Haftarat Machar Chodesh: The Waxing and Waning of God’s Presence

This week, as Rosh Chodesh falls on a Sunday, we will read the haftara of machar chodesh, which opens with the words: “Tomorrow is the new month” (I Samuel 20:18). At first glance, the reference to the new moon seems incidental, a plot device that frames Yonatan’s confrontation with Shaul over his friend David. Yet the haftarah invites us to see beyond this detail. The significance lies not simply in mentioning tomorrow’s new moon, but in what the moon—and its rhythms—reveals about the relationship between God and the people of Israel.

The connection between the moon and Israel is woven throughout our tradition. The moon is always present in the heavens, though we do not always perceive its fullness or even glimpse it at all. It waxes and wanes in a steady, ancient rhythm. This rhythm offers a profound image for the Jewish experience across history and into the present. Like the moon, God’s presence endures, providing spiritual light to our souls just as the sun illuminates the moon. We draw our strength and direction from that inexhaustible Source. And yet, there are seasons in our history and our personal lives when that light seems hidden from us, when darkness appears to prevail, when God’s providence is no longer visible to our eyes.

The haftarah itself reflects this pattern through the life of David. We encounter him at a moment of acute vulnerability and danger. He is pursued by Shaul, whose instability and paranoia drive him to turn on his former protege and hunt him relentlessly across the desert. David’s safety —indeed, his very survival—depends on forces entirely beyond his control. He must hide, flee, and depend on the mercy of others. His life at this point is at a nadir from which recovery seems unlikely.

And yet, we know this moment does not define David’s entire life. In time, his circumstances transform completely, and he emerges from hiding to accomplish extraordinary things: composing the Psalms, waging victorious battles against Israel’s enemies, unifying the fractured kingdom, and establishing Jerusalem as its center. Though his life remains plagued with conflict and adversity, he rises and perseveres. David’s journey is one of waxing and waning, of descent followed by ascent, of darkness giving way to light.

Through David, the haftarah teaches that this rhythm is not incidental. It is not a failure of faith or a sign of abandonment. Rather, it is the very pattern through which the relationship between God and the Jewish people unfolds and develops through history.

This profound insight finds its fullest expression in the Kiddush Levana, the blessing we recite each month to sanctify the new moon. We declare: Shehem atidim lehitchadesh kemotah— “they are destined to be reborn like the moon” (Sanhedrin 42a). In the same breath, we proclaim: David melekh Yisrael chai vekayam — “David, king of Israel, lives and endures.” The pairing of these two affirmations is not coincidental; it is theologically essential. David embodies the lived experience of the Jewish people in their covenant relationship with the Almighty.

As David’s life rises and falls, so too does ours. There are times when we must flee, when we must hide, when we must endure darkness without clarity or comfort. There are moments of Jewish history when our brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, stand on the frontlines of battle, are held hostage in enemy hands, or are destroyed in the depths of human evil—from Auschwitz to Treblinka. And yet, the promise of Kiddush Levana remains: God has not forsaken us.

This is not a promise that darkness will disappear. It is a far deeper assurance: that even when light is hidden, when our vision falters, when we cannot perceive God’s presence, we are not abandoned. The moon wanes, but it returns. David flees, but he rises. The Jewish people pass through cycles of struggle, concealment and renewal, but we are promised redemption.

For our time, this teaching carries particular urgency. We are living through a period that demands we recognize these rhythms in our own reality—in the story of our people, in the story of the land of Israel, and in our individual spiritual journeys. The haftarah’s account of David’s flight and hiding is not a story of abandonment, but a profound teaching about our enduring covenant.

When we bless the new moon and proclaim David melekh Yisrael chai vekayam, we are affirming that we understand these cycles, that we accept seasons of light and shadow, and that we trust—with the certainty of the moon’s return—that dawn follows even the darkest night.