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Shadad Ruled a Million Provinces and Still Died

Solomon finds a silver plate deep in a statue that speaks of Shadad ben Ad, who ruled a thousand thousand kingdoms and vanished at a touch.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Statue That Cried Out
  2. The Count on the Plate
  3. The Angel Came for Him
  4. Solomon Read His Own Warning

The Statue That Cried Out

Solomon was moving through a chamber of figures when one of them seemed almost alive. Not stone, not quite frozen. It cried out as he approached, summoning destructive spirits against him in a language meant to stop him from coming closer.

Solomon did not stop. He spoke the divine Name, and the chamber went quiet. The spirits withdrew. The figures stilled.

He reached into the throat of the lifelike statue and drew out a silver plate. It was covered in an inscription he could not read. This was the second surprise: Solomon, who could interpret hidden things and command what others could not even perceive, needed another reader. He summoned a youth from the desert who could decipher the script.

The Count on the Plate

The inscription began with accumulation. The man it memorialized had ruled a thousand thousand provinces and commanded a thousand thousand kings. He had ridden a thousand thousand horses. A thousand thousand heroes had fallen to him in battle. He had marched over a thousand thousand roads and returned from each one without defeat.

The numbers are designed to exhaust. Every time you think the count is finished, it begins again. The effect is not admiration. It is saturation. How much power, the inscription asks, does a person need before it is enough?

The answer the plate gives is not a number. It is a name: Shadad ben Ad.

The Angel Came for Him

After the count, the plate recorded the end. The Angel of Death appeared, and Shadad asked for three days to put his affairs in order. The angel refused. He asked for one day. The angel refused again. He offered to pay half of all his wealth. The angel would not negotiate.

Then the Angel of Death took him.

All of it, the provinces, the kings beneath him, the horses, the roads, the victories, amounted to nothing when the moment arrived. Not because those things were false but because they were irrelevant to the transaction. The angel did not bargain with empire. He simply arrived.

Solomon Read His Own Warning

The plate was not made for Solomon. It was made by or for Shadad, a figure out of an earlier age, a man whose scale of rule made Solomon's look modest by comparison. Solomon came to it as a reader, not a subject.

But the reading changes you. Solomon had already tried to outrun death when he sent his scribes to Luz. That plan delivered them to their appointed place. Now he stood holding a silver plate that described a man with incomparably more than he had, negotiating with the same angel for the same three days, and receiving the same answer.

The inscription on the plate is a mirror shaped like a monument. It brags before it warns. The thousand thousands are not there to impress Solomon. They are there to show him the scale at which bargaining still fails.

SolomonShadadDeathKingsWisdom
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From the tradition

Sources

3 sources

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

Legends of the Jews 5:128Legends of the Jews

The ancient wisdom tradition understands that feeling all too well. It reminds us, "O son of man, let not time deceive thee; thou must wither away, and leave thy place, to rest in the bosom of the earth." A sobering thought, isn't it?

It doesn't stop there. This relentless pursuit of… what, exactly? Is it worth the cost?

Instead, the tradition gently urges us, "Furnish thyself with food for the journey, prepare thy meal while daylight lasts, for thou wilt not remain on earth forever, and thou knowest not the day of thy death." In other words, prepare your soul. Nourish your spirit. The time we have is precious, and its end is unknown.

What does this have to do with King Solomon? Well, one fascinating legend, found in Legends of the Jews by Ginzberg, recounts a peculiar episode from his reign, an episode that touches on these very themes of mortality and the futility of earthly power.

Imagine Solomon, the wisest of men, exploring a series of mysterious chambers. Inside, he encounters a collection of statues, and one in particular seems almost alive. As he approaches, it emits a startling cry: "Hither, ye satans, Solomon has come to undo you!" Pandemonium erupts. A cacophony of noise and chaos fills the chamber.

Solomon, of course, is not easily intimidated. He pronounces the Ineffable Name of God – the Shem HaMeforesh – and immediately, silence descends. The statues crumble, and the offspring of these “satans” flee into the sea, where they perish.

From the throat of the lifelike statue, Solomon retrieves a silver plate covered in indecipherable characters. He seeks the wisdom of others, and a youth from the desert steps forward. "These letters are Greek," the youth explains, "and the words mean: 'I, Shadad ben Ad, ruled over a thousand thousand provinces, rode on a thousand thousand horses, had a thousand thousand kings under me, and slew a thousand thousand heroes, and when the Angel of Death approached me, I was powerless.'"

What a powerful statement! Shadad ben Ad, a king of immense power and dominion, ultimately brought low by the inevitable. It echoes the sentiments of the opening verses, doesn’t it? All that earthly glory, all that conquest, rendered meaningless in the face of mortality.

The story serves as a memento mori, a reminder of our own impermanence. Like Shadad ben Ad, we are all subject to the same fate. The legend of Solomon and the statue, steeped in ancient wisdom, encourages us to reflect on what truly matters. What are we building? What legacy are we leaving? And are we truly nourishing our souls for the ultimate journey?

Full source
Sukkah 53aTalmud Bavli, Sukkah

He too once saw a skull floating upon the surface of the water. He said to it: Because you drowned others, they drowned you; and in the end those who drowned you will themselves be drowned. Rabbi Yohanan said: A man's feet are his guarantors; to the place where he is summoned, there they carry him.

There were those two Cushites who used to stand before Solomon: Elihoreph and Ahiyah, the sons of Shisha, who were the scribes of Solomon. One day the Angel of Death saw that he was sad. He said to him: Why are you sad? He said to him: Because they have demanded of me these two Cushites who sit here. Solomon handed them over to demons and sent them to the city of Luz. When they reached the city of Luz, they died.

The next day the Angel of Death saw that he was cheerful. He said to him: Why are you cheerful? He said to him: To the very place where they were demanded of me, there you sent them. Immediately Solomon opened his mouth and said: A man's feet are his guarantors; to the place where he is summoned, there they carry him.

Full source
Legends of the Jews 5:148Legends of the Jews

King Solomon, the wisest of all men, certainly tried. And the story of his scribes, Elihoreph and Ahijah, is a fascinating, if ultimately sobering, tale about just that.

These weren't just any scribes. Elihoreph and Ahijah, sons of Shisha, were the scribes, the keepers of Solomon's vast kingdom's records. But their story, as told in Ginzberg's Legends of the Jews, takes a rather…unusual turn.

One day, Solomon noticed something was amiss. The Angel of Death, that grim messenger, looked troubled, burdened by a task. Naturally, Solomon, ever curious and insightful, inquired what was wrong.

The Angel revealed his mission: he was charged with bringing Solomon's two scribes, Elihoreph and Ahijah, to the next world. Solomon, being Solomon, wasn't too keen on this plan. He valued his scribes, and perhaps, just perhaps, thought he could outwit destiny itself.

So, Solomon hatched a plan. He commanded the demons – yes, demons – to transport Elihoreph and Ahijah to Luz. Now, Luz was no ordinary city. Legend held it was a place where the Angel of Death held no sway, a sanctuary from mortality itself. Quite the loophole. In a flash, the demons whisked the scribes away to Luz. But here's the twist, the part that makes you really stop and think: Elihoreph and Ahijah died the very instant they reached the gates of Luz. Despite all of Solomon's careful planning, all his power, all his influence, it was for naught.

The next day, the Angel of Death returned to Solomon, this time wearing a smile. He cheerfully declared, "Thou didst transport those two men to the very spot in which I wanted them!"

It turns out, their destined fate was to die specifically at the gates of Luz. The Angel of Death had been struggling to figure out how to get them there, and Solomon, in his attempt to cheat death, had inadvertently played right into its hands.

What does this all mean? The story, found within Legends of the Jews, based on various Midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) sources, including potentially some lost to us now, serves as a potent reminder. We can strive, we can plan, we can even command demons (if you happen to be King Solomon, that is!), but sometimes, destiny has a way of unfolding regardless. It's a humbling thought, isn't it? A reminder that even the wisest of kings couldn't escape the inevitable.

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