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King Hiram Built a Throne and Claimed Immortality

Hiram sat on a gold couch above six false skies. Ezekiel rode a wind up there and asked why a man born of a woman called himself God.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Seven Skies on Iron Pillars
  2. A Wind and a Question
  3. The House Taken Down
  4. The Flesh Cut Daily

Hiram of Tyre had already outlived David. He had outlived Solomon. He had sent cedar from Lebanon for the Temple and craftsmen Israel did not have, and the house of God stood because his wood stood in it. He began to tell himself that men die and he did not, so he must not be a man.

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He whispered it to his chief counselor and told him to tell one person a day, and to order each hearer to do the same. The news ran through Tyre like a doubled number. Nothing fell on him. That, to Hiram, was further proof.

Seven Skies on Iron Pillars

He built what he thought heaven looked like. Seven artificial skies, stacked, on pillars of iron.

The first was glass, fitted with a fake sun and moon and stars. The second was iron, with a lake of water hung inside it. The third was tin, with precious stones rolling across it for thunder. Lead, then copper, then silver, then gold. On the seventh he set a couch of gold and pearls. When he moved it, the structure threw off flashes he called lightning.

He sat on that couch and said he was God. He had copied every visible piece of the sky. He had not made light. He had hung lamps. The water hung by engineering, not by the word that set a firmament over the deep. The stones rolled because he had built a track. He decided that looking like heaven was the same as being its king.

A Wind and a Question

Ezekiel arrived at the top on a wind, because God had lifted him there and told him to ask a question. Hiram, floating above his own machinery, was frightened and then angry.

"How did you rise to my heights?"

"God brought me here, and He bade me ask thee why thou art so proud, thou born of woman."

Hiram pointed at the seven skies under him. "I am not one born of woman. I live forever. As God resides on the sea, so my abode is on the sea, and as He inhabits seven heavens, so do I. See how many kings I have survived. Twenty-one of the House of David, and as many of the Kingdom of the Ten Tribes, and no less than fifty prophets and ten high priests have I buried."

He counted graves as if a pile of funerals were a throne.

The House Taken Down

God said, "I will destroy My house, that henceforth Hiram may have no reason for self-glorification, because all his pride comes only from the circumstance that he furnished the cedar-trees for the building of the Temple."

The cedar had been the wound. Access to holiness had been mistaken for ownership of it. The Temple would come down so a Tyrian king would stop using its beams as proof that he could not die.

Hiram had also spent years sending riddles to Solomon, and paying a fine whenever he failed to solve Solomon's in return. Solomon's wisdom came from God. Hiram's cleverness came from Hiram. The difference did not show in the quality of the puzzles. It showed in who each man thought had made his mind.

The Flesh Cut Daily

Nebuchadnezzar took him. In this telling the Babylonian king was Hiram's own stepson, and that did not help. Daily he cut a bit of flesh from Hiram's body and forced the old king to eat it, until there was nothing left to sit on a gold couch and call itself God.

Hiram's palace was swallowed by the earth. It will remain there until it rises in the world to come as a dwelling for the pious. The man who built seven fake heavens still died chewing his own flesh.

Ezekiel had asked the only question that mattered. Born of woman. The seven skies did not change the answer.

HiramSolomonPrideTempleEzekiel
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From the tradition

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The texts behind this telling. Some cards carry a translation of the source; others are our own retelling of it, and each card says which. Every card links out to the original.

Against Apion 18:1Against Apion

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Against Apion, trans. William Whiston · Public Domain

Josephus defends the antiquity of the Jewish people by reaching outside Jewish records.

Josephus, defending the antiquity of the Jewish people, calls upon a historian named Menander of Ephesus as a witness. Menander, you see, wrote about the deeds of the Greeks and barbarians under the Tyrian kings, meticulously researching their history from their own records. Think of him as an ancient investigative journalist!

When Menander chronicled the kings of Tyre, he arrived at Hirom (often called Hiram), a figure also prominent in the Hebrew Bible in connection with King Solomon. Menander states: "Upon the death of Abibalus, his son Hirom took the kingdom; he lived fifty-three years, and reigned thirty-four." Not bad. A good long life! According to Menander, Hirom "raised a bank on that called the Broad Place, and dedicated that golden pillar which is in Jupiter's temple; he also went and cut down timber from the mountain called Libanus, and got timber Of cedar for the roofs of the temples. He also pulled down the old temples, and built new ones; besides this, he consecrated the temples of Hercules and of Astarte." The Phoenician goddess Astarte, by the way, is also known as Ishtar or Ashtoreth in other cultures.

Fascinatingly, Menander adds a detail about Hirom's reign: "Under this king there was a younger son of Abdemon, who mastered the problems which Solomon king of Jerusalem had recommended to be solved." It's a tantalizing glimpse into an intellectual exchange between the kingdoms of Tyre and Jerusalem.

So, what’s the big deal? Why is Josephus bringing this up? Well, Josephus is building a timeline. He wants to establish just how ancient the Jewish people are. Menander provides a chronological sequence from Hirom to the founding of Carthage, the great Phoenician city in North Africa. Menander continues by listing the successors of Hirom: "Upon the death of Hirom, Baleazarus his son took the kingdom; he lived forty-three years, and reigned seven years: after him succeeded his son Abdastartus; he lived twenty-nine years, and reigned nine years. Now four sons of his nurse plotted against him and slew him, the eldest of whom reigned twelve years: after them came Astartus, the son of Deleastartus; he lived fifty-four years, and reigned twelve years: after him came his brother Aserymus; he lived fifty-four years, and reigned nine years: he was slain by his brother Pheles, who took the kingdom and reigned but eight months, though he lived fifty years: he was slain by Ithobalus, the priest of Astarte, who reigned thirty-two years, and lived sixty-eight years: he was succeeded by his son Badezorus, who lived forty-five years, and reigned six years: he was succeeded by Matgenus his son; he lived thirty-two years, and reigned nine years: Pygmalion succeeded him; he lived fifty-six years, and reigned forty-seven years. Now in the seventh year of his reign, his sister fled away from him, and built the city Carthage in Libya."

According to Menander's calculation, the time from Hirom’s reign to the founding of Carthage is 155 years and 8 months. Since the Temple in Jerusalem was built in the twelfth year of Hirom’s reign, that means there were 143 years and 8 months between the Temple's construction and Carthage's founding.

Josephus triumphantly asks, "Wherefore, what occasion is there for alleging any more testimonies out of the Phoenician histories [on the behalf of our nation], since what I have said is so thoroughly confirmed already?" He argues that his point – the antiquity of the Jewish people – is proven. "And to be sure our ancestors came into this country long before the building of the temple; for it was not till we had gotten possession of the whole land by war that we built our temple. And this is the point that I have clearly proved out of our sacred writings in my Antiquities."

It’s a powerful argument, built on careful sourcing and a desire to set the record straight. Josephus isn't just telling us history; he's actively shaping it, defending his people's place in the world. And in doing so, he reminds us that history is never a passive recounting of events, but an ongoing process of interpretation and, sometimes, passionate advocacy.

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Legends of the Jews 5:48Legends of the Jews

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Legends of the Jews by Louis Ginzberg (1909) · Public Domain

Sometimes, even kings need a good mental workout! And Solomon, it turns out, had a very specific way to keep his mind sharp: riddles.

Specifically, riddles with his good friend Hiram, the King of Tyre. Now, Hiram was a steadfast ally of King David’s dynasty and had been incredibly helpful in building the Temple. As a token of friendship, Hiram was in the habit of sending Solomon tricky questions, real head-scratchers, hoping the wise king could unravel them. And, of course, Solomon always did.

The story doesn't end there.

In legends, as recounted in Ginzberg’s Legends of the Jews, Solomon and Hiram struck a deal. They would exchange conundrums – riddles, basically – and the loser, the one who couldn't solve the other's riddle, would pay a fine. You can probably guess how that usually went. Hiram was constantly reaching for his royal purse!

Imagine the scene: two powerful kings, locked in a battle of wits, gold changing hands with every solved (or unsolved) riddle. A reminder that even those in positions of immense power are, at the end of the day, human.

But here's the twist. The people of Tyre, Hiram's kingdom, tell a slightly different tale. They claim that Solomon eventually met his match, not in Hiram himself, but in one of Hiram’s subjects: a clever fellow named Abdamon.

According to the Tyrians, Abdamon posed riddles so perplexing, so cunning, that they baffled even Solomon's legendary wit. The legends don't tell us what those riddles were, unfortunately!

So, what are we to make of this? Was Solomon, the wisest of men, finally stumped? Was Abdamon truly smarter? Perhaps the Tyrians were simply trying to puff up the reputation of one of their own. Or maybe, just maybe, it's a reminder that even the wisest among us can still be surprised, challenged, and humbled. That wisdom isn't about knowing everything, but about always being open to learning something new, even from the most unexpected sources.

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Exempla of the Rabbis, No. 4Exempla of the Rabbis (Gaster, 1924)

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Exempla of the Rabbis, Moses Gaster (1924) · Public Domain

Hiram, king of Tyre, was one of the most audacious men in all of scripture. God had given him wealth, beauty, and a lifespan that stretched across centuries, some sages say he lived for a thousand years. And all of it went to his head.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) records that Hiram built himself seven artificial heavens, each one a technological marvel. The first was made of glass, with artificial sun, moon, and stars that mimicked the real sky. The second was of iron, with a lake of water suspended within it. The third was of tin, set with precious stones that rolled like stars across its surface. Higher and higher the false heavens rose, each more elaborate than the last, supported on pillars of iron.

Hiram sat atop the seventh heaven, his own creation, his own throne above the clouds. And declared: "I am God." The prophet Ezekiel records his words: "I sit in the seat of God, in the heart of the seas" (Ezekiel 28:2). Hiram believed his own construction. He had built a heaven, therefore he was heaven's master.

Artificial heavens are not real heavens, and a king who sits on an iron throne is not the King who sits on the throne of glory. God sent Nebuchadnezzar against Hiram, and the Babylonian king tore down the seven false heavens one by one. The glass shattered. The iron buckled. The tin collapsed. The precious stones scattered.

Hiram fell from his manufactured paradise and learned what every mortal must eventually learn: you can build as high as you want, but the moment you declare yourself God, the real God brings you down. The higher the tower, the more catastrophic the fall.

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Legends of the Jews 10:98Legends of the Jews

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Legends of the Jews by Louis Ginzberg (1909) · Public Domain

This is one of those stories. It features a king so puffed up with pride that he believes himself immortal, only to be brought crashing down to earth – quite literally!

Hiram, provided the cedar wood for King Solomon's magnificent Temple. But somewhere along the line, Hiram's ego inflated to epic proportions.

The Ginzberg's says retelling in Legends of the Jews, Hiram, in his arrogance, began to float above the earth. He wasn't just walking tall; he was soaring! He started to believe he was superior to everyone.

Then, out of nowhere, the prophet Ezekiel appears! Wafted there by a divine wind, no less. Ezekiel confronts Hiram, asking him point-blank why he's so proud, reminding him that he's "born of woman."

Hiram's response? Unbelievable. He brazenly declares, "I am not one born of woman; I live forever… See how many kings I have survived!" He boasts about outliving twenty-one kings of the House of David, countless others, and even scores of prophets and high priests. The audacity!

This, of course, does not sit well with God. According to the legend, God declares that He will destroy His own house – the very Temple Hiram helped build – just so Hiram won’t have any reason left for his self-glorification. All that pride, the story implies, stemmed from supplying the cedar for the Temple.

The end for Hiram is brutal. He's conquered by Nebuchadnezzar, the Babylonian king. Ironically, Nebuchadnezzar was Hiram's step-son, but that didn't stop him from enacting a truly gruesome punishment. Daily, Nebuchadnezzar is said to have cut off pieces of Hiram's flesh and forced him to eat them, until the proud king finally perished. Talk about a fall from grace!

But the story doesn't end there. Hiram’s palace, we're told, was swallowed by the earth. And there it will remain, deep within the earth, until it emerges in the future world as a dwelling place for the righteous.

What are we to make of this bizarre tale? It seems to be a powerful cautionary story about the dangers of excessive pride, of forgetting our place in the grand scheme of things. Even someone who contributed to something as sacred as the Temple could fall prey to arrogance and suffer a terrible fate.

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Exempla of the Rabbis, No. 4Exempla of the Rabbis (Gaster, 1924)

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Exempla of the Rabbis, Moses Gaster (1924) · Public Domain

This tale, preserved among the Exempla of the Rabbis, recounts the vanity of Hiram, king of Tyre, who set out to imitate the heavens by his own craft. He built seven artificial firmaments mounted upon pillars of iron, each fashioned from a different material to mimic the wonders of the sky. The first was of glass, set with sun, moon, and stars. The second was of iron, holding a lake of water within it. The third was of tin, with precious stones rolling over it to produce the rumble of thunder. The fourth was of lead, the fifth of copper, then one of silver and one of gold, and upon the very top he placed a couch of gold studded with precious stones and pearls. By setting the whole apparatus in motion he could even produce a flashing scintillation, a counterfeit of lightning.

The story turns on the limit of all such human grandeur. The prophet Ezekiel, who is carried up to him, delivers the sobering word that punctures Hiram's pretension: although the king has been promised long life, he will not live forever. The whole edifice of glass and gold cannot purchase what no man can buy. The aggadah holds up Hiram as a figure of overreaching pride, a mortal who tried to build a heaven of his own and crown himself within it, only to be reminded that the true heavens belong to their Maker alone, and that every creature, however mighty its works, remains subject to death.

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Gaster, Exempla of the Rabbis, No. 4The Exempla of the Rabbis (1924)

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Exempla of the Rabbis, Moses Gaster (1924) · PD-US-pre-1929

Hiram, king of Tyre, the Phoenician ruler who had once sent cedar and skilled craftsmen to his friend Solomon (1 Kings 5:1), grew so rich that he tried to build heaven for himself. The legend in the Ma'aseh Book describes the result in detail, floor by floor.

Hiram erected seven artificial heavens on iron pillars. The first was made of clear glass, in which he set a sun, a moon, and stars. The second was iron, with a lake of water suspended inside it. The third was tin, across which precious stones could be rolled to mimic the rumble of thunder. The fourth was lead, the fifth copper, the sixth silver, the seventh gold. On top of the seventh sat a couch of gold, pearls, and gemstones.

Whenever Hiram wanted to stage a storm, he set the stones rolling in the third heaven and the thunder echoed. When he wanted lightning, he moved the couch above, and the precious gems scattered beams of scintillating light. He had built himself a private cosmos in which he could play God from a throne.

The prophet Ezekiel, the legend says, was carried up to Hiram in a vision to deliver the verdict. Ezekiel prophesied (Ezekiel 28:2), Yet thou art a man, and not God, though thou set thine heart as the heart of God. Although you have been promised long life, said the prophet, you will not live forever. The seven heavens will rust, the lake will drain, the stones will stop rolling. You are a man.

This exempla from The Exempla of the Rabbis (Gaster, 1924), drawn from the Ma'aseh Book, turns Hiram's wealth into a parable. You can build a ceiling of gold, but heaven does not open because you ask it to.

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Jewish Fairy Tales and Legends, The Paradise in the SeaJewish Fairy Tales and Legends (Landa, 1919)

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Project Gutenberg eBook #26711 · Public Domain

Hiram helped Solomon build the Temple, then decided he might never die.

That is the arrogance at the center of Landa's 1919 retelling. Hiram, king of Tyre, remembers David and Solomon as men who needed him. David died. Solomon died. Hiram remains old, rich, and flattered by counselors who are too afraid to contradict him. He turns survival into theology and begins to think of himself as immortal.

Then he builds a paradise in the sea. It is a seven-story palace of colored glass, arranged like a private heaven. Waters surround it. Light passes through it. Hiram sits inside the glittering structure as if he has escaped the ordinary fate of kings.

The sea answers. A storm rises. Thunder shakes the palace. Waves strike the glass until the lower story cracks, and the six levels above it lose their support. The paradise collapses into the water in a thousand pieces.

Hiram survives, but not because he is divine. His life is spared long enough for him to lose everything. Nebuchadnezzar dethrones him, and the old king ends as a captive. The palace breaks the lie before death does. Glass can imitate heaven. It cannot hold it.

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