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David Paid Fifty Shekels Per Tribe for the Temple Mount

Two verses disagree on the price David paid for the Temple site. Sifrei Devarim says both are right, and the math shows why the purchase was holy.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Two Prices, One Threshing Floor
  2. The Math the Rabbis Trusted
  3. What Araunah Offered and Why David Refused
  4. The Sacred Geographer

Two Prices, One Threshing Floor

David found the place on a threshing floor at the edge of Jerusalem, in the hands of a man named Araunah the Yevussi. He had seen the angel of plague standing between heaven and earth above that ground, and he understood what the location meant. He went to buy it.

Then the texts disagreed. Second Samuel 24:24 says David paid Araunah fifty silver shekels for the threshing floor and the oxen. First Chronicles 21:25 says David paid Ornan, the same man with a slightly different name in a slightly different account, six hundred gold shekels for the same piece of ground. Fifty or six hundred. Silver or gold. The two accounts do not match and they describe the same event.

The rabbis of Sifrei Devarim refused to resolve the contradiction by choosing one verse and burying the other. They insisted both were true and asked what each one was measuring.

The Math the Rabbis Trusted

Fifty silver shekels for the threshing floor. Six hundred gold shekels for the same ground. Both accurate. The resolution the tradition found was precise enough to be convincing: David paid in gold and the accounting was done in silver. The same transaction denominated two ways. A currency conversion that preserved both records.

That still left the gap between fifty and six hundred. The tradition made its sharpest move here. David did not buy the Temple Mount from his own treasury. He went to each of the twelve tribes of Israel and collected fifty shekels from each one. Twelve tribes, fifty shekels each: six hundred shekels total. The purchase price was not the king's money. It was the nation's money, contributed tribe by tribe, each one giving an equal share of the place where heaven would rest on earth.

The refusal to use royal funds for the acquisition was not modesty. It was constitutional. The Temple Mount would belong to Israel, not to the House of David. Every tribe had to hold a deed. Every family had to have paid something. The place that was meant to be the center of all twelve tribes could not be purchased by one man with one tribe's wealth and then distributed to the others as a royal gift. It had to be bought by all of them from the beginning.

What Araunah Offered and Why David Refused

Araunah had offered the land for free. He had seen the king coming with his servants and had understood what the king wanted and had said: take it. Take the oxen for the offering. Take the threshing boards for the wood. I give it all to you as a gift. My lord the king, take what seems good to you.

David said no. I will not offer to the Lord my God burnt offerings that cost me nothing. The traditional explanation for this refusal was straightforward: a sacrifice that cost nothing was not a sacrifice. An offering that came from another man's generosity was the other man's offering, not the king's. The altar required something of the person standing before it.

But the tradition reading the tribe-by-tribe purchase saw something additional in the refusal. David was not just preserving the personal meaning of sacrifice. He was constructing the communal ownership of the sacred site in a way that would outlast the political arrangements of any particular reign. Araunah's generosity would have given the Temple Mount to David. The tribe-by-tribe purchase gave the Temple Mount to Israel.

The Sacred Geographer

The tradition also noted that David did not choose the site. He found it. The location had been determined before Jerusalem was a city, before the Yevussi had their threshing floor there, before the angel appeared standing with a drawn sword between heaven and earth above that specific patch of ground. David was not selecting real estate. He was recognizing a place that had already been designated.

The recognition itself required a particular kind of attention. Not military strategy, not urban planning, not the eye of a king looking for an impressive location. The kind of attention described in Psalm 132, where David swears he will not sleep until he has found the dwelling place of the Mighty One of Jacob. He is looking for something that already exists and is waiting to be found, not something he will create by choosing it.

ConversionTribesMidrash AggadahSifreiGamliel
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From the tradition

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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Sifrei Devarim 352:13Sifrei Devarim

Promises to ourselves, to others, maybe even to the Divine. But following through? That's the real test.

The Sifrei Devarim, a legal midrash on the Book of Deuteronomy, shares a fascinating story about this very idea. It involves someone whose intentions were certainly…ambitious.

Rabbi Shimon tells us of a person who declared, "I will go to my land and to my kindred, and I will convert the people of my land and of my family." Quite a proclamation! But did he actually do it? Did his actions match his words?

You might be skeptical. Did he just say the words, or did he follow through? The text offers evidence that, he did. We find support in I (Chronicles 2:55): "And the families of scribes who dwelt at Ya'abetz… These were the Kenites who descended from Chammath, the father of the house of Rechav." And further, (Judges 1:16) tells us, "And the children of the Kenite, the father-in-law of Moses, ascended from the city of date palms" (Jericho).

Think about this for a moment. These Kenites willingly left a place of abundance – a literal oasis flowing with fruit, food, and drink – to journey to the arid south of Arad, to the desert. Why? To learn Torah with Ya'abetz. Now, who was Ya'abetz, you ask? None other than Othniel ben Kenaz! That’s quite a commitment, isn’t it? Giving up comfort for spiritual growth, choosing Torah over earthly delights. It speaks volumes about the power of conversion, of inspiring others to seek wisdom.

But the Sifrei Devarim doesn't stop there. It pivots to another intriguing point, concerning King David's purchase of the future site of the Temple. This is where things get a bit… numerically challenging.

We encounter a seeming contradiction. II (Samuel 24:24) states, "And David bought the threshing floor and the cattle for fifty silver shekels." Yet, I (Chronicles 21:25) says, "And David gave Ornan for the place golden shekels, six hundred."

Wait a minute. Fifty silver shekels… or six hundred golden shekels? How do we reconcile these differing accounts? The Sifrei Devarim proposes a clever solution. It can't literally mean golden shekels, because of the verse that says silver. And it can't literally mean silver shekels, because of the verse that says gold. The answer? He weighed the purchase in gold, but bought it in silver.

But the discrepancy remains: fifty versus six hundred. The text suggests that when David recognized the perfect location for the Temple, he collected fifty shekalim – a unit of weight – from each tribe. Since there were twelve tribes, this totaled six hundred shekalim. So, each tribe contributed to making this holy site possible.

What are we to make of all this? The Sifrei Devarim, through these seemingly disparate stories, emphasizes the importance of intention, action, and community. The initial vow to convert one’s people, the Kenites' dedication to Torah study, and David's communal purchase of the Temple site all point to a central idea: that meaningful change, whether personal or collective, requires both individual commitment and collaborative effort. Sometimes, even seemingly contradictory accounts can reveal a deeper truth about shared purpose and collective responsibility. Isn’t that something to think about?

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Sifrei Devarim 320:6Sifrei Devarim

" Ouch. But it gets even more pointed. They're labeled "sons without emun," meaning without faith.

Why such harsh words? The passage reminds us of that pivotal moment at Mount Sinai. Remember the scene? The Israelites, standing before the divine presence, proclaimed (Shemot 24:7), "All that the L-rd spoke we will do and we will hear!" A powerful commitment. So powerful, in fact, that, as the passage notes, the Divine even declared (Psalms 82:6), "You are angels."

Then… the Golden Calf. (Shemot 32:4) "These are your gods, O Israel," they cried. The ultimate betrayal. And the consequences? The Divine's response was equally dramatic (Psalms, Ibid. 7): "but like men will you die." A fall from grace, a shattering of potential.

The passage continues, highlighting the broken promise of the Temple. God brought them to the land of their forefathers, gave them the Temple, and promised they would never be exiled. But then they declared (II Samuel 20:1), "We have no part in David." And so, the Divine declared in turn (Amos 7:17), "And Israel will be exiled from its land." It’s a tit-for-tat of broken covenants, a painful cycle of promise and betrayal.

But there’s a fascinating twist. R. Dostai offers an alternative reading. Instead of "sons without emun" (faith), he reads it as "without 'Amen.'" He suggests that the Israelites failed to answer "Amen" after the prophets’ blessings. "Amen" isn’t just a word; it's an affirmation, a sealing of the covenant. It’s a way of saying, "Yes, I’m in. I believe. I accept."

The text even points to a specific example in (Jeremiah 11:5): "in order to fulfill the oath that I swore to your forefathers to give them a land flowing with milk and honey, as this very day." Yet, no one answered Amen… until Jeremiah himself stepped up. As the text says (Ibid.), "And I answered and said: 'Amen, O L-rd!'"

So, what does this all mean? Is it a condemnation of the Israelites? A lament over broken promises? Perhaps. But maybe it's also a call to action. A reminder that faith isn't just about grand declarations at Mount Sinai. It's about the small, everyday affirmations – the "Amens" – that keep us connected to something larger than ourselves. It's about choosing to believe, even when things are difficult, even when we're tempted to turn away. It's about remembering the promises we make, and striving to keep them, even when we fall short.

Because ultimately, aren't we all, in some way, "sons without Amen" at times? The question is, what will we do about it?

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Sifrei Devarim 352:1Sifrei Devarim

The answer is a resounding "no." There's a fascinating story in Sifrei Devarim that illuminates this very idea.

It all begins with a question from Agnitis, a Roman general, to Rabban Gamliel. Agnitis, clearly intrigued by Jewish tradition, asks a simple yet profound question: "How many Torahs were given to Israel?" Rabban Gamliel doesn't hesitate. His answer? "Two, one written; the other oral." Two Torahs. One we can hold in our hands, the other passed down through generations by word of mouth. That oral tradition, the Oral Torah, is just as vital as the written one. It's the commentary, the explanation, the living, breathing interpretation that brings the written word to life.

Then, the text moves on, drawing our attention to the blessings bestowed upon the tribe of Levi. Remember the verse in Devarim (Deuteronomy) 33:11? "Bless, O, L-rd, his substance." Sifrei Devarim connects this to the material possessions of the Cohanim (priests), leading to the saying, "Most Cohanim are wealthy." Is this a literal promise of riches? Perhaps. But it also speaks to a deeper blessing – the blessing of being supported and provided for while dedicating oneself to spiritual service.

The text highlights two specific offerings: "They shall place incense before You": This refers to the inner incense, the sweet-smelling offering burned in the Beit Hamikdash (Temple). "and a burnt-offering upon your altar": These are the limbs of the burnt-offering. Each offering, each ritual, is a pathway to connect with the Divine.

This idea of Divine blessing extends further. Abba the exegete offers a beautiful interpretation, linking the prosperity of the Cohanim to a verse in Tehillim (Psalms) 37:25: "I have been a youth and I have also aged, but I have never seen a tzaddik (righteous person) forsaken nor his children begging for bread." He applies this verse specifically to the descendants of Aaron, the first Kohen Gadol (High Priest). This isn't just about financial security; it's about the assurance that those who dedicate themselves to righteousness, who live a life of service, will be sustained. It speaks to a profound trust in the Divine to provide for those who live according to its will.

So, what does all of this tell us? It reminds us that Jewish tradition is rich and many-sided. It's not just about the words on the page, but about the ongoing conversation, the interpretations, and the blessings that flow through generations. It's a story of both material and spiritual sustenance, reminding us that dedication to a life of meaning and service is never truly forsaken.

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