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Solomon Learned Humility From Ants and Beans

The king who speaks every language hears an ant warn her colony before his army crushes them and learns his glory looks like danger from the ground.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Feast in the Anthill
  2. The Ant Queen in the Valley
  3. Solomon and the Boiled Beans
  4. The Sword of Lead
  5. The Throne and the Animals of Gold

Solomon had finished listing his achievements to his court. He had recounted the strength of his armies, the size of his fleet, the reach of his treasury. He concluded by declaring himself the greatest king who had ever lived.

The Holy One heard him. And sent him an invitation, from an ant.

The Feast in the Anthill

A tiny ant arrived at Solomon's palace and invited the king and his entire army to a feast. Solomon accepted. He traveled with his forces to a valley. He waited. The ant disappeared into the anthill and did not return for three days. When she emerged, Solomon asked what had taken so long. She said: "I was going through the rooms of my house, calculating whether they were large enough to hold you and your army."

Solomon laughed. He asked her name. She said: "I am the queen of the ants." He asked whether she knew who he was. She said: yes. He asked whether she would bow down to him. She said: "I should bow down to you? You should bow down to me. I am greater than you."

Solomon asked how that could be. She answered: "because God sent you to me. If I were not greater than you, God would have sent me to you."

Solomon could not answer. He had been measured by a creature he could crush underfoot, and the measurement was precise. His boast that he was the greatest king who had ever lived had not accounted for the hierarchy of divine assignment, in which greatness is determined not by the extent of one's kingdom but by who was sent to learn from whom.

The Ant Queen in the Valley

Legends of the Jews, compiled by Louis Ginzberg from earlier rabbinic traditions, preserves a parallel account. Solomon was traveling through a valley with his immense army when he heard a small voice ordering the ants to withdraw from his path before his forces crushed them. He halted his procession and spoke to the ant. He asked her whether she knew who he was. She said she did. He asked why she had not addressed him with proper deference.

Her answer: "if you were truly great, you would be afraid of God the way you expect me to be afraid of you. You are afraid of nothing. That is not wisdom. That is arrogance wearing wisdom's name."

Solomon picked her up to examine her. She told him to put her down: "you are nothing but a maggot's brother, born of a woman, and you are examining me?" He put her down. He went on his way quieter than he had come.

Solomon and the Boiled Beans

Another tradition from Gaster's Exempla preserves a different kind of humiliation, administered not by an insect but by a poor man's child. In the time of David, a famine struck Israel. A poor man with nine children was brought nine boiled eggs by a neighbor, one for each child. The children ate them. Twenty years passed. The neighbor, now harder-hearted, came back and demanded payment for those nine eggs, plus interest: the thousands of chickens those eggs would have become, had they been allowed to hatch and reproduce.

The case came before Solomon. The neighbor argued with the logic of compounding potential. The poor man had nothing. Solomon asked for time. Then he sent to the poor man a sack of boiled beans and a message: "plant these." The poor man protested: "boiled beans will not sprout." Exactly, Solomon replied. "Tell the court that."

Solomon's ruling was a lesson in the difference between theoretical potential and actual reality. The neighbor was demanding payment for chickens that had never existed, for a potential that the act of giving the eggs had already closed. Boiled eggs cannot hatch. Boiled beans cannot sprout. You cannot ask someone to pay for the unrealized future of something that was already completed when you gave it.

The Sword of Lead

Gaster's Exempla also records a stranger test. Solomon had written in Ecclesiastes that one man among a thousand he had found worthy but a woman among all those he had not found. Someone asked him to explain the line. Solomon said: "I will show you."

He summoned a man who loved his wife deeply and gave him a sword of lead and an instruction: "kill your wife tonight and I will give you one of my daughters in marriage." The man went home and told his wife. She said: "do it. He should not pass up such an opportunity. He should kill her and take the king's daughter." The man refused. He came back to Solomon and said he could not do it.

Solomon sent for a different kind of test on the wife's side. The pattern repeated. The wife's willingness to be sacrificed for her husband's advancement, and the husband's refusal to sacrifice her, told Solomon what he had already suspected about the particular kinds of failure human beings were vulnerable to. His line in Ecclesiastes was not a universal condemnation. It was a specific observation about what he had found in the particular tests he had run. Humility about generalizations is also a form of wisdom.

The Throne and the Animals of Gold

A final tradition describes Solomon's throne: thirty-three steps of gold, each step flanked by golden animals, a golden lion and a golden ox on each step. Above the throne a golden canopy with a golden chain, and from the chain a golden dove holding a crown in its beak with a gem inside it that lit the whole world. When Solomon placed his foot on the first step, the golden lion and ox rose and supported his leg. When he reached his seat, an eagle spread its wings and shaded him.

The throne that required a machine to raise him and animals to support his steps tells its own version of the ant's lesson. The greatest human throne ever built still needed the body it seated to be lifted by animals and sheltered by a bird. The glory of Solomon was real. It was also not self-sufficient for a single step.


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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.

Gaster, Exempla No. 343 (Codex Gaster 66)The Exempla of the Rabbis (1924)

King Solomon, master of seventy languages, including the speech of birds and insects (1 Kings 4:33), was boasting. He had spent an afternoon detailing to his court the strength of his armies, the size of his fleet, the reach of his treasuries. He had concluded by declaring himself the greatest king who had ever lived.

The Holy One heard him. And the Holy One sent him an invitation, from an ant.

The Feast in the Anthill

A tiny ant arrived at the palace and invited Solomon and his army to a feast lasting seven days and seven nights. She also requested the loan of a hundred servants to help her with preparations.

Solomon, amused but intrigued, accepted. His hundred servants were dispatched. The armies followed. They arrived at what appeared to be an ordinary anthill. And underneath it found immense subterranean storehouses, piled with food enough to feed thousands of men.

They feasted for seven days and seven nights. At the end of the week, the ant approached the king.

She bowed and said: "I notice that throughout the week you never once asked after my welfare, nor did you ask how I, a small ant, came to possess such treasures."

Solomon, embarrassed, apologized. He asked her now.

The Ant's Reckoning

She answered: "King Solomon, you are the smallest and most insignificant of many kings who lived before you. Every item of food you have eaten this week I collected from the abandoned packs of dead kings, kings who once waged wars against each other, believing themselves the greatest on earth, and whose corpses lay on my fields. I gather what they leave behind. You are simply the latest guest at a table I have been laying for centuries."

Solomon, the exempla says, was greatly humbled. He returned to Jerusalem no longer describing himself as the greatest king who ever lived.

The story, preserved in Codex Gaster 66 and woven into the rich medieval Solomoniad cycle, uses the smallest creature in creation to deliver the largest correction. If even an ant can outlive a king, what is a king really? Whatever Solomon had boasted about that morning, he ate it that week from the pantry of men who had boasted the same way before him.

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Legends of the Jews 5:117Legends of the Jews

Solomon, in all his glory, was wandering through a valley. Now, this wasn't just any valley – it was the valley of the ants. Imagine the scene: Solomon, with his immense army, a spectacle of power and majesty, about to unwittingly trample an entire civilization underfoot.

Then, a tiny voice. A single ant, crying out to its colony, ordering them to flee. "Withdraw! Withdraw! Lest you be crushed by the armies of Solomon!"

Solomon, ever the curious and just ruler, heard this tiny command amidst the clamor of his vast entourage. He stopped. He summoned the ant. Can you picture it? The most powerful king on Earth, waiting to speak to…an ant.

Not just any ant, but the queen. She explained her actions, the simple, desperate need to protect her people. Solomon, intrigued, wanted to ask her a question, a question that probably burned in his heart: "Is there anyone greater than I am in all the world?"

But the ant queen wasn't about to be intimidated. She refused to answer unless Solomon, the king of kings, humbled himself. She demanded to be lifted onto his hand. The sheer audacity!

And Solomon, in his wisdom, agreed. He, the ruler of everything he surveyed, gently picked up the tiny ant queen and placed her on his palm. Finally, she answered his question: "Yes."

Just "Yes."

Powerful, isn’t it?

According to the Legends of the Jews, the ant queen’s answer challenges the conventional perception of greatness, suggesting that true significance isn't measured by worldly power, but perhaps by something else entirely, like humility, or the ability to protect the vulnerable.

What does it mean to be truly great? Is it power, wisdom, or something else entirely? Perhaps the answer lies not in towering above others, but in recognizing the inherent value in every being, no matter how small. Solomon learned that day that even the smallest creature can offer the greatest wisdom. And maybe, just maybe, we can learn that lesson too.

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Gaster, Exempla of the Rabbis No. 342 (1924); Codex Gaster 66The Exempla of the Rabbis (1924)

In the time of King David (who reigned c. 1010 to 970 BCE) there were three years of famine across the land of Israel. A poor man with nine sons and daughters went without food for several days. His neighbor took pity on the household and brought them nine boiled eggs, one for each child, and the children ate them.

Twenty years passed. The same neighbor, now older and harder-hearted, came to the poor man and demanded payment, not just for the nine eggs but for the thousands of chickens those eggs would have hatched into, had they not been boiled and eaten. Generations of chickens. Eggs upon eggs, compounded. The claim was monstrous in its greed but clever in its form.

The case went before King David. He listened and, reasoning on the narrow logic of ordinary property law, condemned the poor man to pay three hundred gold dinarim. The poor man had no such sum. He offered his sons and daughters as slaves for two hundred dinarim, and his house for ten. Ninety remained owing. The creditor's collectors began to beat him for the balance.

His son Solomon, then still a young prince, heard of the verdict. Moved by rachamim, compassion, he came to his father the king with a suggestion, and the court gathered to hear it. Solomon said to the creditor, Sow your field this year with boiled beans. I will show you a fair field and a fair harvest. The creditor laughed. How can boiled beans grow? Everyone knows a boiled bean will not sprout. Solomon answered, And how can boiled eggs hatch chickens? The entire case collapsed on that sentence. King David, hearing his son's argument, overturned his own verdict. The poor man and his family were restored, the house was returned, and the children came home.

This exemplum, preserved as number 342 in Moses Gaster's 1924 Exempla of the Rabbis and drawn from Codex Gaster 66, shows why the tradition remembered Solomon as the wisest of all kings, (1 Kings 3:12), even while his father still wore the crown. Sometimes a child's question is the only way to rescue a father from his own ruling.

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Gaster, Exempla No. 328 (Codex Gaster 185)The Exempla of the Rabbis (1924)

Someone once asked King Solomon about a famously bitter line he had written in (Ecclesiastes 7:28), "One man among a thousand have I found; but a woman among all those have I not found." Why, they wanted to know, had the wisest man in the world written something so sweeping about women?

Solomon did not defend the line. He said, "I will show you."

The Two Tests

He summoned one of his servants, a man who loved his wife deeply. And gave him a charge. "Kill your wife tonight, and I will give you one of my daughters in marriage."

The man took a sword and went home. He stood over his sleeping wife. He raised the sword. And he could not bring it down. He returned to Solomon and confessed: "I cannot do it. I love her."

Then Solomon called the wife in. He said to her, "Your husband is unworthy of you. Kill him tonight, and I will marry you myself." He handed her a sword.

What she did not know was that the sword had been forged of lead, shaped to look like steel, but too soft to cut a throat.

The Edge That Did Not Hold

That night she stood over her sleeping husband. She brought the sword down, again, and again, and again. The soft lead bent and crumpled. She could not kill him. She kept trying until dawn.

In the morning, Solomon revealed the test. The sword was made of lead. She had not been defeated by love, like the husband. She had been defeated only by the softness of the metal.

This exempla, preserved in Codex Gaster 185 and drawing on medieval Solomon-legends, is offered in the rabbinic tradition as Solomon's own demonstration of the verse. The reading is uncomfortable and the Sages themselves debated it; rabbinic literature also preserves counter-stories of women of extraordinary faithfulness. But the exempla's point is narrower than a universal claim. It is about the danger of judging a heart by an untested night. And about a king who, to prove his bitter line, used a sword that could not cut at all.

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Gaster, The Exempla of the Rabbis (1924), No. 115The Exempla of the Rabbis (1924)

The throne of King Solomon, the legend-weavers said, was a marvel of engineering and meaning. It was made entirely of gold, with thirty-three steps ascending to the seat. On every step stood pairs of golden beasts, and over the throne arched a canopy from which hung a golden chain, and from the chain a golden dove. The dove held in its beak a golden crown, and in the crown a gem that lit the whole world.

When Solomon placed his foot on the first step, a golden lion and a golden ox lifted their paws. On the second step stood a golden bear and a golden lamb. On the third, a panther and a kid. On the fourth, an eagle and a hart. On the fifth, a peacock and a cock. On the sixth, a hawk and a dove. Predator and prey, arranged in pairs, as if to say: in a just kingdom, the wolf lies down with the lamb already (Isaiah 11:6).

Facing the twelve lions on one side stood twelve golden eagles on the other, and on each lion’s lifted paw was engraved a verse of Torah urging the king to judge uprightly.

When Solomon ascended, hidden wheels turned and the animals assisted his climb. When he reached the top, the golden dove opened a small ark, drew out the scroll of the Torah, and laid it before him. And from that seat, with the Torah open across his knees, he judged the whole world.

The rabbis made the engineering unnecessarily elaborate on purpose. They wanted every ruler who heard the story to understand: a throne without a scroll is just furniture.

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