6 min read

The King Who Kept the Law Inside the Prison

Nebuchadnezzar's advisers warned him not to raise a good puppy from a bad dog. So he took the boy king off the throne and put him in a Babylonian cell.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. You Shall Not Deliver a Slave to His Master
  2. Do Not Raise a Good Puppy From a Bad Dog
  3. The Keys Went Up and Did Not Come Down
  4. Gadelet Carried It Up the Chain
  5. What He Did When His Wife Came to the Cell

Nebuchadnezzar stopped his army at Daphne, outside Antioch, and did not move for long enough that the Great Sanhedrin came down the road to meet him.

The King Who Kept the Law Inside the Prison Click for full size

They asked him straight out. Has the time come for this house to be destroyed?

No, he said. Your king rebelled against me. Hand me Yehoyakim and I will turn around.

You Shall Not Deliver a Slave to His Master

They went back to Jerusalem and told Yehoyakim what the price was.

He did not go quietly and he did not go stupidly. He quoted law at them, and the law was on his side. Is this how it works, he said. You throw away one life to hold onto your own? It is written that you shall not hand over a slave who has run to you from his master.

They had an answer ready and it was also law. Did your ancestor not do exactly this to Sheva ben Bikhri, whose head went over the wall of Abel in a basket so the town could go on standing?

He would not hear it. So they got up, took hold of the king of Judah, and lowered him over the wall themselves.

Nobody who wrote it down afterward could agree on what condition he was in when he reached the bottom. Rabbi Eliezer said he went down alive, into a cage with hooks in it. Rabbi Shimon said he was dead before he cleared the top of the wall. Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi said both were right, that they lowered him alive and he was a delicate man and he died in their hands on the way. Rabbi Yehuda described what came after in detail: the body carried from town to town across Judah, tried and executed again in each one, and then a donkey opened up and the king of Judah put inside it, so that the word about the burial of a donkey would land the way the prophet had meant it.

Do Not Raise a Good Puppy From a Bad Dog

Nebuchadnezzar put the son on the throne.

Yekhonyahu was eighteen. His father's remains had been dragged through the country he was now supposed to govern, and the court that crowned him had been the court that handed the body over.

The Babylonians got to Nebuchadnezzar within months. Do not raise a good puppy from a bad dog, they told him.

He came back for the boy.

The Keys Went Up and Did Not Come Down

Yekhonyahu did one thing before he went.

He gathered the keys of the Temple, every one of them, went up onto the roof of the sanctuary and held them over his head. We were the custodians of this house, he said, and we were not found trustworthy. Take them back.

Then he threw them upward.

A hand of fire came out and took them, is one account. The other says the keys simply hung there in the air and never came down and nobody has seen them since.

All across Jerusalem that day the roofs were crowded. What is with you, that you have all gone up on the roofs? The young men of the city were standing on the edges of them and stepping off.

Nebuchadnezzar took him to Babylon and shut him in, and the door did not open again for a very long time. He never sent his prisoners home. There is a line in Jeremiah that calls Konyahu a broken pot, a thing nobody wants, and the rabbis heard it as a bone snapped so badly that no one would set it.

Gadelet Carried It Up the Chain

The Great Sanhedrin had gone into exile with him, and they went to work.

They could not reach the king. They could not reach the queen. They could reach a woman named Gadelet, who was the nursemaid of the nursemaid of Nebuchadnezzar's queen, and they made her their friend, and she talked to the woman above her, and that woman talked to the queen.

The queen was called Shemiram, or Shemiramot. She went to her husband with an argument he could not get around without admitting what he was.

You are a king, she said. Is Yekhonyahu not a king? You want what a man in your position wants. Does Yekhonyahu not want it? Let his wife go in to him.

Nebuchadnezzar gave the order.

What He Did When His Wife Came to the Cell

She came down into the prison and she was bleeding. I saw it, she told him, like a red rose.

Here is the arithmetic he could have done. He was in a cell in Babylon. The Temple was rubble or close to it. His father had been buried inside a donkey. The keys were gone out of the sky. There was no court to rule on him, no priest to check him, no witness of any kind, and this was very possibly the last time in his life a door would be opened for his wife, and every legal mind he had ever met would have found him grounds.

He stood back from her.

She waited out the days and went down into the water and came up clean, and only then did he touch her.

The Holy One looked at that and said what had not been kept in Jerusalem had been kept in a Babylonian prison. Because of the blood of your covenant, I have set your prisoners free out of the pit. The door came open. Rabbi Shabetai went further and said that every sin the man had ever committed was cleared off him in that one moment: all of you is fair, my love, and there is no blemish in you. A voice went out over the exile. Come back, wayward children, and I will heal you of your wandering.

They brought him up out of the prison, changed his clothes, and gave him a seat above the other kings who were being kept in Babylon, and he ate at the king's own table every day for the rest of his life. The line of David ran on through him.

JudgmentKingsMidrash RabbahVayikraYekhonya
← All myths

From the tradition

Sources

3 sources

The texts behind this telling. Some cards carry a translation of the source; others are our own retelling of it, and each card says which. Every card links out to the original.

Vayikra Rabbah 19:6Vayikra Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

It all begins with the poignant question: “Who fulfilled the mitzvah," the good deed, "of separating from a woman at the time of her discharge?” The answer? A surprising figure: Yekhonyahu, son of Yehoyakim.

This isn't just a simple tale; it’s woven into the tumultuous period of Jerusalem's siege by Nebuchadnezzar. Imagine the scene: Nebuchadnezzar, poised to destroy Jerusalem, encamps at Daphne at Antioch. The Great Sanhedrin, the high court, approaches him, desperately asking if the time for the Temple's destruction has truly come. Nebuchadnezzar deflects, claiming that Yehoyakim, the king, has rebelled.

What follows is a grim sequence of events, a political and moral quagmire. Yehoyakim is handed over to Nebuchadnezzar, and the accounts of his death are varied and brutal. Rabbi Eliezer suggests he was lowered alive into a cage, referencing (Ezekiel 19:9), which speaks of hooks (baḥaḥim), linking it to the Hebrew word for alive (baḥayim). Rabbi Shimon, however, believes he was already dead. Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi offers a compromise: he was lowered alive but, being delicate, died in their hands.

The indignities don't end there. Rabbi Yehuda says Nebuchadnezzar paraded Yehoyakim through Judah, judging and executing him before stuffing him into a donkey carcass – fulfilling the prophecy in (Jeremiah 22:19), "He will be buried in the burial of a donkey." Rabbi Neḥemya paints an even more gruesome picture: his flesh torn and fed to dogs. It's a stark reminder of the brutal realities of power and conquest.

Rabbi Yoḥanan adds layers to Yehoyakim's wickedness, suggesting he consorted with his own mother, daughter-in-law, and father’s wife! He "entered the entrance through which he had emerged." Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi claims he established "biraniyot" in Jerusalem, places of violence where husbands were killed, wives ravaged, and their wealth seized. (Ezekiel 19:7) laments, "He ravaged its widows."

But the story doesn't end with Yehoyakim's demise. Nebuchadnezzar crowns his son, Yekhonya, only to be immediately cautioned by the Babylonians: "Do not raise a good puppy from a bad dog." Heeding their advice, Nebuchadnezzar returns and demands Yekhonya.

Yekhonya, faced with this impossible situation, gathers the Temple keys, ascends to the roof, and, in a moment of profound despair, relinquishes them to God, acknowledging their failure as custodians. Two versions exist: one says a fiery hand descends to take the keys; the other says they simply vanish into the sky. (Isaiah 22:1) poignantly captures the despair of the people: “What, is with you, that you all went up to the roofs?” Young Israelites, in their grief, were throwing themselves from the rooftops.

Nebuchadnezzar imprisons Yekhonya, and, as (Isaiah 14:17) says, "never released his prisoners homeward.” Rabbi Abba bar Kahana uses a powerful image from (Jeremiah 22:28): "Is [this man Konya] a despised, shattered idol [ha’etzev]?" He compares Yekhonya to a bone [ka’etzem] shattered beyond repair.

But here's where the story takes an unexpected turn. The Great Sanhedrin, in exile with Yekhonya, seeks to intervene. They appease Gadelet, the nursemaid of Nebuchadnezzar's queen's nursemaid (talk about going up the chain!). They hope she will influence the queen, who in turn will sway the king. According to Rav Huna, Nebuchadnezzar's wife was named Shemiram, or according to Rabbi Avin, Shemiramot.

The queen, recognizing Yekhonya's inherent right as a king, challenges Nebuchadnezzar: "You are a king; is Yekhonya not a king? You seek your position; does Yekhonya not seek his position?” She demands that Yekhonya be granted conjugal rights.

Here's the crucial moment: When Yekhonya and his wife reunite, she experiences menstrual bleeding, or "I saw [blood] like a red rose." Yekhonya, despite his circumstances, withdraws from her, observing the laws of purity. She then purifies herself and immerses.

And here's the payoff, the unexpected grace: God acknowledges Yekhonya's piety in exile, contrasting it with the lack of observance in Jerusalem. As (Zechariah 9:11) proclaims, "You too, for the blood of your covenant, I have released your prisoners from the pit.” Rabbi Shabetai even suggests that Yekhonya received atonement for all his sins at that very moment. "All of you is fair, my love, and there is no blemish in you," from (Song of Songs 4:7), signifies this cleansing. A Divine Voice then proclaims, "Return, wayward children, I will heal your deviances" (Jeremiah 3:22).

So, what do we take away from this intricate tale? It's a reminder that even amidst the darkest periods of history, acts of faithfulness and adherence to halakha, Jewish law, can bring about unexpected redemption. It's a story of flawed individuals, devastating consequences, and the enduring power of faith, even in the face of utter despair. It asks us: how do we maintain our values when everything around us is crumbling? And can even the smallest acts of devotion pave the way for healing and forgiveness?

Full source
Vayikra Rabbah 20:1Vayikra Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

Vayikra Rabbah turns to Everything Is Equal for the Righteous and the Wicked.

Our entry point is the Book of Leviticus, specifically chapter 16, verse 1: “The Lord spoke to Moses after the death of the two sons of Aaron, when they approached before the Lord, and they died.” The text uses this tragic event, the sudden, inexplicable deaths of Aaron’s sons, as a springboard to explore a deeply unsettling idea: “Everything is as it is for everyone. There is one fate for the righteous and for the wicked” (Ecclesiastes 9:2).

Wait a minute. Is the Bible really saying that there’s no difference between how the righteous and the wicked are treated? That goodness doesn't matter? Well, not exactly. The rabbis in Vayikra Rabbah aren't promoting moral relativism. Instead, they're acknowledging a difficult truth: life is often unfair, and outcomes don't always reflect merit.

To illustrate this point, the text offers a series of contrasting pairs. Take Noah, the righteous man saved from the flood. Rabbi Yoḥanan, citing Rabbi Eliezer son of Rabbi Yosei HaGelili, suggests that after emerging from the ark, a lion bit and maimed Noah, rendering him unfit to offer sacrifices. His son, Shem, had to step in. Now, compare that to Pharaoh Necho, hardly a paragon of virtue. Yet, according to this tradition, he, too, was bitten and maimed by a lion when he tried to sit on Solomon’s throne. "This one died limping, and that one died limping," the text notes. "That is what is written: 'There is one fate for the righteous and for the wicked.'"

The comparisons continue: Moses, described as "good" (tov) in (Exodus 2:2) (Rabbi Meir even suggests he was born circumcised!), and Aaron, who "walked with Me in peace and uprightness and he returned many from iniquity" (Malachi 2:6), are juxtaposed with the scouts who spoke negatively about the Land of Israel. Both the "good" Moses and Aaron and the "impure" scouts were barred from entering the Promised Land. "For the good, for the pure, and for the impure," the text reiterates.

Then there's Josiah, a king who generously donated sacrifices, versus Ahab, who, according to II (Chronicles 18:2), "slaughtered for himself sheep and cattle in abundance… but not for offerings." Both died by arrows.

The comparisons become even more nuanced. David, described as "of fine appearance" (tov) in I (Samuel 16:12), a beauty that Rabbi Yitzḥak connects to his knowledge of halakha (Jewish law), people remembered their studies when they saw him!, is paired with Nebuchadnezzar, a sinner who was told to "redeem your sins with charity" (Daniel 4:24). David built the Temple and reigned for forty years; Nebuchadnezzar destroyed it and also reigned for forty years.

And what about oaths? Zedekiah broke his oath to Nebuchadnezzar and suffered the consequence: his eyes were gouged out. Samson, on the other hand, made others swear an oath not to harm him. Yet, he, too, ended up with his eyes gouged out by the Philistines.

Finally, the text returns to the original tragedy: the sons of Aaron. They are contrasted with the assembly of Korah, who rebelled against Moses. Both groups, offering sacrifices, met a fiery end.

So, what are we to make of all this? Is it a counsel of despair, a suggestion that morality is meaningless? I don't think so.

Perhaps the point isn't that there's no difference between right and wrong, but that the rewards and punishments of this world are often distributed in ways we can't understand. Maybe the rabbis are urging us to focus on living a righteous life for its own sake, not for the promise of earthly reward.

To accept that sometimes, despite our best efforts, things will go wrong. That even the most righteous among us can suffer. But maybe, in acknowledging that, we can find a deeper, more resilient kind of faith. A faith that isn't dependent on easy answers or guaranteed outcomes, but on a commitment to goodness, even when the world seems unfair.

Full source
Vayikra Rabbah 24:2Vayikra Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

Rabbi Berekhya, quoting Rabbi Levi, puts it so powerfully. He says that King David proclaimed, "You, Lord, are forever exalted" (Psalms 92:9). What does it mean to say God is always exalted? Rabbi Berekhya explains that unlike an earthly king, whose good judgments are praised but whose harsh decrees are met with silence, the Holy One, blessed be He, is different. Whether through kindness or through what we perceive as punishment, "You, Lord, are forever exalted," Your hand is always uppermost.

Rav Huna, in the name of Rav Aḥa, echoes this sentiment. He points to (Psalm 101:1), "A psalm of David. I sing kindness and justice; to You, Lord, I sing praises." David, the sweet singer of Israel, is saying to God, "Master of the universe, if You perform kindness with me, I sing; in any case I sing praises!" It's a radical statement of unwavering faith.

Rabbi Tanhum ben Rabbi Yudan takes it a step further, drawing on (Psalm 56:11): "I praise the word of God; I praise the word of the Lord." The distinction here is subtle but important. The name Elohim, often translated as "God," can represent the attribute of justice, while Adonai, typically rendered as "Lord" (the Tetragrammaton – the unpronounceable four-letter name of God), represents the attribute of mercy. So, Rabbi Tanhum is saying, whatever the case, whether God acts with justice or mercy, "I praise His word."

The Rabbis continue, citing (Psalms 116:3)–4 and 116:13: “I will encounter distress and sorrow and I will call in the name of the Lord… I will raise a cup of salvation, and I will call in the name of the Lord.” Again, the message is clear: In both distress and salvation, we call upon God.

Then comes a particularly striking interpretation from Rabbi Yudan ben Rabbi Pilya, who quotes Job: "The Lord has given, the Lord has taken, may the name of the Lord be blessed" (Job 1:21). Remember Job, the righteous man who suffered so much? Rabbi Yudan says that even in taking, God acts with mercy. And here's a fascinating detail: "When He gave, He did not consult anyone, but when He took, He consulted with His heavenly court."

Rabbi Elazar expands on this idea, explaining that "Everywhere that you find 'and the Lord,' it is He and His court." The word "and" implies God and His court, suggesting that even in seemingly individual acts, there's a process of deliberation and divine council. We see this paradigm in I (Kings 22:23): “And the Lord spoke ill of you."

Rabbi Yudan concludes with a powerful affirmation: "You [Lord] are [forever] exalted." He emphasizes that God's exaltedness is manifested in the world through enduring covenants. God granted priesthood to Aaron forever, "It is an [everlasting] covenant of salt" (Numbers 18:19). God granted kingship to David forever, as it is stated in II (Chronicles 13:5): "Do you not know that the Lord, God of Israel, gave kingship [over Israel to David forever]?" And God granted holiness to Israel forever, as it is stated in (Leviticus 19:2): "You shall be holy."

So, what does all of this mean for us? It's an invitation to cultivate a relationship with the Divine that transcends our immediate circumstances. It's a call to see the hand of God, even when we don't understand what's happening. It's about recognizing that even in difficult times, God's name remains blessed, God's presence remains, and God's ultimate purpose, though often hidden, is always for the good. Can we find the strength, like David, like Job, to sing praises in all circumstances? Can we trust that even in the taking, there is a deeper mercy at work? That’s the question Vayikra Rabbah leaves us to ponder.

Full source