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The Ant That Corrected Solomon the Wise King

Solomon commanded demons, spoke to eagles, and ruled the world. Then one ant told him he was wrong about something, and she was right.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The King Who Commanded Everything Except What He Thought
  2. The Names He Had Been Given
  3. The Case the Boy Solomon Solved
  4. What Wealth Did to His Memory
  5. What the Tomb Full of Treasure Said

The King Who Commanded Everything Except What He Thought

Solomon was surveying his domain from whatever height his authority had taken him to, and he picked up an ant. He held her in his palm and felt magnificent. He asked her whether there was anyone in the world greater than he was.

The ant looked at him and said: yes. Me. Were I not greater than you, God would not have led you here to place me on your hand.

Solomon stared at the ant. The ant had spoken a truth he could not immediately refute. He had not picked her up from any particular need. He had been led there, as she said, and the fact that he had been led there meant that from some angle, the purpose of the moment was her instruction to him rather than his dominance over her. He had walked into a correction without noticing he was walking into one.

The Names He Had Been Given

Solomon had seven names, according to the tradition, and each one carried a different aspect of who he was. The name his mother Bathsheba gave him at birth was Jedidiah, friend of God. The name Solomon, Shelomo, related to shalom, peace, described the condition of the world during his reign. The other names mapped his qualities: lover of God, peaceful, skilled, a man whose root was completeness.

A man with seven names, each one a description of his excellence, who gets corrected by an ant, is being told something precise. The names described what he was. The ant described what he was not yet. Wisdom, in the tradition's telling, was not the same as completion. Solomon had received wisdom as a gift from God, it had come in a dream, in response to his asking for it rather than for wealth or long life, but receiving wisdom and having nothing left to learn were different things.

The Case the Boy Solomon Solved

Before he was king, when he was still David's son at court, Solomon had already demonstrated the quality of mind that would define his reign. A wealthy merchant had sent his son on a long journey with a cargo of goods. The son died on the road, and a servant accompanied the goods back to the merchant. The question was whether the servant had any claim to the estate.

Solomon, as a boy, cut through the argument. He asked the servant to describe the cargo, then the route, then the specific circumstances of the son's death. Each answer revealed that the servant had not been present for parts of the journey he claimed to have witnessed. The servant had invented his proximity to the merchant's son in order to build a legal claim. Solomon caught it by asking questions the servant could not answer consistently.

This was the same mind that would later pick up an ant and fail to see the correction coming. Wisdom and cleverness operated differently. Cleverness caught contradictions in testimony. Wisdom required a different kind of listening, the kind that left room to be instructed by something smaller than you.

What Wealth Did to His Memory

The tradition preserved the arc of Solomon's decline with uncomfortable clarity. As his wealth accumulated, his memory of where his wealth came from began to thin. He collected horses from Egypt, which the Torah's law for kings explicitly prohibited. He married foreign wives, which the same law warned against. The seven men who reminded him of the king's laws each morning before he sat on his throne continued to appear, and the reminders continued to recede into ritual without effect.

The Midrash did not call this stupidity. It called it the specific failure mode of exceptional intelligence: the capacity to believe that you understand a rule well enough to apply it differently than it was written. Solomon's wisdom was real. The wisdom was also, eventually, insufficient to protect him from the argument that wisdom gave him special permission to do what was forbidden to ordinary kings.

What the Tomb Full of Treasure Said

Solomon filled David's tomb with treasure. The tradition says the gold he placed there funded three separate needs across the following centuries: Asa's war against Aram, Hezekiah's payment to Assyria, and eventually the Hasmoneans' military campaigns. The money moved through history doing exactly what gold does, transferred from crisis to crisis, outlasting every hand that touched it.

The rabbis placed that account alongside the story of the ant with no apparent sense of contradiction. The king who was corrected by an ant was also the king who built a reserve that sustained his people for centuries. Both things were true. The ant's correction did not undo the tomb's contents. The tomb's contents did not make the ant wrong.

SolomonWisdomHumilityAnimalsPride
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From the tradition

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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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Legends of the Jews 5:26Legends of the Jews

Sometimes, it's through incredible feats of wisdom, especially when you're just a kid. Take Solomon, for example. Even before he was King, as a young lad during David's reign, he was already displaying the kind of intelligence that would become legendary.

A wealthy merchant sends his son on a long trading expedition to Africa. Years pass. The son finally returns, but tragedy has struck. His father has died. Even worse, all his father's treasures are now in the hands of a cunning slave! This slave, through trickery and intimidation, has gotten rid of all the other slaves and now claims he IS the son of the deceased.

The rightful heir, naturally, is outraged. He pleads his case before King David himself. But here's the catch: he has no witnesses. It’s his word against the slave's. And the slave? He’s smooth, convincing, and equally insistent that he is the son. What's a King to do? Without proof, there's no legal basis to dispossess the slave. It seems the villain might get away with it.

That's when young Solomon steps in. He's just a child, but he's got a mind like a steel trap. He listens intently to the case, and then… he proposes a solution so audacious, so… well, Solomonic, that it stops everyone in their tracks.

He orders the father's corpse to be exhumed. Yes, you heard that right.

Now, this is where it gets really interesting. Solomon devises a macabre test. He has one of the bones dyed with blood. First, the blood of the slave is applied. Nothing. No reaction. Then, the blood of the real heir is used. And here's the incredible part: the bone absorbs the blood, showing an undeniable affinity!

The truth is revealed. The slave's deception is exposed. The rightful son secures his inheritance, all thanks to the wisdom of a child.

It's a powerful story, isn't it? It reminds us that wisdom can come from the most unexpected places, and that sometimes, the most difficult problems require the most unconventional solutions. And it all started with a clever young boy who would one day become one of the wisest rulers in history. What does this story teach us about the nature of truth, justice, and the enduring power of a well-placed idea?

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Midrash Tehillim 119:31Midrash Tehillim

We've all been there. But what if I told you that neglecting Torah study could actually be… well, a missed opportunity of cosmic proportions?

Midrash Tehillim, a collection of homiletic interpretations on the Book of Psalms, tackles this very issue in its commentary on Psalm 119. It's a powerful passage urging us to prioritize learning, even when it feels impossible.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) begins by addressing that familiar excuse: "I didn't know!" It counters with a firm, yet gentle, reminder. The scroll is right there! The wisdom is accessible. As (Isaiah 29:12) puts it, when we hand the book to someone unlearned and ask them to read, they simply reply, "I am not learned." That feeling of inadequacy can be a real barrier, can't it? But David, in (Psalm 119:125), cries out, "I am your servant; give me understanding!" He acknowledges his need for divine guidance.

Then comes the truly provocative part. "Now is the time to do for God; violate your Torah!" Wait, what? Violate the Torah? It sounds like a contradiction, but the Midrash isn't advocating for lawlessness. Instead, it's urging us to prioritize Torah study, even if it means temporarily setting aside other commandments. It's a radical idea, emphasizing the profound importance of engaging with the divine word. The urgency is palpable: "If you see a generation that abandons the Torah and lets go of it, immediately it will be forgotten." The stakes are high! Have you ever put off something important, telling yourself you'll get to it "when you have time?" The Midrash challenges this procrastination. Every moment, it urges, strive to learn. Don’t wait for the perfect moment, because it might never arrive.

David then declares, "I love Your Torah more than all gold and precious stones!" Why this extreme devotion? Because, as the Midrash points out, earthly riches are fleeting. (Ezekiel 7:19) reminds us that on the day of judgment, silver will be thrown into the streets and gold will become abhorrent. They simply cannot save us. (Proverbs 11:4) echoes this sentiment: "Wealth does not profit on the day of wrath."

But the Torah? That’s a different story. Even if judgment leads to death, the Torah you've studied will revive your soul! "The Torah of the Lord is perfect, restoring the soul," it says. It's a promise of enduring value, a lifeline that transcends earthly limitations.

The Midrash then explores the meaning of David's words, "Therefore, I have observed all Your precepts." The Hebrew word "yesharim," meaning "upright," plays a crucial role. When someone asks for enlightenment in Hebrew, they say "ha'er li." So, David isn’t just saying he’s kept the commandments. He’s also saying he has enlightened them for his children, and that he needs God to enlighten him as well. It's a beautiful image of intergenerational learning and a constant seeking of deeper understanding.

And finally, the Midrash concludes with a powerful affirmation: "For with You is the fountain of life; in Your light do we see light." It’s a reminder that Torah study isn't just an intellectual exercise. It’s a connection to the very source of life, a pathway to seeing the world with greater clarity and wisdom.

So, the next time you're tempted to put off learning, remember the words of Midrash Tehillim. Don't wait for the perfect moment. Dive in, even if it means "violating your Torah" in a small way. The rewards, both in this world and the next, are immeasurable. What small step will you take today to connect with that fountain of life?

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Legends of the Jews 5:124Legends of the Jews

Solomon, in all his glory, encountered an ant. Not just any ant, but one with some serious sass. Apparently, Solomon was feeling pretty good about himself, and this ant was not impressed. "Were I not greater than thou," the ant declared, "God would not have led thee hither to put me on thy hand." Can you imagine?

Solomon, understandably, was taken aback. Exasperated, he threw the ant to the ground and exclaimed, "Thou knowest who I am? I am Solomon, the son of David!" You can almost hear the king’s voice, can't you?

The ant, completely unfazed, reminded the king of his humble origins. It admonished him to humility. The nerve! And, It's a powerful reminder that no matter how high we climb, there's always room for humility.

The story doesn’t end there. After this humbling encounter, Solomon came across a magnificent building. He wanted to explore it, but there was a problem: no doors! He searched and searched, but to no avail. So, he called on the demons – you know, as one does when one is king and commands such beings – to help him.

The demons, after a long search, found an eagle, and not just any eagle, but one seven hundred years old! But even this ancient bird couldn't help. He sent them to his even older brother, a nine-hundred-year-old eagle whose eyrie was even higher. Surely he would know. Nope. He, in turn, directed them to an even older brother, a thirteen-hundred-year-old eagle, who, naturally, possessed even more knowledge.

This oldest of eagles finally provided a clue. He recalled hearing his father say there was once a door on the west side, but it had been covered by the dust of ages. And so it was! They found an old iron door with an inscription. This is where things get really interesting.

The inscription read: "We, the dwellers in this palace, for many years lived in comfort and luxury; then, forced by hunger, we ground pearls into flour instead of wheat but to no avail, and so, when we were about to die, we bequeathed this palace to the eagles." A stark reminder of the fleeting nature of earthly riches, isn’t it?

The inscription continued with a detailed description of the wonderful palace, mentioning where the keys for the different chambers were to be found. Following these directions, Solomon inspected the remarkable building, whose apartments were made of pearls and precious stones. What a sight that must have been!

And, inscribed on the doors, he found three wise proverbs, each dealing with the vanity of all earthly things and admonishing men to be humble. It’s as if the palace itself was a giant mussar lesson – a lesson in ethical conduct.

So, what do we take away from this tale? It's a reminder that wisdom isn't just about knowledge; it's about humility. Even Solomon, the wisest of men, needed a little ant and some ancient eagles to remind him of that. And perhaps we do too. Next time you're feeling a little too important, maybe just remember the story of Solomon and the ant. It might just bring you back down to earth.

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Legends of the Jews 4:94Legends of the Jews

When King David, the sweet singer of Israel and warrior king, was laid to rest, Solomon, his wise son, filled his tomb with unimaginable treasures. The story goes that these riches weren't left untouched. Over a millennium later, Hyrcanus, the High Priest, dipped into David's hidden vault to fund Jerusalem's defense against the Greek king Antiochus. Even King Herod, known for his ambitious building projects (and perhaps less savory character), is said to have helped himself to a portion of the royal stash.

Here's the thing: while many tried, no one could fully plunder the tombs of David and his royal successors. Why? Because, as the story goes, the entrance was cleverly hidden, sunk so deep into the earth that it defied discovery. Imagine a secret, passed down through generations, protecting the resting place of kings.

One day, a pasha – a high-ranking Ottoman official – visited the mausoleum. While peering through a window, he accidentally dropped a precious weapon, adorned with diamonds and pearls, into the tomb. Naturally, he wanted it back.

What followed was a series of chilling events. One after another, brave Muslim men were lowered into the tomb to retrieve the weapon, only to be pulled back up lifeless. Three tried, three died. It was as if the tomb itself was defending its secrets.

Understandably, the pasha, under pressure from the kadi (a judge), grew concerned. He held the Jewish community responsible for returning the lost weapon. Talk about a tight spot! So, the Rabbi of Jerusalem, in a moment of crisis, called for three days of fasting and prayer. They turned to the heavens for guidance.

Then came the casting of lots, a sacred tradition used to discern divine will. The task: to choose one person to venture into the perilous tomb. The lot fell upon the shammash, the beadle of the synagogue – a man known for his piety and integrity. Imagine the weight on his shoulders.

He descended into the darkness, and what happened next is nothing short of miraculous. The shammash later recounted his adventure to the Hakam Bashi, the chief rabbi. As he was down there, facing who-knows-what, an old man, radiating dignity, suddenly appeared before him. And, without a word, the old man simply handed him the very weapon he sought.

The shammash returned the weapon to the pasha, who, perhaps humbled by the strange events, treated the Jewish community with kindness from then on.

So, what does this tale tell us? Is it a story of divine protection? A evidence of the power of faith and prayer? Or perhaps a reminder that some secrets are best left undisturbed? Maybe it's all of these things. The legends surrounding King David's tomb remind us that history, faith, and the unknown often intertwine in the most unexpected ways.

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

Solomon and the ant, a story that combines the king's legendary wisdom with a creature so small that most people would crush it without a thought. The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) preserves their encounter as proof that even the smallest of God's creatures has something to teach the wisest of men.

Solomon, who could speak the language of all animals and birds (1 Kings 4:33), once engaged an ant in conversation. The ant was carrying a grain of wheat, a burden enormous relative to its tiny body, yet it marched forward without complaint.

"Where are you going with that grain?" Solomon asked. "To my storehouse," the ant replied. "I am preparing for the winter." Solomon was impressed. "And how many of you are there?" "Thousands upon thousands. And every one of us works."

Solomon tested the ant further. He offered it wealth, comfort, freedom from labor. The ant refused everything. "Why would I stop working?" it said. "Work is what I was created to do. To stop working would be to deny my purpose."

The king, who ruled an empire spanning continents, who commanded armies and collected tribute from nations, was humbled by an insect. The ant needed no palace, no throne, no wisdom from heaven. It had been given a task and it fulfilled that task without hesitation, without complaint, without the existential crises that plagued human kings.

The Book of Proverbs records Solomon's conclusion: "Go to the ant, you sluggard; consider her ways and be wise. She has no commander, no overseer, no ruler, yet she stores her provisions in summer and gathers her food at harvest" (Proverbs 6:6-8). The smallest creature taught the greatest king: the secret to life is not wisdom. It is diligence.

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