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Solomon Sent His Scribes to Luz to Escape Death

Solomon sees the Angel of Death eyeing his two scribes and sends them to Luz, where death cannot enter. But death is already waiting there.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Angel Stared at Two Men in the Hall
  2. The Angel Arrived Puzzled, Then Satisfied
  3. What Solomon Understood Afterward
  4. The City That Swallowed the Plan

The Angel Stared at Two Men in the Hall

Solomon was holding court when he noticed the Angel of Death looking at two of his scribes with an attention that was not casual. The angel was assigned, not wandering. He had names. He had instructions. Two men would die, and the two men were standing in Solomon's own hall.

Solomon did what he always did when confronted with an impossible problem. He found the loophole.

He knew of Luz, a city where the Angel of Death had no direct authority inside the walls. As long as a person remained within Luz, death could not enter to claim him. The old men of that city walked out beyond the gates when they were ready to die, because inside, mortality simply had no purchase. Luz was not a hiding place. It was a legal exception built into creation.

Solomon summoned the two scribes, Elihoreph and Ahijah. He gave them horses and sent them riding hard toward Luz before the day was out.

The Angel Arrived Puzzled, Then Satisfied

When the Angel of Death returned to Solomon's court, his expression had changed. He was no longer troubled. He was finished.

Solomon demanded to know what had happened. The angel explained. He had not been assigned to take the men in Solomon's hall. He had been assigned to take them in Luz. Solomon's plan had not foiled the order. It had fulfilled it. The king had looked at the angel's face, panicked at the location, and delivered his scribes directly to the place of their appointed deaths.

The ride toward safety was the ride toward the end.

What Solomon Understood Afterward

Solomon had not failed. He had succeeded completely at his own plan. He moved the men fast and efficiently to exactly where death needed them to be.

He could command spirits, understand languages, build the Temple, and see through human pretense. None of that let him read what the angel had already written. The name of a city sat in the order before the scribes ever entered his hall.

The king sat with it afterward. He had thought clearly, acted fast, and been precisely wrong. The smarter the move, the more efficiently it had carried his scribes toward the wrong intention.

The City That Swallowed the Plan

Luz stood in other corners of legend as an almost magical exception: the city where the angel of death cannot operate, where the thread of mortality has a gap. Its old residents walked outside the gates when their time came, so Luz felt generous rather than cruel. Death was not forbidden forever. It was simply deferred by geography.

Solomon knew about that exemption. His knowledge of it was what made him choose it. He was not guessing. He had the right information and the wrong assignment.

The city swallowed the plan because it was also the location of the plan's completion.

SolomonLuzDeathAngel Of DeathWisdom
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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.

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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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?

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