Uriah the Hittite Meets Esther Perel: A Posthumous Therapy Session

Tuesday, March 3, 2025.

The Old Testament story of David and Uriah (found in 2 Samuel 11-12) is a tale of power, betrayal, and moral reckoning.

King David, while strolling on his palace rooftop, sees Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah the Hittite, bathing.

He desires her, sleeps with her, and she becomes pregnant. To cover up the affair, David calls Uriah back from battle, hoping he will sleep with his wife and think the child is his.

But Uriah, a loyal soldier, refuses to enjoy home comforts while his fellow warriors are at war. Frustrated, David sends him back to battle with orders to place him on the front lines, ensuring his death. After Uriah is killed, David marries Bathsheba.

Enter Nathan the Prophet, who confronts David with a parable about a rich man stealing a poor man's only lamb. When David condemns the rich man, Nathan reveals: “You are the man!” David repents, but the consequences of his actions bring turmoil to his household.

From the dark corners of my eclectic imagination, this thought experiment is about a stark example of abuse of power, moral failure, and the cost of unchecked desire—and one of the most famous biblical accounts of human weakness and redemption.

Uriah the Hittite wakes up, dazed. The last thing he remembers is marching into battle, carrying a letter from King David himself—his own death sentence, though he didn’t know it at the time.

Now, he finds himself in a plush, tastefully decorated room. Soft lighting. Warm-toned walls. A couch.

Across from him sits a woman with stylishly unkempt hair and piercing eyes. She leans forward, clasping her hands.

“Uriah,” she says in a soothing, European-accented voice. “I’m Esther. Tell me—what brings you here today?”

Uriah rubs his temples. “I… I was just murdered?”

Esther nods, sympathetically. “Mmm. That must be a lot to process. And I imagine it wasn’t just the battle that hurt you. It was the betrayal.”

“Right!” Uriah exclaims. “King David slept with my wife, tried to cover it up, and when I wouldn’t cooperate, he had me killed. That’s not just betrayal—it’s treachery.”

Esther tilts her head. “And yet, let’s pause for a moment. I don’t like to use the word ‘betrayal’ too quickly.

Because affairs—well, they are complex. They tell us something about what was missing.

Perhaps Bathsheba felt unseen in her marriage. Perhaps David was struggling with his identity. The man who once fought giants was now a king. The thrill of conquest was gone, and he found himself longing for something—”

Uriah’s jaw drops. “You’re sympathizing with him? With the man who stole my wife and had me killed?”

She smiles, knowingly. “I’m simply asking you to consider the larger context.

Affairs aren’t necessarily about leaving one person for another. Often, they are about leaving oneself—leaving behind a version of you that no longer feels alive. When David looked at Bathsheba, he wasn’t just seeing her. He was seeing the man he used to be.”

Uriah clenches his fists. “That’s very poetic, but I was loyal. I fought for my king. I stayed true to my wife. I slept outside my house out of honor! And what did I get? A death warrant with my name on it.”

Esther sighs. “Yes. You upheld the sacred code of loyalty. And yet, perhaps that was the very problem.”

Uriah’s eye twitches. “Excuse me?”

She leans in. “Loyalty is a beautiful thing, but blind loyalty? That can be dangerous. It locks people into roles where they don’t ask what they need. You were loyal to a system that didn’t value you in return.

What if I told you that you could have rewritten your role? What if, instead of marching into battle for a king who didn’t deserve you, you had written your own story?”

Uriah gapes at her. “I was a soldier! I was doing my duty!”

She nods. “Yes. And yet, where did that duty lead you? To your own funeral.”

Uriah falls silent.

She watches him carefully. “I’m not saying that what David did was right. It was an abuse of power. But we don’t heal by focusing on blame. We heal by asking—what can I learn?”

Uriah stares at the floor.

“I’ll tell you what I learned,” he mutters. “That honor means nothing if the people in power have none themselves.”

Esther exhales. “A hard truth. But also—an important one. Now, the question is: what do you do with that knowledge?”

Uriah crosses his arms. “Well, since I’m dead, not much.”

She nods. “Fair. But imagine you weren’t. Imagine that, in another life, you could choose differently. Would you still be the man who sleeps on the palace steps out of honor? Or would you be the man who sees the writing on the wall and decides—this system is not worthy of my devotion?”

Uriah considers this.

For the first time, he feels something shift. Not forgiveness. Not acceptance. But awareness—that maybe, in another life, he might choose differently. Not because he was wrong to be honorable, but because his honor was placed in a kingdom that didn’t deserve it.

Esther leans back, satisfied. “I think we’ve made progress today.”

Uriah shakes his head. “You modern people are most strange.”

Esther smiles faintly. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Be Well, Stay Kind, and Godspeed.