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Solomon Built Bigger Than Moses but God Never Forgot Which Came First

One Temple candelabra came out of the mold heavier than the wilderness lamp by a single coin's weight. It went back into the furnace eighty times.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Dream at Gibeon
  2. The Voice That Stopped the Verdict
  3. Ten Lamps and the One Lit First
  4. The Altar That Kept the Old Name
  5. Horses, Silver, and the Five Things Taken Away
Solomon Built Bigger Than Moses but God Never Forgot Which Came First Click for full size

The Dream at Gibeon

Solomon was young and asleep at Gibeon when God stood over him and said, ask for anything.

Almost nobody in the whole history of Israel got that offer. He did not ask for years, or for the necks of his enemies, or for money. He asked for wisdom, on the reasoning that a man who has wisdom will end up holding everything else anyway.

He was right, and he got more than he bargained for. The forty-nine gates of wisdom opened to him, the same forty-nine that had opened to Moses. He wrote proverbs, eight hundred of them, and each one carried a second and a third meaning folded inside it, so the count in Scripture runs to three thousand. He took the laws Moses had brought down off the mountain, the ones nobody could explain, the ones people obeyed with a shrug, and he supplied the reasons.

Then he started measuring himself against the man who had brought them down.

The Voice That Stopped the Verdict

A case came before him and he looked at the man in front of him and knew.

He could read a defendant the way other men read weather. Witnesses, cross-questions, the slow machinery the Torah insists on, all of it was a formality wrapped around a conclusion he already had. So he opened his mouth to give the ruling without calling anyone to the stand.

A voice came out of heaven and stopped him before the sentence was finished.

He never got to hand down that judgment. The wisest man alive was not permitted to skip a step that exists for men who are not.

Ten Lamps and the One Lit First

The lamp Moses made had crossed the wilderness. It had stood in a tent for forty years, and then at Shiloh and Nob and Gibeon for four centuries more, and when the Temple was finished Solomon carried it in and set it in place.

Then he built ten more, five along the south wall and five along the north. Ten, for the ten Words spoken at Sinai. Seven lamps on each of them, which is seventy flames, one for each of the seventy nations of the world, and while those seventy burned the nations stayed in their own borders and kept their hands down.

The work was exact past the point of reason. One of the new candelabras came out of the goldsmiths' hands heavier than the wilderness lamp by the weight of a single coin, and it went back into the furnace eighty times, burning off dross a little at a time, until the difference was gone. In the same years Solomon put a thousand talents of gold through the fire a thousand times, and what came out at the end was one talent.

He built bigger. He built brighter. And in four hundred years of evening service in that building, not one priest ever forgot which lamp was older. Moses' menorah (the lampstand) was lit first, every night, before any of the seventy.

The Altar That Kept the Old Name

He did the same thing with the altar, and he did it knowingly.

The new one was larger than the brass altar Moses had built in the wilderness, and better made, and when it came time to name it Solomon gave it the old name. He knew what the old one was worth to heaven, and he was not going to be the king who let its name lapse.

What he was buying with that gesture was not small. A fire had been kept alive on Moses' altar without a break, night and day, fed by men who were not being watched and would not be remembered. God's answer to it was a sentence passed on somebody else: because Israel kept a fire burning on that altar continually, I will repay the kingdom loaded with crimes with a fire that is not quenched night or day, and its smoke will go up forever.

Two altars stood in the house after that. The brass one took the animals, the way a body takes food. The gold one took the spices and the incense, because a soul will accept nothing but fragrance. Both were used every day, since a man is expected to show up in both halves.

Horses, Silver, and the Five Things Taken Away

He kept horses, which a king of Israel may not do. He married a foreign woman whose turn toward the God of Israel was not made for clean reasons. He piled up silver and gold until the day came when people in Jerusalem were eating off it, using for kitchen pots the metal the Temple was plated with.

He knew the prohibitions. He had written commentary on them. He seems to have concluded that they were fences built for men who could not see over them, and he atoned for that conclusion later, and the atonement was not gentle.

Generations after him Manasseh carried an idol into the sanctuary and set it down inside, and the gold of that house, the kind that used to bring forth fruit, dried up and stayed dry.

Then Nebuchadnezzar came, and the burning, and the carrying off. Five things went out of the world that day and have not been seen since: the Ark, the fire of the altar, the spirit of prophecy, the cherubim, and the lamp Moses made with his own hands. God took them and hid them, and He has not said where.

The seventy flames along the north and south walls went out one after another in the smoke. On the far side of the sea, the nations lifted their heads.


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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.

Legends of the Jews 3:18Legends 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

Legends of the Jews turns to Solomon Added Ten Candelabras but Moses's Came First.

Why ten candelabras in total? Solomon, in his wisdom, chose the number ten to mirror the Ten Commandments, the Ten Utterances revealed at Sinai. And each of these candelabras? They held seven lamps, bringing the grand total to seventy – a number corresponding to the seventy nations of the world. Ginzberg, in his Legends of the Jews, beautifully explains that as long as these lamps burned brightly, the power of those nations was held in check. But the moment those flames were extinguished. well, that's when the nations would gain ascendancy.

The placement of these sacred objects within the Temple was also deeply significant. The menorah stood on the south side of the sanctuary, while the table holding the showbread was placed to the north. This positioning wasn't accidental. The table, according to tradition, symbolized the delights that await the righteous in Paradise, which Jewish tradition often places in the north. And the light of the menorah? That represented the radiant presence of the Shekhinah (שְׁכִינָה), the divine presence. In the world to come, the ultimate delight, the ultimate reward, will be to gaze upon that divine light.

What became of this sacred object? It wasn't immune to the tides of history. The menorah, due to its immense sacredness, was among five holy items that God concealed when Nebuchadnezzar destroyed the Temple. Think about the weight of that for a moment: the Ark of the Covenant, the menorah, the altar’s fire, the Holy Spirit of prophecy, and the Cherubim– all hidden away.

The promise, as we find in various Midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) sources, is that these objects will be restored when God, in His infinite loving-kindness, rebuilds His house and Temple. It's a powerful symbol of hope and resilience. A reminder that even in the darkest of times, the light – both literal and spiritual – will eventually return.

So, the next time you see a menorah, remember its rich history, its profound symbolism, and the enduring promise of restoration. It's more than just a candelabrum; it's a beacon of hope, evidence of faith, and a reminder of the enduring presence of the Divine.

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Legends of the Jews 3:23Legends 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

When he built the Beit Hamikdash, the Holy Temple, in Jerusalem, he constructed a brand new altar for offerings. But Solomon, in his wisdom, retained the original name for his new altar, acknowledging the profound significance of the original.

Did God appreciate this gesture? According to one telling, it seems God felt a little bittersweet about it. The text implies, almost with a sigh, that God prized Moses's original altar so much that he declared: "To reward Israel for having had 'a fire kept burning upon the altar continually,' I shall punish 'the kingdom laden with crime' by fire 'that shall not be quenched night or day; the smoke thereof shall go up forever.'" (Legends of the Jews). A potent reminder of the consequences when that sacred fire is extinguished through wrongdoing.

The story doesn’t end there. There were actually two altars: the brazen altar and the golden altar. And these two altars, according to tradition, represent something incredibly profound about us as human beings.

The brazen altar? That corresponds to the body. Think of the sacrifices offered there, the offerings of animals. Just as our bodies need sustenance, so too did this altar require offerings.

The golden altar, on the other hand? That represents the soul. Think about the spices, the sweet incense that were burned. The soul, finds delight in fragrance, in the ephemeral and spiritual.

Ginzberg, in Legends of the Jews, explains that just as gold is more valuable than brass, the soul is greater than the body. But here’s the key: both altars were used daily!

Why? Because we, as human beings, must serve our Creator with both body and soul. We can’t neglect one for the other. We need to nourish both, to tend to both. The sacrifices offered on the brazen altar mirror the food that nourishes our bodies, while the sweet incense on the golden altar symbolize the perfumes that delight the soul.

What a powerful image. But, at the same time, it's an urging to nurture our inner life. To seek out that which elevates and inspires us. Perhaps, in attending to both our "altars," we can find a little bit more of that eternal flame within ourselves.

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Bamidbar Rabbah 12:4Bamidbar Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

Bamidbar Rabbah turns to Solomon's Palanquin as a Metaphor for All of Creation.

The Bamidbar Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Book of Numbers, offers us a stunningly creative interpretation of a verse from the Song of Songs (3:9-10): "King Solomon made himself a palanquin from the timber of Lebanon.." This isn't just about a fancy chair for royalty; it's a metaphor for the very structure of creation!

The text unfolds like a divine blueprint. This "palanquin," the Bamidbar Rabbah suggests, is the world. And who is King Solomon in this context? None other than the Holy One, blessed be He, who brought peace (shalom) between fire and water, combining them to craft the firmament, the shamayim – heaven itself. Remember how (Genesis 1:8) tells us, "God called the firmament heaven"? Well, shamayim is cleverly broken down into esh (fire) and mayim (water).

Where did the materials come from? "From the timber of Lebanon," says the verse. But Rabbi Yosei bar Ḥalafta offers a fascinating connection: This refers to the Foundation Stone, located in the inner sanctum of the Temple. This stone, he says, is what the world was founded upon. As it says in (Psalms 50:2): "From Zion, the epitome of beauty, God appeared."

And what about the palanquin's features? "He crafted its pillars of silver, its cushioning of gold, its seat of purple wool; its interior is inlaid with love, from the daughters of Jerusalem." (Song of Songs 3:10). The pillars of silver are the firmament, almost as if they "put the act of Creation to shame," mekhasef, because the heavens themselves relate the glory of God (Psalms 19:2). The cushioning of gold? That's the earth, producing fruits as varied and precious as gold itself. The seat of purple wool? That's the sun, riding on a chariot (merkavo) and illuminating the world, just like a bridegroom leaving his bridal chamber (Psalms 19:6). The sun's power brings rain and fruit, weaving sustenance for all creatures. In fact, the term argaman, purple wool, is linked to vayman from (Daniel 1:5), alluding to the portion allotted to humanity.

And the most intimate part, "its interior is inlaid with love"? This is Adam and Eve, created to rule over all of creation. They are the beloved, the reason for it all.

But there's more to this metaphor. The Bamidbar Rabbah presents another interpretation: The palanquin, apiryon, was created for procreation, lifriya. As (Isaiah 45:18) states, "He did not create it for emptiness; He formed it to be inhabited." The Holy One, blessed be He, created it so there would be peace (shalom) between creations, echoing (Isaiah 45:7): "Who forms the light and creates darkness, makes peace…"

The "timber of Lebanon" can also be understood as the counsel (shebaatzat) of the Torah, whose matters are clear (melubenet). It's through the Torah that God created the world, aligning with (Proverbs 8:14): "Counsel and resourcefulness are mine."

The Bamidbar Rabbah also connects this palanquin imagery to the Temple itself, the Ark of the Covenant, and even the Tabernacle. Each element – the pillars, the cushioning, the seat – finds a parallel in these sacred spaces. For example, the pillars of silver become the two pillars before the Sanctuary, and the cushioning of gold represents the gold overlaying the Temple.

Rabbi Azarya, quoting Rabbi Yehuda ben Rabbi Simon, sees the "interior inlaid with love" as the Divine Presence itself.

So, what does it all mean? Perhaps it’s a reminder that the world around us isn't just a random collection of matter. It's a carefully crafted palanquin, a sacred space created with love, wisdom, and a profound purpose: for life, for peace, and for connection with the Divine. And just as the Bamidbar Rabbah weaves together seemingly disparate verses, maybe we too can weave together our understanding of the world, finding deeper meaning in every detail.

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Legends of the Jews 5:24Legends 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

The story of Solomon, a king whose legendary wisdom was almost overshadowed by his transgressions.

Solomon for his wisdom, but let's be real: he wasn't perfect is familiar. He slipped up in a few key areas. For starters, he married a gentile woman, which, according to some interpretations, wasn't done for the purest of reasons. More than that, though, he broke some serious rules laid out in the Torah. He kept too many horses, something strictly forbidden for a Jewish king. And he hoarded gold and silver – another major no-no. The text makes it clear: "he amassed much silver and gold," and the law finds this abhorrent.

In Legends of the Jews, under Solomon, silver and gold became so common that people used them for everyday utensils! But all this extravagance, all this flaunting of the rules…it came at a price. Solomon would have to atone for it later, and painfully so.

Let's not dwell only on the negative. Solomon's claim to fame, the thing that truly set him apart, was his legendary wisdom. Remember the story of God appearing to him in a dream in Gibeon? God offers him anything he wants. Now, only a few figures in Jewish tradition have had such an offer, like King Ahaz, and the promise of this opportunity for choosing will only be fulfilled by the Messiah in the future. What does Solomon choose? Not riches, not power, but wisdom. He understood that with wisdom, everything else would follow. Smart move. And boy, was he wise! The Scriptures tell us his wisdom was "greater than the wisdom of Ethan the Ezrahite, and Heman, and Calcol, and Darda, the three sons of Mahol." According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, that means he was even wiser than figures like Abraham, Moses, and even Adam!

Think about his proverbs. We only have about eight hundred of them today. But, as we find in Midrash Rabbah, each verse can be interpreted in multiple ways, effectively making it equal to three thousand! Solomon delved into the laws revealed to Moses, offering explanations for the rituals and ceremonies of the Torah. Without his insights, some of these practices might have seemed…well, a little strange.

The "forty-nine gates of wisdom," a concept familiar to both Moses and Solomon, were open to him. But Solomon, in his ambition, even tried to surpass Moses! He was so confident in his judgment that he considered dispensing justice without witnesses, if it wasn't for divine intervention.

So, what's the takeaway here? Solomon's story is a reminder that even the wisest among us are fallible. It's a story about the seductive nature of power and wealth, and the importance of staying true to one's principles. But it's also evidence of the incredible power of wisdom, and its ability to illuminate the world around us. Solomon’s legacy isn’t just about his gold or his throne, but about the timeless wisdom he left behind, wisdom that continues to guide and inspire us today.

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