The book of Judges opens this chapter of Israel’s history with a grim pattern that had already repeated itself too many times: “And the people of Israel again did what was evil in the sight of the Lord” (Judges 3:12, ESV). The peace and rest they had enjoyed under the previous judge had dulled their vigilance. Covenant loyalty gave way to complacency, and the worship of the one true God was replaced with practices borrowed from surrounding nations.
In response, the Lord “strengthened Eglon the king of Moab against Israel” (v. 12). This was no accident of politics. Scripture makes clear that God actively permitted Moab’s rise as an instrument of discipline for His people. Moab’s homeland lay east of the Dead Sea, a rugged plateau well-suited for defense. In the past, relations between Israel and Moab had been uneasy at best, with episodes of both conflict and uneasy cooperation.
Eglon proved a shrewd ruler. He gathered the Ammonites and Amalekites—two other long-standing adversaries of Israel—into an alliance. Together, this coalition moved westward, capturing “the city of palms” (v. 13), an ancient title for Jericho. The conquest was both strategic and symbolic. Jericho’s location in the Jordan Valley controlled a major crossing into the central highlands. Holding it meant controlling trade routes, military access, and a fertile oasis that could sustain an occupying force.
With Jericho under Moabite control, Israel was firmly under Eglon’s hand. Tribute flowed from the towns and farms of Israel into Moab’s treasuries—likely grain, oil, wine, livestock, and crafted goods. This was more than taxation; it was a visible, humiliating reminder of submission. Every offering carried to Moab’s court would have reinforced the bitter reality that Israel’s independence was gone.
Eighteen years this lasted. For nearly two decades, the people labored under foreign rule. Fields were planted and harvested with the knowledge that much of the yield would be surrendered. Markets buzzed with trade, but always under the watchful eyes of foreign guards. And in the hills and valleys, an old truth echoed: disobedience to God had led them here. Yet even in this, the pattern of Judges held another truth—when God’s people cry out, He is already preparing the deliverance they cannot yet see.
Rising Conflict – The Left-Handed Messenger
In the long shadow of Moab’s domination, a figure emerges—unexpected, uncelebrated, but chosen. “Then the people of Israel cried out to the Lord, and the Lord raised up for them a deliverer, Ehud, the son of Gera, the Benjaminite, a left-handed man” (Judges 3:15a, ESV).
The details are striking. Benjamin means “son of the right hand,” yet here stands a man identified for the opposite trait. The Hebrew phrasing used in both this verse and Judges 20:16 can mean “restricted in the right hand,” suggesting either a physical limitation or a deliberate cultivation of left-hand skill. Scholars note that in warfare, such an ability could be advantageous. Opponents trained to counter right-handed strikes could be caught off guard by an attack from the opposite side.
Ehud’s moment arrives when he is entrusted to lead the delegation that will carry Israel’s tribute to Eglon. The mission is dangerous but cloaked in the appearance of formality. The offering is meant to secure peace—or at least, to maintain the fragile submission Israel is forced to endure. Yet in this duty, Ehud sees an opening.
The text tells us he prepares “a sword with two edges, a cubit in length” (Judges 3:16, ESV)—a short dagger of roughly eighteen inches, lethal in close quarters. Such weapons were not ceremonial; they were designed for quick, penetrating thrusts rather than prolonged combat. Ehud straps it to his right thigh, hidden beneath his clothing. This placement is more than convenience—it is strategy. Guards searching for weapons would naturally check a warrior’s left hip, where a right-handed man’s sword would be kept. The choice of the right thigh exploits the expectation of his enemy.
Historically, the delivery of tribute would have required passing through controlled entry points and presenting oneself before royal officials. By concealing his weapon in a manner consistent with his unique skill, Ehud ensures that the guards overlook what they were not trained to find.
This is not recklessness. It is calculated risk under the conviction that God Himself has raised him for this task. The very thing that might have been dismissed as a disadvantage—his left-handedness—becomes the tool of deliverance. In Ehud’s story, the lesson emerges early: when God chooses to act, He often begins with what the world considers small, strange, or weak, turning it into a decisive advantage for His glory.
Turning Point – The Secret Audience
The tribute delivered, the mission seemingly complete, Ehud sends the other Israelites home. His steps carry him away from Jericho, past the carved idols near Gilgal—a reminder of the foreign presence that now stains the land. Then he stops, turns back, and re-enters enemy territory alone. This is not hesitation; it is the execution of a deliberate plan.
Judges 3:19 records his approach: “But he himself turned back at the idols near Gilgal and said, ‘I have a secret message for you, O king.’” The Hebrew phrase d’var sēter can mean a concealed word, a confidential matter, or even a divine revelation. In a culture where kings often sought omens and oracles, such words could stir immediate intrigue. Eglon responds with a command—“Silence”—and clears the room. Privacy, in his mind, is protection; in reality, it will be his undoing.
Eglon is described in verse 17 as “a very fat man.” In the ancient world, such size could be a sign of wealth, abundance, and authority. Yet here it underscores vulnerability. He sits in the “cool roof chamber” (v. 20), likely an upper room designed for rest during the heat of the day. The setting is quiet, enclosed, and now—fatally—unguarded.
Ehud steps forward, saying, “I have a message from God for you” (v. 20). In one swift, decisive movement, he reaches across his body with his left hand, draws the concealed dagger from his right thigh, and drives it into the king’s belly. The Scripture is unflinching: “And the hilt also went in after the blade, and the fat closed over the blade, for he did not pull the sword out of his belly; and the dung came out” (v. 22).
In that instant, the power dynamic in the room reverses completely. Eglon’s reign ends not with a battle, but with a single, unanticipated strike in the most guarded place in his palace. Historically, the assassination of a ruler in private chambers was rare and politically shattering. Without the king, Moab’s authority over Israel would falter, its leadership scrambling in confusion.
Ehud acts quickly, locking the doors behind him before slipping away. Every second counts; the longer the attendants delay in entering, the more time he has to make his escape.
The moment is as much about courage as it is about skill. Ehud steps into mortal danger, knowing there will be no second attempt. Deliverance for his people depends on his willingness to act with precision in the narrow window God has given him.
This is the razor’s edge where faith and action meet—where a calling becomes costly, and courage requires doing the most dangerous thing at the appointed time.
Final Resolution – Freedom through a Signal
The doors of Eglon’s private chamber click shut behind Ehud, locked from the outside. The king’s attendants wait, assuming their master desires solitude. Verse 24 notes their reasoning: “Surely he is relieving himself in the closet of the cool chamber.” Time slips by—first minutes, then longer—until embarrassment replaces patience. Only then do they take the key and enter, finding Eglon dead. By that moment, Ehud is well beyond their reach.
Judges 3:26–27 records his flight and call to arms: “Ehud escaped while they delayed, and he passed beyond the idols and escaped to Seirah. When he arrived, he sounded the trumpet in the hill country of Ephraim.” The trumpet blast is no mere announcement; in Israel’s history it is the rallying cry of battle, a signal that the Lord is moving on behalf of His people.
Ehud does not hesitate. Standing before the assembled warriors, he declares, “Follow after me, for the Lord has given your enemies the Moabites into your hand” (v. 28). His strategy is immediate and precise—they must seize the fords of the Jordan. These shallow crossings are the only practical escape routes for Moabite forces retreating eastward toward their homeland. If Israel can control them, the enemy will be trapped.
The plan works flawlessly. The Israelites cut off the retreat, and what follows is a decisive blow: “At that time they killed about 10,000 of the Moabites, all strong, able-bodied men; not a man escaped” (v. 29). This is no skirmish—it is the complete dismantling of Moab’s military presence west of the Jordan. Without their king, their army, or control of strategic territory, Moab’s grip on Israel collapses.
The outcome is extraordinary. Judges 3:30 closes the account with rare and remarkable words: “So Moab was subdued that day under the hand of Israel. And the land had rest for eighty years.” In the tumultuous era of the Judges, such a stretch of peace is almost unmatched. It is a tangible confirmation that God’s deliverance had been both complete and enduring.
This resolution carries more than historical weight—it offers spiritual reflection. Ehud’s courage and cunning were not ends in themselves; they were instruments in God’s hand. What others might have dismissed—a left-handed warrior from a small tribe—became the key to national deliverance.
Reflection Question:
Ehud stepped forward when others might have stayed silent, using what he had and trusting God for the rest. What skills, traits, or life experiences—perhaps even those overlooked or underestimated by others—might God be calling you to place in His service today?