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Solomon's Golden Trees Bore Fruit in the Temple for Four Centuries

Beyond what the Torah prescribed, Solomon planted golden trees inside the Temple that bore fruit continuously until the day the Babylonians breached the walls.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. What the Torah Did Not Prescribe
  2. Trees That Bore Fruit for Four Centuries
  3. What Solomon Inherited From David
  4. When the Fruit Fell
  5. What the Demons Built

What the Torah Did Not Prescribe

Solomon built everything the Torah prescribed. The menorah, the altar, the ark with its covering of beaten gold. He built the Holy of Holies and the inner court and the outer court and the portico. He brought the ark of the covenant up from the City of David and placed it in the innermost room. He did all of this over seven years with an immense workforce, and according to Ginzberg's Legends of the Jews, drawing on Talmudic and midrashic sources, not a single worker died or even fell ill during the entire construction. God's favor rested on the project in a way that was visible to anyone who paid attention to such things. The tools never dulled. The materials never ran short. The building proceeded as though the project itself had been protected from the inside.

And then Solomon added something the Torah never prescribed: golden trees.

He planted them inside the Temple, positioned so that they bore golden fruit. This was not hubris or overreach. Solomon understood the Temple as a compressed version of the world God had made, a microcosm in which the essential structures of creation were reproduced in miniature. The world God made contained gardens. Eden had trees that bore fruit. The house of God should contain the same. He was completing a correspondence that the prescribed furnishings had left open. The menorah reproduced the light of the first day. The golden trees reproduced the garden of the first act of creation.

Trees That Bore Fruit for Four Centuries

The more striking detail is not the trees themselves but their behavior over time. They kept bearing fruit. Golden trees producing golden fruit, continuously, throughout the entire period the Temple stood. This was not a decorative element that looked impressive at the dedication and then became fixed decor. It was a living mechanism inside a stone building, operating as a continuous sign of the divine favor that had made the building possible.

Solomon had seven names, according to the tradition in Ginzberg's Legends of the Jews. He was born Jedidiah, friend of God. The name Solomon stuck because it reflected the shalom, the peace, that characterized his reign. He was also called Ben, because he was the builder. This is the most compressed of his names and perhaps the most accurate one: the builder is what he fundamentally was. He built the Temple. He planted the trees. He completed the correspondence between earth and heaven that David had wanted to make but was told he could not, because his hands were covered in the blood of war.

What Solomon Inherited From David

Solomon did not start the unfinished business of the Temple from nothing. David had spent his kingship accumulating the materials and the desire. He had also spent it dealing with the complications of power, including the final instructions he left Solomon about Joab, the great general who had served David faithfully and also committed two murders that David had been unable to address while Joab was still useful to him. Solomon inherited both the glory and the accounting. He dealt with Joab. He built the Temple. He planted the trees.

Midrash Tehillim records that three figures specifically requested wisdom from God: David, Solomon, and the Messiah. David asked for wisdom to lead. Solomon asked for wisdom to judge. The Messiah will ask for wisdom to complete what the previous two began. The golden trees were Solomon's wisdom made visible in the most literal sense: he had understood that the Temple needed to breathe, needed to produce, needed to be a living thing and not merely a magnificent container.

When the Fruit Fell

The Babylonians came. They breached the Temple. They stripped the gold and destroyed the stonework and burned what would burn. And when they breached the Temple, the golden fruit fell from the trees. The tradition is specific about this: the fruit fell when the enemies entered. Not when the building burned. Not when the ark was taken. When the enemies crossed the threshold, the living mechanism that had been operating continuously for approximately four hundred years stopped operating.

Ginzberg preserves this as the summary statement of what the Temple's duration meant. The golden trees bore fruit for as long as the covenant between Israel and God held the space open. When that space was violated by conquest, the biological impossibility that had been running inside the stone building stopped. The fire could consume the wood and the stone. The fall of the fruit preceded the fire. The living presence left before the physical structure was destroyed.

What the Demons Built

The human workers were not the only ones involved in the construction. Ginzberg's account, drawing on Talmudic and midrashic sources, records that Solomon controlled demons as well as human beings. When a mischievous spirit was stealing from one of his pages, Solomon prayed to God and the archangel Michael appeared and gave him a ring by which he could command the demonic forces. Solomon deployed them in the construction alongside the human workforce. The stone that could not be cut by metal tools was shaped by other means. The structure that no human building program could have completed in seven years was completed in seven years with supernatural assistance.

Demons built the Temple. That is the tradition. They built it under angelic command, in service of the most just human king the world had seen, for the purpose of housing the divine presence on earth. The golden trees completed what the demons and the angels and the human workers had together constructed. The building was extraordinary because it was built by the full range of created beings, visible and invisible, in the service of the one thing they all served.


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Legends of the Jews 5:97Legends of the Jews

What would strike you most? The sheer size? The gleaming gold? Well, according to tradition, it was also Solomon’s incredible wisdom made manifest in every single detail.

It wasn't just about following instructions. Solomon, blessed with unparalleled intellect, poured his heart and soul into the Temple’s design. The stories tell us every feature, every ornament, reflected his deep understanding of the divine.

Get this: beyond the prescribed furnishings, Solomon planted golden trees! Can you picture it? Trees of pure gold, perpetually bearing fruit. A constant, shining evidence of abundance and divine favor.

A poignant detail. The legends say that these golden trees flourished as long as the Temple stood. But when enemies breached the sacred space, the golden fruit fell, a symbol of loss and desecration. Yet, hope remains. The fruit will blossom again, the stories promise, when the Temple is rebuilt in the days of the Messiah. A beautiful image, isn't it? A symbol of renewal after destruction.

And here’s something else that’s pretty amazing: the Temple was built in just seven years. Seven years! Solomon’s own palace, though grand, took almost twice as long. Why the difference? Perhaps it reveals where Solomon’s true priorities lay.

It also subtly elevates Solomon above his own father, King David. As we find in the Talmud (Sanhedrin 20b), David first built a house for himself and then considered a dwelling place for God. Solomon, in contrast, prioritized the Temple. This devotion, this dedication to creating a sacred space for the divine, is what truly defined him.

In fact, Solomon’s work on the Temple was so meritorious that it actually shielded him from being counted among the wicked kings. The Sages, weighing his later actions – which, let’s be honest, weren’t always exemplary – recognized the profound significance of his devotion to the Temple. Without that, the scales might have tipped the other way.

So, the next time you think about the Temple, don't just picture stones and mortar. Picture golden trees, perpetually bearing fruit. Picture the dedication, the wisdom, the sheer, unadulterated devotion that went into every detail. Because, according to the legends, that's what truly made it a sacred space.

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Legends of the Jews 5:98Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Not One Worker Died During Seven Years of Temple Building.

The Legends of the Jews (Ginzberg) tells us that the favor God showed Solomon was directly tied to Solomon's own dedication and zeal. It makes you think, doesn't it? That our own efforts can open doors to divine assistance.

What kind of assistance it was! Imagine this: for the entire seven years of construction, not a single worker died or even fell ill! Can you picture that? A project of that scale, with countless people involved, and everyone remained healthy and strong. It’s almost unbelievable.

It gets even more wondrous. The tools themselves, the very instruments used to shape the stones and carve the wood, remained perfectly sharp and functional from beginning to end. Nothing broke down. Nothing needed replacing. The work flowed without interruption. It’s a picture of divine orchestration, isn't it?

Think about the symbolism here. The Temple, the House of God, being built with such flawless precision. It reflects the divine perfection it was intended to house. The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) are full of these kinds of symbolic details.

Now, here's where the story takes an interesting turn. According to the legend, once the Temple was complete, the workmen began to die. Why? The Legends of the Jews suggests it was to prevent them from using their skills to build similar structures for other gods, for the heathen.

A little harsh, maybe? But it speaks to the absolute importance of the Temple's uniqueness, its singular purpose as the dwelling place of the One God. Their reward, we're told, would come later, in the world to come, the olam ha-ba (the World to Come). A fascinating idea – that earthly efforts find their true recompense in the afterlife.

And what about Hiram, the master craftsman, the architect of this magnificent structure? His reward was even more extraordinary: he was permitted to enter Paradise, Gan Eden, alive! A evidence of the incredible skill and devotion he brought to the project.

So, the next time you think about Solomon's Temple, remember it wasn't just a building. It was a miracle, a evidence of divine favor, and a reminder that even the most earthly endeavors can be touched by the hand of God. It also reminds us that there are forces beyond our comprehension, working in ways we may never fully understand. What do you think? Is there a lesson in this for us today?

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Legends of the Jews 5:4Legends of the Jews

You might know him as Solomon, the wise king. But did you know that wasn't his only name? According to tradition, he was actually born with the name Jedidiah, meaning "friend of God." But "Solomon" stuck, and for a beautiful reason: it reflects the shalom, the peace, that reigned during his time.

Wait, there's more! The sages tell us he had other names too. The text mentions Ben, Jakeh, and Ithiel. Ben, because he was the builder, the one who would construct the magnificent Temple. Jakeh, because his rule extended over the entire world. And Ithiel, because God was with him, always. Pretty powerful stuff. It makes you think about how names can carry so much meaning, so much destiny.

Solomon’s path to the throne wasn't without its bumps, though. Remember Adonijah? He had plans to lead a rebellion, to seize power for himself. But luckily, David, in his wisdom, had Solomon publicly anointed as king. This preemptive move effectively squashed the rebellion before it could even begin.

Get this: Solomon didn't just ride any old donkey to his anointing. Oh no. He rode a special she-mule. Now, this wasn't your average mule, born of the usual crossbreeding. Legend has it, this mule was created specifically for the occasion! A one-of-a-kind creature for a one-of-a-kind king. It really makes you wonder, doesn’t it? What other incredible things happened that we don't even know about? What other stories are waiting to be uncovered? What does it mean to be truly chosen?

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Midrash Tehillim 119:15Midrash Tehillim

The great King David felt that way too.

In Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Book of Psalms, we find a beautiful exploration of Psalm 119. It's all about seeking wisdom and understanding from God, and it starts with David's plea: "Teach me, O Lord, the way of Your statutes."

What does that really mean?

The passage points us to Proverbs, where Solomon, renowned for his wisdom, declares, "Happy is the man who finds wisdom, and the man who gains understanding." (Proverbs 3:13). He goes on and on about how amazing wisdom is! Better than silver, better than gold, more precious than rubies! (Proverbs 3:14-15).

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) tells us that three figures specifically requested wisdom from God: David, Solomon, and the Messiah. David, of course, with his heartfelt cry, "Teach me, O Lord, the way of Your statutes." Solomon, in 2 Chronicles, asks directly for "wisdom and knowledge," (2 (Chronicles 1:1)0) and God grants it to him. (2 (Chronicles 1:1)2). And concerning the Messiah, Psalm 72 implores, "Give the king Your judgments, O God." (Psalm 72:1).

So, why does David ask to be taught? Isn't the wisdom already out there? David clarifies, "Don't tell me it's simply in front of me, easily accessible. No, teach me." He echoes this sentiment later in Psalm 119, saying, "Give me understanding, and I shall keep Your law;, I shall observe it with my whole heart." (Psalm 119:73). It's not enough to just know the law; we need to understand it, to internalize it, to make it a part of who we are.

But there's more to it. What does "the way" even mean? The Midrash beautifully explains that it means to "make the Torah a way for me." It's about making Torah a path, a guide for our lives. And what about treasuring it with your whole heart? That sounds nice. But the Midrash dives deeper. It means that the Torah should be so ingrained in you that even when you set it aside, it’s like you’ve never stopped thinking about it.

The Midrash uses a powerful analogy: Imagine crafting a vessel for the king, pouring all your skill and effort into it. But then, it breaks in your hands right before you present it. All that work, seemingly for nothing. Similarly, if you engage with Torah and then simply set it aside, you risk losing that connection, that understanding.

The text then brings up Ahithophel as a cautionary tale. He was known for his wisdom, but what good did it ultimately do him? David, in contrast, prays to be taught and to treasure the Torah with his whole heart.

This echoes in Psalm 19: "Moreover by them Your servant is warned, and in keeping them there is great reward. Who can understand his errors? Cleanse me from secret faults." (Psalm 19:11-12). And again, in Psalm 119: "Great peace have those who love Your law, and nothing causes them to stumble." (Psalm 119:165).

So, what's the takeaway? It's not enough to passively receive wisdom. We need to actively seek it, internalize it, and make it a constant presence in our lives. We must constantly ask ourselves, "How can I make the Torah a way for me?" How can I apply these ancient teachings to my modern life, and how can I hold them close, always? Because true wisdom isn't just about knowing; it's about living.

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Legends of the Jews 5:86Legends of the Jews

The familiar telling remembers the human labor, the cedar from Lebanon, the gold and precious stones. But there's a less-told tale, a whisper from the shadows, involving beings not quite of this world: demons.

In legends, Solomon wasn't just a brilliant king; he was also a master of the mystical arts. The stories tell us that, in the beginning of the Temple's construction, things weren't going so smoothly. One of Solomon's pages kept losing his money and food to a mischievous, unseen force. Imagine the frustration! Solomon, unable to catch the culprit, turned to the highest power. He prayed fervently to God, begging for deliverance from this wicked spirit.

His prayers were answered. As we read in Legends of the Jews by Ginzberg, the archangel Michael himself appeared before Solomon. He didn't come empty-handed. Michael presented Solomon with a small ring, a signet ring bearing a powerful seal. "Take, O Solomon, king, son of David," Michael said, "the gift which the Lord God, the highest Zebaot (hosts), hath sent unto thee." With this ring, Solomon could "lock up all the demons of the earth, male and female; and with their help thou shalt build up Jerusalem." A fascinating divine decree, isn't it?

The ring wasn't just any piece of jewelry. It bore a Pentalpha – a five-pointed star – an engraving that held immense power. Solomon, now armed with this divine gift, summoned all the demons before him. Can you picture that scene? A king, empowered by God, facing down the denizens of darkness.

He interrogated each demon, demanding their names and their celestial affiliations. He wanted to know which star, constellation, or zodiac sign held sway over them, and the name of the angel to whom they were subject. According to these legends, knowledge is power. And Solomon, through the ring, had the power to subdue them.

One by one, the spirits were vanquished. Solomon, wielding the power of the ring, compelled them to aid in the construction of the Temple. Imagine those mischievous demons, forced to use their supernatural abilities for something… constructive! It's a evidence of the power of faith and divine intervention. The Temple, a symbol of holiness and connection with the divine, was built not just by human hands, but with the unwilling assistance of the demonic realm. What does that tell us about the complexities of creation, and the surprising ways that even darkness can be channeled toward light?

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Legends of the Jews 5:6Legends of the Jews

Sometimes, there's a little unfinished business to take care of. And in the case of King Solomon, that unfinished business came in the form of his father, David’s, final instructions.

Being Solomon, inheriting not just a kingdom, but a to-do list from beyond the grave. And right at the top of that list? Dealing with Joab.

Joab wasn't just some random guy. He was David's right-hand man, his top general. According to some accounts, he even had the intellect to head up the Academy, the bet midrash (house of study), a place of Torah scholarship! He had all the qualities needed to lead in ancient Israel. But here's the thing: even the most capable people can make some serious mistakes.

Joab? Well, he'd made a few doozies.

We're not just talking about a little white lie or a missed deadline. We're talking about murder. Two murders, actually: Abner and Amasa. The blood was on his hands. But according to the biblical narrative, that wasn't all. He was also suspected of arranging the death of Uriah the Hittite, and even worse, he used David's own letter – the one that sealed Uriah's fate – to cover his tracks! for a second. Betrayal on multiple levels.

Now, you might be thinking, why didn't David just deal with Joab himself? Why leave it to Solomon? The text hints that David may have considered forgiving Joab. But, and this is key, David wanted Joab to atone for his sins in this world. Why? So that Joab might be spared punishment in the world to come. A fascinating concept. That earthly consequences could somehow lighten the spiritual load in the afterlife. We see that concept echoed in the Talmud.

So, Solomon, fresh on the throne, had a heavy task before him. He had to balance justice, mercy, and the wishes of his late father. It was a test of his wisdom, right from the start. What would you do?

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