It has been called many things — a protest, a movement, a civic awakening — but at its core, the “No Kings” moment in the United States has been something deeper: a moral rebellion against idolatry. When millions of Americans gathered in city squares and on courthouse steps holding signs that read “No Kings,” they were not simply making a political statement. They were engaging in a profoundly Jewish act — rejecting the worship of power, refusing to anoint any human being as sovereign.

By some estimates, more than 7 million people participated nationwide in demonstrations, vigils and marches on October 18, in more than 2,600 locations around the country. It was simultaneously modern and ancient: an echo of that biblical instinct to remind rulers, and ourselves, that ultimate authority belongs not to human rulers, but to God and to the moral law.

Mel Brooks, who is close to a century old, put it this way in his first History of the World film: “It’s good to be king.” Judaism, though, is not so sure. The Bible gives us both good kings — David, Hezekiah, Josiah and Cyrus of Persia — and some who were truly mediocre and even bad: Rehoboam, Ahab and a bunch of rulers who were totally forgettable.

Why this ambivalence? Look at the world that birthed ancient Judaism. Take that thing about people being created in the image of God. In the ancient Near East, who, specifically, was created in the divine image? The king and only the king. In Egypt, the king was a god. The Roman emperors went further, calling themselves “sons of God.”

Only the ruler bore the divine likeness. No one else did.

But Judaism makes the audacious claim that all people – not just the king – are created in the divine image. 

That is why the Torah treats monarchy with suspicion. Go to Deuteronomy, chapter 17: “When you say, ‘Let me set a king over me, like all the nations around me,’” God says, “you may indeed set a king over you.”

May, not must. The Torah insists that kings come with strings attached. He may not acquire too many horses — the ancient symbol of military excess. He may not take many wives or amass great wealth. He must write his own copy of the Torah and study of it. Think of it: The king is not the author of the law but its perpetual student.

The king must obey God. That is the reversal at the heart of the Jewish political vision. Maimonides, writing in the 12th century, made this explicit: “The king must not exercise his authority in a stuck-up manner. He should deal graciously and compassionately with the small and the great. … When he addresses the public, he shall use gentle language.” Imagine if that ethic governed modern leadership.

And, by the way, who is the king, anyway? The Torah calls the ruler achicha — “your brother” — the same word that describes the slave. The metaphor of brotherhood shatters hierarchy.

All of this makes the “No Kings” moment in America feel almost biblical. For what are these protests, if not a collective recitation of Deuteronomy’s warning — to be very careful about kings?

In our time, the temptation to bow before human power has taken on a distinctly American form: the cult of personality around Donald Trump. For some, Trump is a religious figure, who is adored, defended and excused no matter what he says or does.

The “No Kings” movement, at its best, is not about partisanship; it is about theology. It is about remembering who truly reigns. It is about saying, with both faith and fury, that there is no man, no ruler, no president who is above justice, above truth, above God.

What Judaism teaches about kingship is what democracy must relearn: that power is a dangerous gift. It must be bound by humility, compassion and accountability. Beyond every throne — whether in Jerusalem, Washington or Mar-a-Lago — there stands another throne, invisible and eternal, occupied by the One who alone is sovereign.

So yes — no kings. Because when everyone is a child of God, no one gets to play God. And as our tradition teaches, we still await that day when the Lord will be King over all the earth, and human rulers will finally remember that they were meant to serve, not to reign.