Ahab? Even the famous Battle of Qarqar (853 BCE)—in which a coalition of twelve kingdoms led by Adad-Idri of Damascus and Ahab of Israel confronted Shalmaneser III of Assyria—is entirely absent from the biblical narrative in the Book of Kings. And yet, Ahab played a major military role, committing two thousand chariots and ten thousand foot soldiers to the battle.

We also have no indication of any dramatic event in the region that might have caused the disappearance of written culture in the 9th century compared to the previous one. Even during the reign of Jeroboam II, son of Joash (793–753 BCE), at the end of the kingdom of Israel, the scribes had not yet developed the necessary abilities to write a comprehensive historiographical narrative. Even for later kings of the 8th and 7th centuries, such as Hezekiah (715–686 BCE) and Josiah (641–609 BCE), who were highly valued by the authors of the Book of Kings, no accounts comparable to those concerning David and Solomon have come down to us.

A Symbolic Reign Duration and the Absence of Contemporary Records

Furthermore, the fact that the reigns of David and Solomon are each fixed at forty years suggests the use of a typological number, indicating that the authors were aware of their ignorance regarding the actual length of these reigns. This situation contradicts the recurring formulas in the Book of Kings, which provide precise reign durations for each king of Israel and Judah—from Jeroboam and Rehoboam to the Babylonian conquest of Jerusalem. These formulas, along with reign assessments, are entirely absent from the narratives concerning the kings of the alleged “united monarchy.” It is also worth noting that the formula, “Are not the rest of the acts of [such king] written in the Book of the Chronicles of the Kings of Israel/Judah”—which directs the reader to a complementary source about the kings—is completely missing when it comes to Saul, David, and Solomon.

We may thus conclude that if the events related to the first kings of the Davidic dynasty were neither recorded during their lifetimes nor transmitted to later authors through oral tradition, they must have been written several centuries later. In such a case, only an imprecise collective memory could have survived regarding such distant events. The presence of so many details in the narration of these events—despite being written by authors far removed from the reported facts—can be disconcerting to the modern reader and raise doubts about their veracity. Where could these authors have obtained such precise information about such remote periods? How could they have known the thoughts and inner reflections of the kings?

One is led to conclude that these narratives were born from the imagination of later writers. This does not mean, however, that these authors did not integrate traces of ancient traditions into their works in order to lend them an appearance of authenticity and reliability. In doing so, they incorporated heroic oral tales concerning legendary figures—such as the combat between the Philistine Goliath and Elhanan ben Yaare from Bethlehem: “There was another battle with the Philistines at Gob, and Elhanan son of Jaare-Oregim, from Bethlehem, killed Goliath the Gittite, whose spear shaft was like a weaver’s beam” (2 Samuel 21:19).

The Ideology of the United Monarchy: A Literary Construction

However, these narratives should not be read as mere entertainment. They do not represent art for art’s sake, but rather art in the service of a political ideology. These texts convey a political agenda that gradually emerged after the Assyrian occupation of the kingdom of Israel, between 732 and 722 BCE. Their main objective was to offer the inhabitants of Judah—already during the reign of Manasseh—a glorified version of their kingdom’s past, inspired by the former greatness of their now-defeated neighbor, Israel. According to this vision, in a distant and largely forgotten past, great kings had ruled from Jerusalem over the territories of both kingdoms—and even beyond, into Aram, Ammon, Moab, and Edom. From this perspective, the two political entities had once formed a single, powerful, and glorious kingdom, whose division was attributed solely to sins committed against Yahweh.

Thus, after Hezekiah’s failed revolt against Assyria and during the reign of Manasseh, kings of the Davidic line were encouraged to look to this idealized past and to regard themselves as legitimate heirs of the prestigious kingdom of Israel, which had now been reduced to an Assyrian province. It is in this context that modern historiography coined the term “united monarchy”—a label never actually used in the biblical texts themselves. It appears that human nature has a need to construct a fictional reality capable of captivating the collective imagination across generations.

To portray the figures of Saul, David, and Solomon with such precision, the authors needed an in-depth understanding of court life, its customs, and its intrigues—elements they mobilized as reference materials in crafting their narratives. According to Finkelstein, the royal court that served as a model for these texts was likely that of King Josiah at the end of the 7th century BCE. While this hypothesis may not be entirely without merit, I am more inclined to believe that the origins of these narratives date further back, to the reign of Manasseh.

During Manasseh’s rule, a collection of texts may have been assembled on parchment, likely including proverbs, poems, psalms, legends, myths, and popular tales. Although the period stretching from Manasseh to Josiah seems conducive to the composition of the stories about Saul, David, and Solomon, the question remains as to which royal court served as the true model for the portrayal of political intrigues. Finkelstein proposes the courts of Omri (885–874 BCE) and Ahab (874–853 BCE), given the strength of the Omride dynasty, as sources of inspiration for the Davidic-Solomonic cycle. However, the chronological gap of nearly two centuries between the Omride dynasty and the presumed composition of these texts invites caution.

In my view, the court that most decisively influenced the genesis of these narratives was likely that of Manasseh (697–643 BCE). This court, of Israelite origin and established in Jerusalem, preceded the reforms attributed to the scribe Shaphan, as described in the book of Deuteronomy. It is therefore unsurprising that, among the twenty chapters devoted to David the Judean in the books of Samuel and Kings, only six present him in a more favorable light than Saul the Israelite (cf. 1 Samuel 2:1). In the remaining chapters, we find a subtle yet sharp critique of David’s character. It seems unlikely that a scribe working under a king from the Davidic dynasty would have dared to formulate such severe judgments against the dynasty’s founding ancestor.

Narrative Realism: Signs of a Crafted Fiction

The dating of these texts depends not only on the ability to produce historiographical discourse, but above all on the political motivations that led to the construction of the idea of a united kingdom encompassing Israel and Judah under the sovereignty of Judean kings ruling from Jerusalem. An examination of the popular traditions and legends that emerged during the monarchic period in both kingdoms reveals that Judah, being the weaker entity, long evolved under the political and cultural hegemony of Israel. The Assyrian conquest of Samaria, capital of the kingdom of Israel, in 722 BCE led to significant population displacement. However, Israel’s cultural and social superiority endured, as the majority of its population remained in place, integrated into the globalized economic system of the Assyrian Empire. Furthermore, the new populations resettled in the region quickly adopted the local pantheon, centered on Yahweh-El.

King Sargon of Assyria described the reconstruction of Samaria after its conquest as follows:
“I took Samaria, and I carried off as booty 27,290 people who lived there. I took 200 of its chariots for my own use and resettled the remainder in Assyria. I rebuilt the city of Samaria and made it greater than before. I settled people I had captured there and taught them the customs of the land. I appointed eunuchs over them and imposed tribute upon them as I did with the Assyrians.”

During the reign of Manasseh, many Israelites sought refuge in Jerusalem, triggering a significant westward expansion of the city. This mass immigration led to a fourfold increase in the city’s surface area, while its population increased tenfold—from about 1,500 inhabitants in the 10th century BCE (occupying 5 to 6 acres), to nearly 20,000 people over 75 acres by the late 8th century BCE. As a result, Israelites came to constitute more than half of Jerusalem’s population. According to Finkelstein’s estimates, in the mid-8th century, the population of the kingdom of Israel was around 350,000 people, roughly three times that of Judah. The demographic growth in Jerusalem and Judah as a whole can be explained primarily by large-scale Israelite migration from Samaria to the north of Jerusalem. As a result, Judah’s population became predominantly Israelite, which had a considerable impact on its cultural structures, traditions, and literary production.

Among the Israelite scholars who arrived in Jerusalem were also descendants of the Shiloh priesthood, often at odds with the religious traditions of the sanctuary at Bethel. The encounter between Israelite and Judean scribes in the Judean capital gave rise to a new political ideology: the pan-Israelite movement. This movement was founded on the ambition of the small, weakened kingdom of Judah—especially after Hezekiah’s failed rebellion and significant territorial losses—to claim a share of the cultural and political prestige formerly held by Israel.

A Great Kingdom Without a Name

This kingdom, which long dominated Judah before losing its autonomy and being fragmented into Assyrian provinces, still retained a strong appeal to foreign powers. Thus, the sanctuary of Yahweh in Jerusalem could claim to rival, in religious terms, those of Bethel and Shiloh, and politically, it could stand alongside the great Israelite cities of Samaria, Shechem, and Jezreel. In order to legitimize this ambition and the territorial claims that accompanied it, it became necessary to forge narratives presented as ancient, establishing that, in a distant past, Israel and Judah formed a single kingdom ruled by kings from Jerusalem. The objective was, therefore, to symbolically restore the past prestige.

Later, the reformist writers affiliated with the scribe Shaphan’s movement did not hesitate to attribute cultic faults to Solomon, which, according to them, caused the disintegration of the unified kingdom into two rival entities, though sharing the same deity: Yahweh-El. It is not implausible that the prophecies of Isaiah, son of Amoz, refer to the period when harmony between Judah and Israel was realized, not under the unstable reign of Hezekiah, but rather under that of Manasseh, who enjoyed the support of the empire. In my opinion, these prophecies were written after the conquest of Israel in 722 BCE and the exile of the Judeans in 701 BCE by the Assyrians. After these traumatic events, Isaiah compares the return of the exiles from Assyria to the Israelites’ exodus from Egypt: “And there shall be a highway for the remnant of His people who remain, from Assyria, as there was for Israel when they came up from the land of Egypt” (Isaiah 11:16).

The prophet explicitly mentions all the nations from which the exiles will return. Indeed, this represents a world map known in his time, as if to signify that the exiles would come from all the nations where they had been scattered, whether voluntarily or not: “And it shall come to pass in that day that the Lord will set His hand again the second time to recover the remnant of His people, which shall be left from Assyria, from Egypt, from Pathros, from Cush, from Elam, from Shinar, from Hamath, and from the islands of the sea” (Isaiah 11:11). According to the prophet, when the “exiles of Israel and the scattered ones of Judah” return from exile, harmony will prevail between these two populations, and there will be no more rivalry between them, unlike the time of Ahaz: “He will raise a banner for the nations and will assemble the exiles of Israel; He will gather the scattered people of Judah from the four corners of the earth. Ephraim will not be jealous of Judah, and Judah will not harass Ephraim” (Isaiah 11:12-13). The “adversaries of Judah” likely refer to the attack by King Pekah of Israel, son of Remaliahu, and Rezin, King of Aram, against Judah and their plot to crown Tab El as king in Jerusalem in place of Ahaz, who refused to join the rebellion against Assyria (Isaiah 7:6).

Despite the efforts of the authors to create the fiction of a once unified kingdom that was later split, the texts do not dare to assign a name to this fictitious kingdom. In the absence of this name, they use the terms Israel and Judah to refer to the two kingdoms. When David chooses his son Solomon as king after him, he specifies that Solomon will reign over both kingdoms, which contradicts the idea of a single kingdom before the division after Solomon’s reign: “He shall reign over Israel and over Judah” (1 Kings 1:30). Uriah the Hittite also distinguishes between the armies of the two distinct kingdoms: “Israel and Judah dwell in tents” (2 Samuel 11:11). Later, Solomon admits that it is not a single kingdom, but two: “Abner the son of Ner, the commander of the army of Israel, and Amasa the son of Jether, the commander of the army of Judah” (1 Kings 2:32).

After listing Solomon’s ministers, the text summarizes: “Judah and Israel were as numerous as the sand by the sea” (1 Kings 4:20). Saul commands his soldiers before battle to count the men of each camp, thus distinguishing between Israelites and Judeans according to their origin: “The children of Israel were three hundred thousand, and the men of Judah thirty thousand” (1 Samuel 11:8). During the war against Amalek, the author separates the people (Israel?) from the man of Judah: “Saul gathered the people, and numbered them, two hundred thousand foot soldiers, and ten thousand men of Judah” (1 Samuel 15:4), and later: “The men of Israel and Judah arose, gave a great shout, and pursued the Philistines” (1 Samuel 17:52); “All Israel and Judah loved David” (1 Samuel 18:16).

The authors of these texts were fully aware that the name “Israel” did not include the territories of the Kingdom of Judah: “[Ish-Bosheth, son of Saul] reigned over Gilead, the Geshurites, Jezreel, Ephraim, Benjamin, and all of Israel” (2 Samuel 2:9). The author defined the boundaries of the unified kingdom as extending between Dan and Beer-Sheba. He was not unaware that it was not a single kingdom but two distinct populations: “Judah and Israel lived in safety, each under their vine and under their fig tree, from Dan to Beer-Sheba” (1 Kings 5:5). The question then arises: if, in the 10th century, there existed a kingdom prior to the two kingdoms of Israel and Judah, why is there no mention of its name in any text? If a hypothetical kingdom ruled by Saul, David, and Solomon existed, why do the texts not refer to a single name but instead mention two names for two distinct states? The name “Israel,” as it appears in the Merneptah Stele, likely precedes that of Judah. Any attempt to insist on the existence of an imaginary kingdom, even one less glorious than described, reveals the influence of captivating narratives that obscure our vision.

We have no extrabiblical sources to confirm the life or actions of a king named David; only elements concerning the name of his kingdom have been transmitted by the founder of the dynasty. Even the accounts relating to the unified kingdom do not mention him as a historical figure. However, the Tel Dan inscription explicitly refers to a dynasty as the “House of David.” In my view, this mention is sufficient to avoid denying the very existence of David as a likely founder of a dynasty, although we know nothing about his reign.

This contrasts with the ambiguous figure of Solomon, who is presented in the Book of Kings as an ideal king—wise, peaceful, a fair judge, and admired even by foreign kings. His lavish life in the palace recalls tales from One Thousand and One Nights, which casts doubt on the authenticity of his very existence. The excessive praise elevated Solomon to the status of the richest and wisest sovereign on earth: “King Solomon surpassed all the kings of the earth in wealth and wisdom. And all the earth sought the presence of Solomon to hear his wisdom” (1 Kings 10:23). Solomon’s very name establishes a link with Shelem, the city where some historians continue to attribute the construction of the “first temple.”

However, it turns out that it was not Solomon, but David, the founder of the dynasty, who built the temple. The accounts of David do not conceal the existence of the Temple of Yahweh during his lifetime. After the death of his son from an adulterous relationship with the wife of Uriah, David bowed in the “house of Yahweh”: “David arose from the earth, washed, anointed himself, and changed his clothes; then he went to the house of Yahweh and worshiped” (2 Samuel 12:20). Solomon’s personality and reign are more in line with the image of an ideal emperor, modeled on Cyrus the Achaemenid, than with that of a Judean king of the 10th century BCE. Solomon’s complex image evolves through the descriptions provided by different authors and editors, each adding new aspects to his idealized character. Initially presented as a usurper of the kingship, after dethroning the elder Adonijah, he later becomes the ruler of an empire stretching from the city of Lebo in Hamath, in the Lebanon Valley, to the Nile in Egypt (1 Kings 8:65).

After the completion of the temple dedicated to Yahweh, Solomon raised his hands toward the heavens, blessed the congregation of Israel, and expressed a prayer for the Jews scattered far from their land, who direct their prayers toward Jerusalem and the temple he built. However, he emphasized that Yahweh, as a celestial entity, cannot be confined to a material dwelling. The reference to a prayer in the absence of a temple and the notion of the dispersed Jews suggest a period of exile, thus reinforcing the hypothesis of a post-Persian composition. The prayer, formulated as a liturgical plea, seems inconceivable before the Persian period, as evidenced by the passage: “When your people Israel are defeated by the enemy because they have sinned against you, if they turn back to you and confess your name, and pray and plead with you in this house, then hear them from heaven, forgive the sin of your people Israel, and bring them back to the land you gave to their ancestors… And when you hear from heaven, forgive the sin of your servants, your people Israel, when you teach them the good way in which they should walk” (1 Kings 8:33-36).

Regarding Saul, who ruled over Benjamin, Ephraim, and Transjordan, the negative portrayals of his image by Judean writers strengthen the hypothesis of his historical existence and the extent of his kingdom. According to Finkelstein, the campaign of Sheshonq (Shishak), the Egyptian king, which, according to the Bible, took place in 926 BCE, actually occurred during the reign of Eshbaal (mockingly called Ish-Boshet), Saul’s son. The Book of Samuel describes the territories he controlled: “Abner, son of Ner, the commander of the army, took Ish-Boshet, son of Saul, and brought him over from Mahanaim. And he reigned over Gilead, the Geshurites, Jezreel, Ephraim, Benjamin, and all of Israel. Ish-Boshet, son of Saul, was forty years old when he became king over Israel, and he reigned two years” (2 Samuel 2:8-10).

Eshbaal’s kingdom thus spanned two discontinuous territories: Ramat Givon and Beit-El north of Jerusalem, which also included Ramah, Mitspah, Giv’ah, and Mikhmas, and the region of Yabok to the east of the Jordan River, encompassing Adamah, Succoth, Peniel, and Mahanaim. The biblical narrative also connects Givon to Jabesh-Gilead and Mahanaim in these two distant regions (1 Samuel 11; 2 Samuel 2:4-7; 2:12). It is possible that Saul sought to unite these two regions of his kingdom and take control of the resource-rich Jezreel Valley, which included Megiddo and Beit Shean. This kingdom would likely have posed a threat to Egyptian dominance, which explains the campaign of Sheshonq in the region of Givon (Geva) rather than Jerusalem, which was not strategically critical.

However, the presence of the Philistines in these regions, according to the biblical account, particularly during the Battle of Gilboa (1 Samuel 18:4; 31:1-8; 2 Samuel 1:6-21; 21:12), raises questions, as it is far from the Philistine cities on the coast. It is now evident that the Philistines only arrived on the southern coast of Canaan after the reign of Ramses III (1154-1186 BCE) and came not only from the Aegean Sea but also from Cilicia and Cyprus. Their presence was also significant in northern Syria and southern Turkey, explaining their domination beyond the southern coastal plain, in the regions of Galilee and Golan. If Sheshonq’s campaign was not directed against Jerusalem but against Saul’s kingdom, this could indicate that the attack on the latter facilitated the establishment of Jeroboam’s kingdom in the regions of Shechem and Tirzah. More specifically, the period between the kingdoms of Saul and Eshbaal and the struggles for power between Zimri, Tibni, and Omri in the early 9th century can be considered part of the cycle of narratives relating to the unified kingdom. In other words, the documented history of Israel begins only with the Omride dynasty.

It is at this point that we enter a relatively reliable historical period. This does not mean that kings such as Jeroboam, son of Nebat, Nadab, Baasha, and Elah in Israel, or Rehoboam, Abijah, and Asa in Judah did not exist, but we have no concrete information about them; the same holds for the entire 10th century in both kingdoms. It can be argued that after establishing that the narratives concerning David and Solomon are not historical facts, our task is now to examine what these romanticized biblical accounts can tell us about Judean society at the time of their composition.

The Israelite Heritage Rewritten by Judah

Despite efforts to construct a shared Judean-Israelite past, numerous biblical narratives continue to reflect veiled hostilities, unfavorable or partially hostile attitudes toward one of the two kingdoms. One of the most striking stories is that of “Tamar, the wife of Er and Judah” (Genesis 38). It was written by Judeans against the eponymous ancestor of the kingdom, Judah, and against the leader of the dynasty, King David. According to this narrative, the leader of Judah’s dynasty is the product of illicit relations between Judah, the father of the nation, and a depraved Canaanite woman, referred to, in respectful language, as a “Qedeshah” (“prostitute”). From this adulterous union, David was born. In the story of David and Bathsheba (2 Samuel 11), a masterpiece of biblical narrative art, a Judean writer, whose intent was to disparage King David, accuses him of adultery, the deaths of dozens of soldiers, and the murder of Uriah, Bathsheba’s wronged husband. It goes without saying that such a narrative could not have been written either during David’s lifetime or by a Judean.

The Judeans, for their part, made considerable efforts to attack Israelite heroes, including Saul, in the account of “The Concubine of Gibeah” (Judges 19-21). They repeatedly attempted to discredit the prestigious sanctuaries of Israel and the nature of the worship practiced there. Bethel and Dan were blatantly or subtly denigrated in the account of “The Man of God from Bethel” (1 Kings 13) and in the episode of the conquest of the city of Laish (Dan) (Judges 17-18). Two more subtle attacks also targeted Bethel, one in the episode of the illegitimate altar at Bokhim (Judges 2:4-5) and the other in the narrative of “The Statue of Micah” (Judges 17-18). The ancient capital of the kingdom of Israel, Shechem, and its heterogeneous population were ridiculed by the Judeans in the story of the rape of Dinah (Genesis 34).

In summary, driven by Manasseh’s policy and in line with the ideology that made Judah the legitimate heir of Israel, the biblical writers crafted a sophisticated propaganda work, designed as a pan-Israelite ideology that glorified the existence of a bygone golden age under the reign of Judean monarchs. This narrative functions as a form of symbolic revenge, with Judah appropriating the cultural and spiritual heritage of a once-dominant Israel. This story, halfway between a novel and a historical chronicle, conveys a political and ideological message that will evolve over time, notably in the books of Ruth and Esther, as well as in the narrative of Joseph the Israelite who became the viceroy of Egypt.

The propaganda narratives and pan-Israelite ideology can be likened to historical novels, some of which are apologetic and depict a glorious national past. Over time, the kingdom of Judah had to rewrite the mythical history of the Judean kingdom, reorganize it, and integrate it into the national Israelite narrative. Thus emerged the stories of the Patriarchs, which transformed Jacob the Israelite into the grandson of Abraham the Judean. Likewise, the figure of an elder brother, Aaron, the Judean priest of Jerusalem, was imposed on his younger brother Moses, the leader of the Israelites. The integration of Israelite intellectuals did not proceed without friction with the Judean scribes. This rivalry is primarily manifested in the books of Exodus and Genesis, through legends and parallel narratives that subtly polemicize with one another while ignoring the anomalies they generate. The Judean repulsion toward Israel is evident in the rivalry between Saul and David.

A critical reading of the biblical texts, attentive to their production context, language, style, and ideological stakes, enables a deeper understanding of their profound meaning. Far from discrediting these texts, this approach reveals their richness, complexity, and value as literary and political documents. It invites one to distinguish between actual history and the narrative constructions that reinterpret it. In this sense, the study of the figures of Saul, David, and Solomon offers privileged access to the imagination of Judah at the end of the first millennium BCE.