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How Solomon Was Trained to Be a Wise King

Solomon's hidden name means gatherer. He carried a clay jar through Jerusalem collecting one Torah line per sage, one trait per visit, one warning per king.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Name Hidden Inside Proverbs
  2. What the Best Student Looks Like
  3. Copying God's Traits One by One
  4. Esau in David's Court and the Throne Held in Trust

The Name Hidden Inside Proverbs

Proverbs opens its thirtieth chapter with a name nobody recognizes. The words of Agur ben Yakeh. Who is Agur? The question did not stump the rabbis of Sifrei Devarim for long. Agur was Solomon. It was the name he earned before the throne, the name of his apprenticeship.

Sifrei Devarim cracked the word open and found a verb inside. Agur means gathered. Stored up. Accumulated carefully, the way a trader accumulates goods or a student accumulates teachers. The same root appears in Psalm 55:16, where the wicked have evils stored up inside them. Solomon stored something different. He stored wisdom, one piece at a time, from every source he could find.

The midrash imagined Solomon as a boy in Jerusalem, walking the streets with a clay jar. At every sage's door he stopped and asked for one more line of Torah, one more proverb, one more warning that might serve him later. He did not invent his wisdom. He collected it. The name Agur is the boy before the throne, the apprenticeship that made the king possible. By the time Solomon sat in the seat of David, the jar was full.

What the Best Student Looks Like

Sifrei Devarim, working through Deuteronomy, offered two portraits of how Torah is absorbed. One student is like a sponge. He takes in everything he touches, the clean and the dirty both, and squeezes it all back out together. Another student is like cotton wadding soaked in oil, the kind used to wick a lamp. He holds what is valuable and releases it slowly, in light rather than in puddles.

Solomon, in the midrash's account, was the second kind. He did not merely accumulate teachers. He sorted what they gave him. He held the Torah of the wilderness and the proverbs of the court and the warnings of the prophets as separate wicks, ready to be lit in the right order for the right darkness. A wise king, by this account, is not simply well-read. He knows which knowledge to burn when.

Copying God's Traits One by One

Sifrei Devarim's instructions on imitating God were not poetry. They were a list. God buries the dead, as the Torah demonstrates when He buries Moses in the valley of Moab (Deuteronomy 34:6). Bury the dead. God visits the sick, as the Torah implies when He appears to Abraham recovering from circumcision (Genesis 18:1). Visit the sick. God comforts mourners, as He blesses Isaac after Abraham dies (Genesis 25:11). Comfort mourners. God clothes the naked, as He makes garments of skin for Adam and Eve (Genesis 3:21). Clothe the naked.

Solomon, according to the midrash, took this list seriously. The characteristics of the king of Israel were to be modeled on the characteristics of the king of the universe, acquired the same way Torah was acquired, one trait at a time, practiced until the behavior became the person. Mercy. Patience. The capacity to see clearly in grief. The willingness to act before being asked. Solomon gathered these the same way he gathered proverbs.

Esau in David's Court and the Throne Held in Trust

There is a strange story inside Sifrei Devarim about Esau appearing in David's court. The text asks a question about sovereignty and timing, about who inherits and when, and the image of Esau serves as a warning. A king who forgets whose territory he stands in, who mistakes the court for his own achievement rather than a trust held on behalf of the people and their God, loses the thing he thought he owned.

Solomon had gathered Esau's warning into his jar alongside the rest. David's court was the model and the warning both. The throne was not a possession. It was a position, and positions had requirements. The moment a king stopped gathering, stopped imitating the divine traits, stopped asking at the sages' doors, the jar started to empty. And an empty jar, however beautiful, is nothing a kingdom can eat from.

Midrash AggadahSolomonWisdomKingship
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Sifrei Devarim 322:7Sifrei Devarim

The ancient rabbis grappled with this feeling, particularly when thinking about the exiles of the Jewish people. They found echoes of this isolation, this sense of being utterly abandoned, in the most unexpected places – even in single words.

Take the word agur, for example. It appears in (Proverbs 30:1): "The words of Agur ben Yakeh" – often understood to be King Solomon. But what does agur actually mean? The Sifrei Devarim, an ancient collection of legal interpretations on the Book of Deuteronomy, suggests it means "gathered together," like someone gathering wisdom. The Sifrei also draws a connection to (Psalm 55:16), which speaks of evils being "stored up" – b'meguram in Hebrew. The root is the same. So, there's a sense of things being accumulated, gathered, almost hoarded, both good (wisdom) and bad (evils).

How does this connect to the feeling of abandonment?

The Sifrei Devarim continues, focusing on the phrase "lest their oppressors estrange them." This hits at the heart of the matter. When Israel is in distress, the nations estrange them. It's as if they simply cease to exist in the eyes of the world. Poof. Gone. And this estrangement, this isolating feeling, is tragically illustrated through biblical examples.

Imagine trying to escape, desperate for refuge, only to find every path blocked. That's the picture painted here. If the Israelites tried to flee north, Tyre would hand them over to their enemies, as foretold in (Amos 1:9). If they sought refuge south, Azza would betray them (Amos 1:6). East? Damascus would turn them away. And west? (Isaiah 21:13) speaks of the caravans of Dedanites lodging in the forest of Arav, a prophecy interpreted as a refusal of refuge.

Every direction, every hope of escape, is met with betrayal. There is nowhere to go.

It's a stark and painful image, isn't it? This feeling of being utterly alone, with no one to turn to. The Sifrei Devarim, in its brief but powerful interpretation, reminds us of the vulnerability of a people in exile, the sting of abandonment, and the importance of remembering those who feel forgotten. It's a reminder that even in moments of despair, we are called upon to act with compassion and offer refuge, rather than perpetuate the cycle of estrangement. Because what does it mean to be human if not to offer a hand to those who have no one?

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Sifrei Devarim 48:5Sifrei Devarim

It turns out, our sages grappled with these feelings too, and they used a beautiful metaphor: water.

This passage from Sifrei Devarim (48) explores how we should approach learning, specifically the learning of Torah. And it does it through the lens of different types of water sources.

Rabbi Yehudah starts us off with a comparison: a great Torah scholar is like a sponge, soaking up everything. But a lesser one? He's like a cotton wad, only absorbing what he thinks he needs, content with what his teacher has already given him. Is that really enough, though?

Then Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai quotes (Proverbs 5:15), "Drink water from your borecha." Now, borecha can mean "your well," but Rabbi Shimon cleverly interprets it as "from him who is with you in your city" – from the Torah sage nearby. Learn from those around you first, he says, and then seek wisdom from afar. He finds support for this in (Proverbs 31:14), about the woman of valor who "is like the merchant's ships, bringing her bread from afar" – a metaphor for bringing Torah knowledge from distant places.

But Rabbi Shimon ben Menassia takes it in a different direction. He interprets "borecha" in (Proverbs 5:15) as referring to your Creator. Drink from the waters of your Creator, he urges, and avoid "sullied" waters, lest you be drawn after the words of heretics. It's a warning, a reminder to be discerning about where we get our wisdom.

And then there's Rabbi Akiva, who offers another fascinating take. He says that the verse "Drink waters from your pit" (Proverbs 5:15) refers to a Torah scholar in his early stages. A pit, he explains, can't produce water on its own; it only contains what's poured into it. Similarly, a young scholar initially only knows what his teacher has taught him. But! Then comes the next part of the verse: "and flowing waters from your well." A well, unlike a pit, flows with living waters from all sides. Disciples come and learn from him. And that's the goal, isn't it? To become a wellspring of knowledge. As Proverbs 16 says, "Your fountains will spread abroad."

Why all the water imagery? Because, as the passage points out, words of Torah are compared to water. Just as water is life for the world, so are the words of Torah, as (Proverbs 4:22) tells us: "For they are life to those who find them, and healing to all of his flesh." Water cleanses us, and so too, the words of Torah purify us, as we learn in (Psalms 19:10), "The fear of the L-rd is pure." Water restores our souls, and the Torah guides us from evil to good, "The Torah of the L-rd is whole, restoring the soul" (Psalms 19:8). And just as water is freely available to all, so too should the words of Torah be accessible to everyone, as (Isaiah 55:1) proclaims: "Ho! all who thirst, go to the waters!"

But here's the kicker: someone might argue that if water is so readily available, perhaps it has no value. And if Torah is like water, then maybe Torah has no value either! The text anticipates this concern and immediately counters it with (Proverbs 3:15): "It is more precious than pearls, and all of your desires cannot be compared to it." Torah is priceless.

So what's the takeaway? Are we sponges, cotton wads, pits, or wells? Maybe we're a little of each at different times in our lives. The key is to keep learning, keep seeking, and keep sharing. To drink deeply from the wellspring of Torah and let its life-giving waters flow through us and out into the world. It's a lifelong journey, a constant process of seeking and sharing, and it all starts with that first sip.

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Sifrei Devarim 49:1Sifrei Devarim

The verse in Deuteronomy (11:22) tells us "to walk in His ways." But what are the ways of the Holy One, Blessed be He? How do we even begin to emulate the Divine?

Well, Sifrei Devarim 49, drawing upon other sacred texts, offers a beautiful and surprisingly accessible answer. It directs us straight to Exodus (34:6-7): "The L-rd, the L-rd, G-d of mercy and grace, slow to wrath and abundant in mercy and truth, keeping lovingkindness for thousands, forgiving transgression, offense, and sin, and cleansing…" These, the text suggests, are the characteristics we should strive to embody. It’s not about performing impossible miracles or understanding cosmic secrets. It’s about mirroring God's attributes in our own lives. It's about mercy, grace, patience, truth, and boundless lovingkindness.

The text doesn't leave us hanging. It refers to Joel (3:5): "All who will be called by the name of the L-rd will escape." Now, obviously, we can't literally become God. So, what does it mean to be “called by the name of the L-rd”?

The key, Sifrei Devarim suggests, is imitation. Just as the L-rd is called “merciful and gracious,” you, too, should be merciful and gracious, giving freely to all. Just as the Holy One, Blessed be He, is called “righteous,” as we see in Psalms (145:17), "Righteous is the L-rd in all His ways and saintly in all His acts", you, too, should be righteous. And just as the Holy One, Blessed be He, is called “saintly,” you, too, should be saintly.

It's a powerful idea: that by embodying these divine qualities, we actually invoke the Divine name. We become, in a small way, reflections of the Holy One.

This idea resonates throughout Jewish scripture. Isaiah (43:7) tells us "...everyone that is called by My name. For My honor I have created him, and formed him, and fashioned him." We are created, formed, and fashioned for God's honor, to reflect God's light.

And Proverbs (16:4) reinforces this: "The L-rd has created all for His sake." Everything, it seems, has a purpose in the grand scheme, and our purpose, in part, is to mirror the Divine attributes.

So, what does this mean for us today? It means that every act of kindness, every moment of patience, every instance of truth-telling is an opportunity to "walk in His ways." It means that striving to be more merciful, more gracious, more righteous, and more saintly is not just a lofty ideal, but a concrete path to connecting with the Divine.

It's a lifelong journey, of course, and we'll stumble along the way. But the beauty of this teaching is that it reminds us that even in our imperfections, our efforts to emulate the Holy One, Blessed be He, are what truly matter. They are what allow us to be "called by the name of the L-rd" and, in doing so, to find our own path to escape, to meaning, and to purpose.

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Sifrei Devarim 41:8Sifrei Devarim

The ancient sages felt that way too, and they saw it reflected in the very fabric of their society.

The Sifrei Devarim, a collection of legal and ethical teachings connected to the Book of Deuteronomy, paints a stark picture of a world devoid of three essential elements: truth, lovingkindness, and knowledge. But what does that really mean?

It starts with the chilling phrase, "there is no truth." But the Sifrei doesn't just leave us hanging. It clarifies that this isn't some abstract philosophical statement. Instead, it means that the words of Torah, the very foundation of their spiritual lives, are no longer being spoken, no longer being taught, no longer being lived. The Sifrei drives the point home with a quote from Proverbs (23:23): "Buy truth and do not sell it." Imagine a world where truth itself is a commodity, readily traded and discarded. Scary. Then comes the heartbreaking line, "and there is no lovingkindness." Again, the text clarifies. This isn't just about a lack of general niceness. It's a deep, fundamental absence of chesed (lovingkindness) in the land. The Sifrei connects it to (Psalm 33:5): "The lovingkindness of the L-rd fills the land." When that divine lovingkindness is absent, the land is barren, not just physically, but spiritually. What does it look like when divine lovingkindness is not present? Perhaps it is like a world where people have forgotten how to see each other.

Finally, "and there is no knowledge." And again, the text doesn't leave us guessing. It's not just about a lack of information. It means that words of knowledge, of wisdom, are no longer being spoken. The text then references (Hosea 4:6): "My people is silent, without knowledge; for you have silenced knowledge." Wow. A world where people have silenced the very pursuit of wisdom. That’s But here’s where it gets really interesting.

The Sifrei then quotes (Isaiah 5:24): "As straw will consume a tongue of fire, and hay will weaken a flame, etc." Wait…straw consuming fire? That seems…backwards.

The Sifrei, in its wisdom, explains that "straw" here represents Esau, a figure often associated with the external world, with power and might. The text poses a question: "Now can straw consume fire?" Of course not, unless something is terribly wrong.

The text's punchline is this: "So long as Israel 'weaken' their hand from mitzvot (commandments), Esau prevails over them." In other words, when the Jewish people neglect their spiritual duties, their connection to Torah, their acts of lovingkindness, and their pursuit of knowledge, they become vulnerable. They allow the "straw" to consume the "fire."

This isn't just a historical observation. It's a timeless message. The strength of a society, the strength of a people, lies not just in its physical power, but in its commitment to truth, lovingkindness, and knowledge.

So, what happens when we prioritize other things? What happens when we neglect those essential elements? Maybe, just maybe, we start to see straw consuming fire. Maybe, just maybe, we lose something irreplaceable. It is up to us to make sure that doesn't happen.

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