Nathan the Court Prophet: A Lesson in Belonging, Courage, and Responsibility

Let me begin with a question: how do good, educated people, with good intentions find themselves defending actions that are difficult, if not impossible, to defend? What surprises me is not that people make mistakes, since we all do. What surprises me is the immediacy of their response when they defend unacceptable behavior, as long as it comes from their social circle. The quiet moment of hesitation seems to be disappearing, the moment when people may say to themselves: perhaps not this time. Maybe precisely because I belong, I cannot justify everything.

I do not believe this is a problem of one political group or another. It seems to me to be one of the deepest mechanisms of human nature. Human beings are not only thinking beings, but they are also creatures who want “to belong”. We all want to know who the people are about whom we can say “we”, and who, in turn, will say that we are “one of us”. More often than we care to admit, that need is even stronger than our desire to be right.

Maimonides captured this tendency with remarkable simplicity: “It is the nature of a person to be drawn, in opinions and actions, after his friends and companions”. Traditionally, these words have been understood as practical advice: choose your environment wisely. In recent years, however, I have come to read them as an invitation to reflect on Israeli politics. The fact that people are shaped by the circles to which they “belong to”, can certainly blind us. Yet the very same fact can also become the foundation of ethical responsibility. The real question is therefore not whether we seek belonging, but how we define it. Can “belonging” itself become a language of “responsibility”?

This is why I find myself thinking about Nathan the Prophet. We often imagine the prophets of Israel as outsiders, as lonely persons. Elijah, Amos, and Jeremiah appear as voices that come from beyond the political establishment, confront kings and society with uncompromising criticism. Nathan the prophet is different, as that we can call him. He accompanies King David through the defining moments of his reign, shares in the promise of the Davidic dynasty, and according to Jewish tradition, even records the history of David’s kingdom. He belongs to the very heart of the kingdom circle.

And that is precisely what makes him extraordinary. When David commits a grave wrongdoing in the story of Bathsheba and Uriah, he does not remain silent. Nor does he resign from the royal court, but he walks into the king’s presence and tells the parable of the Poor Man’s Ewe Lamb. Only after David condemns the rich man does Nathan the prophet said the two words that have become one of the defining moments of biblical political thought: “You are the man”.

In that moment, he redefines the meaning of “belonging”. He tells David the truth not despite his belonging to the king’s inner circle, but because he belongs to it. His closeness to the king does not exempt him from responsibility, but it places greater responsibility upon him. For him as a teacher, belonging does not demand silence, although it demands the courage to stand up and speak. This may well be one of the deepest political insights the Bible has to offer. The question is not whether we belong, but what kind of belonging we seek to build: one grounded in obedience, or one grounded in responsibility.

It seems to me that this is also one of the defining questions facing Israeli society today. All of us live within circles of belonging, family, community, profession, religion, and politics. These circles give us identity, security, and meaning. Yet they also confront us with a profound temptation: to defend “our own” before asking whether they are right, and to reject criticism because we experience it as a threat to belonging itself.

I would like to suggest a different way of thinking. The essential question is what is the circle of responsibility that I am willing to embrace? The circle of responsibility does not end where the circle of belonging ends. It includes everyone who may be harmed by my actions, or by my silence. It includes every person standing before me who needs me. It demands responsibility not only toward those who are not “my own,” but no less toward those who are. Genuine responsibility is not merely protecting those closest to us, it is also refusing to cooperate with their mistakes, and doing what we can to prevent them.

Since October 7, this question has become more urgent than ever. We have witnessed extraordinary acts of belonging. Men and women risked their lives to rescue complete strangers. Thousands volunteered for communities they had never known before. People expanded the boundaries of their “we” in inspiring ways. Yet at the same time, we have also seen how quickly we retreat into our respective camps, and how difficult it has become to accept criticism when it comes from within. It is precisely at this moment that we must remind ourselves: A healthy society does not seek to abolish belonging. It seeks to ensure that the circle of responsibility is larger than the circle of belonging.

That, I believe, is the true measure of every community, every political movement, and every society. The test is not the strength of its internal cohesion, but its willingness to bear truth and criticism without immediately branding them as betrayal. The deepest meaning of belonging is found in mutual responsibility, in accepting responsibility for one another that goes beyond mere loyalty to the group.

That, I believe, is the true measure of every community, every political movement, and every society. The real test is not the strength of its internal cohesion, but its willingness to hear truth and criticism without mistaking them for betrayal. The deepest meaning of “belonging” is found in mutual responsibility, in the courage to assume responsibility for one another, beyond the simple language of loyalty. In the spirit of the ancient rabbinic blessing, perhaps we may hope to become worthy disciples of Nathan the Prophet.