The Barrel of Pearls Breaks Open and Solomon Ends Behind Sixty Swords
Sixty armed men stood around the king's bed every night because he was afraid of the dark. He had once ruled from one end of the earth to the other.
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There was a barrel standing in the corner of a room, lid hammered down tight, and everybody walked past it for years. Nobody knew what was in it. Then one day a man pried the lid off and turned it over, and gems and pearls went across the floor, and the whole street knew.
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Solomon was that barrel with the lid still on. A heart packed full and a mouth that had not yet opened.
The King Who Went Hunting for Teachers
He went after wisdom the way the spies went into Canaan. Same word for it. He scouted.
If a man was expert in Scripture, Solomon went to him. If a man was expert in Mishnah, Solomon went to him. He filled the alphabet with songs and then kept going five letters past the end of it, because a thousand and five is what the record says, and a poet who stops at the last letter has only done what he was asked.
He did not stop at Torah either. He went at everything done under the sun, down to how a cook takes the bitterness out of mustard and how a farmer sweetens mandrakes.
God watched him hunting and said, "You scouted after Torah. By your life, I am not holding back your wages." The Spirit came down on him then, and the lid came off. Out came Proverbs. Out came Ecclesiastes. Out came the Song of Songs.
The Throne That Judged Without Witnesses
He climbed in three steps. First the whole country across the River. Then every kingdom from the River to the border of Egypt. Then a line that made the study halls stop: Solomon sat on the throne of the LORD as king.
Rabbi Yitzhak refused to let it pass. God is a consuming fire. His throne is sparks of flame and a river of fire pours out from in front of it. Put a man in that seat and the man is ash. How does anyone read this?
Like this, they answered him. God's throne rules from one end of the earth to the other, and so did his. God's throne passes sentence with no witnesses called and no warning given, and so did his.
Two women came in holding one live baby and one dead one, each swearing the live one was hers. No witnesses. Nothing to weigh. Solomon sent for a sword and told the guard to cut the child in half and give each woman a piece, and one of the women said fine, divide it, and the other one broke and said give it to her, only let him live. He handed the baby to the one who broke.
Who were those women? Rav said they were spirits. Other teachers said they were childless widows waiting on levirate marriage, with everything riding on which infant had lived. Rabbi Simon said they were exactly what the verse calls them, two harlots off the street, and a king who ruled the world stopped his court for them.
The Song He Signed With His Father's Name
There is a psalm for the dedication of the House with David's name on the top of it, and David was dead before the first stone went down.
Solomon wrote it and put his father's name on it, because David had spent his last years hauling in the cedar and the gold and the iron for a building he had been told he would never be allowed to raise. The son sang. The father got the credit. In the Song, the beloved's neck is a tower of David, and the teachers who read it heard the Temple standing in that line, stone and love welded together past separating.
I Can Take Them All and Not Sin
Seven names hung on him. Yedidyah, beloved of God. Kohelet. Solomon. And four more scattered through his own books: Agur, son of Yakeh, Lemuel, Itiel.
Lemuel is the one that bites. It comes apart into a man speaking to God with his whole heart, and what he said with his whole heart was this: I can gather it all in and not sin.
So he gathered. Horses out of Egypt, six hundred pieces of silver a chariot and a hundred and fifty a horse, until his stables held twelve thousand. Women, hundreds of them, foreign, from every nation he had been warned about. Silver until silver stopped meaning anything, lying around Jerusalem like paving stones, and the stones were ten cubits and eight cubits so no thief could lift one, and the market weights were solid gold.
God raised up Hadad the Edomite against him. Then Rezon son of Eliada. Then Jeroboam, out of his own workforce.
Down to One Bed
He came down in three steps too, the same stairs he had climbed.
The king of the whole earth became king of Israel. The king of Israel became king in Jerusalem and nothing outside its wall. The king in Jerusalem became king of his own house.
And then not even that. Sixty men stood around his bed every night with drawn swords, every one of them a fighter, every sword ready on the thigh, because of the fear in the nights. He was not king of the bed either. The spirits that had pulled him off the throne were what he was afraid of, and sixty swords do not cut a spirit.
Agur, they explained, means he gathered up Torah. Bin Yakeh means a son who threw it all back up, the way a basin gets filled and then emptied out. Solomon learned it and lost it and learned it again.
The barrel had been opened and turned over and the floor had been swept long ago. The books were out in the world where anyone could pick them up. The man they came out of lay awake behind sixty drawn swords, listening.
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