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Joseph, Akiva, and the Man on Horseback in Midrash

A Roman eunuch mocked Rabbi Akiva walking barefoot. Akiva replied and the man died. Kohelet Rabbah traces the same pattern to Joseph sold to Ishmaelites.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Servants on Horses, Princes on the Ground
  2. Joseph, the Prince Bought by Slaves
  3. Akiva and the Eunuch's Three Boasts
  4. What Joseph and Akiva Shared

Servants on Horses, Princes on the Ground

Ecclesiastes makes an observation that sounds like bitterness: I have seen servants upon horses, and princes walking on the ground like servants. The world upside down. The people who should be mounted are on foot. The people who should be on foot are riding. The arrangement makes no reference to worth or lineage or what anyone has done to deserve their position.

Kohelet Rabbah 7:1, the early medieval rabbinic commentary on Ecclesiastes, opens the verse and finds two stories inside it. Both are about what happens when the servant-on-horseback encounters the prince-on-the-ground and does not understand what he is looking at.

Joseph, the Prince Bought by Slaves

The first story goes back to Egypt. The servants on horses are the Ishmaelites, and the identification is genealogical rather than moral. Rabbi Levi traces their descent through a line that carries, in the rabbinic reading, the mark of servitude from the curse of Canaan. They are on horses. They are prosperous, trading between Gilead and Egypt, carrying spices and balm and myrrh, looking like exactly what they are: successful merchants moving through a profitable route.

The prince walking on the ground is Joseph. Literal prince, son of Jacob, beloved of his father, the boy with the coat and the dreams. His brothers sold him to these same Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver. A free man was purchased by people whose own genealogy is tangled with servitude. He was resold in Egypt to the house of Potiphar. The world had been completely inverted, and the midrash names it without flinching: a prince walked because servants rode.

The inverted arrangement was temporary. Joseph's story ends with him on the highest horse in Egypt, second only to Pharaoh, the men who bought him bowing before him in a famine they had not anticipated and could not survive without him. But the midrash does not tell the ending here. It holds the image of Joseph in the caravan walking, because what matters to Kohelet Rabbah is the moment of inversion itself, the gap between what a person is and where the world has put them.

Akiva and the Eunuch's Three Boasts

Centuries later, Rabbi Akiva was walking to Rome on a public fast day. He was barefoot, as the custom required, and apparently some distance was involved, because a Roman court eunuch on horseback encountered him on the road. The eunuch had three things to say.

First: your village is destroyed. Rabbi Akiva said: may your message be a good omen. Second: your Beit Midrash is burned. Rabbi Akiva said: may your message be a good omen. Third: your teachers are dead. May your message be a good omen.

The eunuch could not process this. Why are you saying good omen to everything terrible I am telling you? Rabbi Akiva explained. I have taken my comfort from the verse from Micah: because of you Zion shall be plowed as a field. And because that prophecy has been fulfilled, I know the other prophecy from Zechariah is also certain: there shall yet sit old men and old women in the streets of Jerusalem, and the streets of the city shall be full of boys and girls playing. The fulfillment of the bad prophecy is the guarantee of the good one.

The eunuch, the midrash says, took the answer poorly. He drove his horse into a rock and died. The servant on horseback, mocking the prince walking barefoot, had chosen to taunt someone who could read the architecture of what was happening to him. The encounter cost the eunuch everything and cost Rabbi Akiva nothing.

What Joseph and Akiva Shared

The two stories are separated by more than a thousand years of history but share an identical structure. In each case, someone with horses and power encounters someone who has neither, does not recognize what they are looking at, and the encounter resolves badly for the one who was mounted. Joseph's captors did not understand that the prince they had purchased would eventually hold their lives in his hands. The eunuch on horseback did not understand that the rabbi walking barefoot was operating from a position of stability so deep that nothing the eunuch was describing could touch it.

Ecclesiastes identified the pattern: servants on horses, princes on the ground. The midrash adds: the inversion is always temporary, and the person who uses their temporary advantage to mock the prince walking is the one who ends up paying for it. Not because God arranges immediate retribution, but because the person who mistakes the current arrangement for the permanent one has misread the nature of what they are dealing with.

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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.

Kohelet Rabbah 7:1Kohelet Rabbah

The book of Ecclesiastes, or Kohelet as it's known in Hebrew, certainly did. It observes, "I have seen servants upon horses, and princes walking on the ground like servants" (Ecclesiastes 10:7). But what does this topsy-turvy world mean?

Kohelet Rabbah, a classic commentary on Ecclesiastes, dives right into this verse. One interpretation sees it playing out in the story of Joseph. Remember him? Sold into slavery by his brothers, he eventually rises to incredible power in Egypt. According to Rabbi Levi, the "servants upon horses" are the Ishmaelites. Why? Because, in a sense, they descend from a slave. He references (Genesis 9:25), where Canaan is cursed to be "a slave of slaves." And the "princes walking on the ground like servants"? That's Joseph himself, a prince in his own right, yet sold and forced to serve.

The commentary doesn't stop there. It tells a fascinating story about Rabbi Akiva, one of the greatest sages in Jewish history. He's on his way to Rome, walking barefoot, likely due to a public fast. He encounters a Roman eunuch from the royal court, riding a horse. The eunuch, clearly feeling superior, asks if Rabbi Akiva is "the rabbi of the Jews," and then proceeds to tell him how things are: A king rides a horse, a free man rides a donkey, and only people wear shoes. Therefore, someone without a horse, donkey, or shoes is basically worthless, better off dead. Ouch.

How does Rabbi Akiva respond to such arrogance? He doesn't get angry. Instead, he turns the tables with a profound and poetic retort. "You said three things," he says, "now hear three things from me: The glory of a face is the beard, the joy of the heart is a wife, and 'the portion of the Lord is children' (Psalms 127:3). Woe unto that man who is lacking these three." The eunuch, despite his position and wealth, lacks these fundamental aspects of a full, meaningful life. The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) even points out that the eunuch's statement about only kings riding horses is contradicted by the verse itself, "I have seen servants upon horses." The story concludes with the eunuch, crushed by Rabbi Akiva's words, banging his head against a wall and dying. A dramatic, if perhaps embellished, ending!

There's another interpretation, too. This one casts Ahab, the notoriously wicked king of Israel, as the "servant upon a horse." And who's the "prince walking on the ground like a servant"? None other than the prophet Elijah! Remember the story from 1 Kings 18? After the famous showdown on Mount Carmel, "the hand of the Lord was upon Elijah, and he girded up his loins and ran before Ahab…" (1 (Kings 18:4)6). The prophet, despite his spiritual power and closeness to God, is literally running before the king.

So, what do we take away from all this? Perhaps it's a reminder that appearances can be deceiving. That true worth isn't always reflected in worldly status or material possessions. The world can get flipped around, and sometimes those who seem to be "on top" are actually deeply lacking, while those who appear to be "below" possess a profound and lasting strength. Maybe the verse is an invitation to look beyond the surface, to see the deeper realities of power, worth, and meaning in a world that often gets it wrong.

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Heikhalot Rabbati 31:4Heikhalot Rabbati

Our guide for this journey is none other than Rabbi Akiva, a towering figure in Jewish tradition. He had a vision, a glimpse into the celestial realms, which is recorded in Heikhalot (the heavenly palaces) Rabbati, a text filled with mystical experiences and angelic encounters.

Rabbi Akiva tells us that every single day, an angel takes its place right in the middle of the firmament – that's the expanse of the heavens, the visible sky, but also something far grander and more profound. This angel starts things off by proclaiming, "The Lord is the King!" And the entire heavenly entourage, the whole celestial crew, they all echo back in response.

This goes on until they reach a pivotal moment: the call to "Barchu." Now, Barchu is a familiar word to anyone who's been to a synagogue service. It’s the prayer leader's invitation to the congregation to bless God. But in this cosmic drama, it’s a cue for something extraordinary.

At the sound of "Barchu," another angel steps forward. But this isn't just any angel. This is a chaya (חיה), a being of immense spiritual stature. And this particular chaya has a name: Israel. Imagine that – an angel named Israel! According to Rabbi Akiva, this angel has the words "My people is Mine" emblazoned right on its forehead. Think about the weight and significance of that!

This chaya, Israel, stands in the middle of the firmament and calls out: "Bless (Barchu) the Lord who is blessed!" And then, all the ministers on high, all those heavenly beings, they respond in unison: "Blessed is the Lord who is blessed forever and ever!"

But the spectacle doesn't end there.

Before those words even finish echoing, the ofanim (אופנים) – another class of angels, powerful and awe-inspiring – they erupt in a shout. The ofanim aren't just shouting, they're shaking, literally shaking the world with their pronouncements: "Blessed is the glory of the Lord from His place!"

And what about chaya Israel? It remains there, in the center of it all, as all the ministers and officers, all the divisions and hosts of the heavens, tremble and quake. And each one, in its own place, turns to the chaya and declares the most foundational statement of Jewish faith: "Shema Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad – Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One" (Deuteronomy 6:4). This isn't just a recitation. This is a cosmic harmony, a daily reaffirmation of faith, echoing throughout the universe. It's a powerful reminder that even in the highest heavens, the core beliefs of Judaism resonate. The oneness of God, the connection between the divine and the people of Israel – these aren't just earthly concepts. They are woven into the very fabric of creation.

What does it mean that an angel named Israel stands at the heart of this heavenly declaration? What does it mean that "My people is Mine" is written on its forehead? These are questions that invite us to delve deeper into the mysteries of our tradition, to explore the profound connections between the earthly and the divine. It's a reminder that we are part of something much larger than ourselves, a story that stretches from the here and now to the farthest reaches of the cosmos.

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