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King Hiram Built a Throne and Claimed Immortality

Hiram of Tyre supplied the cedar for Solomon's Temple, then spent centuries building seven false heavens to claim the throne that was not his.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Alliance That Gave Him Access to Holiness
  2. Seven Heavens He Built Himself
  3. The Machine That Could Not Create the Sky
  4. Ezekiel Arrives on the Wind
  5. The Riddles and the Fine

The Alliance That Gave Him Access to Holiness

Hiram of Tyre was the ally who made the Temple possible. He sent cedar wood from Lebanon. He supplied craftsmen with knowledge that Israel did not have. He exchanged gifts and riddles with Solomon across years of friendship between their two kingdoms. Outside Jewish sources, the Tyrian historian Menander of Ephesus recorded Hiram as a king who lived fifty-three years and reigned thirty-four, who raised banks and built new quarters in the city and cut down old temples to build new ones. He was a real historical figure, and his cooperation was essential to the first Temple's construction.

The closeness was the problem. Standing near holiness is not the same as possessing it. Helping build the house of God is not the same as being invited to rule from it. Hiram learned this slowly, over what some traditions say was a very long life.

Seven Heavens He Built Himself

The midrash, drawing on the prophet Ezekiel's oracle against the king of Tyre, gives Hiram's downfall a precise architecture. He built seven artificial heavens, one above the other, each one more elaborate than the last.

The first heaven was glass, fitted with imitation sun and moon and stars, a replica of the sky. The second was iron, with a lake of water suspended inside it. The third was tin, set with precious stones that could move across its surface. Higher levels rose on pillars of iron and tin and precious stone. At the summit of the seventh, Hiram placed his throne.

He sat on it and declared that he was God.

The Machine That Could Not Create the Sky

The structure was brilliant in the way that missing the point can be brilliant. Hiram had copied every visible feature of the heavens. He had not created them. He had not made the light that filled his glass first heaven. He had installed lamps and mirrors. The water in the second heaven was suspended by engineering, not by the word that placed the firmament above the deep. The stones that moved across the third heaven moved because of mechanisms, not because God had set their courses.

Hiram had built a theater of divinity. He had made something that looked like what he had seen and decided that the resemblance made him the original. The tower was a machine for confusing competent construction with actual authority over creation.

Ezekiel Arrives on the Wind

The prophet Ezekiel appeared at the top of Hiram's artificial heaven, carried there by a divine wind. He found the king floating above the earth, full of pride and certainty of his own immortality.

Ezekiel asked him why he was so proud. He reminded him of the fact that could not be engineered away: you were born of a woman.

Hiram's response was unbelievable. He pointed at himself. He pointed at the seven heavens beneath him. He said: I am a god, and I sit in the seat of God.

He did not survive the assertion. Ezekiel's oracle from the thirty-eighth chapter makes the outcome plain enough. The one who claimed the divine seat was brought down from it. The seven heavens he had built with such care were not a throne. They were a demonstration of exactly how far a gifted human being can go in the wrong direction when access to holiness is mistaken for ownership of it.

The Riddles and the Fine

The legends preserved in Ginzberg's collection remember Hiram and Solomon exchanging riddles for years. Solomon always solved Hiram's puzzles. Hiram could not always solve Solomon's, and the agreement called for a fine to be paid by whoever failed. The riddle games were amiable, a competition between two kings who respected each other. Solomon's wisdom was genuine and came from God. Hiram's intelligence was genuine and came from himself. The difference was not in the quality of the minds. It was in where the minds believed their quality originated.

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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.

Against Apion 18:1Against Apion

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. Imagine the riddles and philosophical questions being debated!

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

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. It's a lighthearted image, isn't it? 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)

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

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. Can you imagine the sight?

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. A strange and unsettling image, isn’t it?

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. It reminds us that true greatness lies not in boasting and self-glorification, but in humility and service.

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

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)

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)

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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