King Solomon had two trusted secretaries, Eliharaf and Ahijah, the sons of Shisha. One morning, as they entered the throne room to begin their duties, they noticed something that chilled them: the Malach ha-Mavet, the Angel of Death, was standing in the corner of the room staring at them with unusual interest.
They went to Solomon, trembling. "Your Majesty," they said, "the Angel is looking at us. We must flee."
Solomon understood what a king's wisdom was for. He used the holy Name he had mastered and commanded the spirits of the air to lift his two scribes and carry them instantly to the city of Luz — the one city in the world, tradition said, where the Angel of Death had no permission to enter. A safe harbor. A refuge.
That evening, the Angel returned to Solomon's court. The king confronted him: "Why did you stare at my faithful servants so strangely this morning?"
The Angel answered quietly. "Because I was sad for them. I had been commanded by the Holy One — blessed be He — to take their souls today, at the gates of Luz. And there they were, in the morning, in Jerusalem, hundreds of miles from where their deaths were appointed. I did not see how they could possibly be in the right place by sundown. Now I understand" (Sukkah 53a; Gaster, Exempla No. 139).
The flight that was meant to save them had carried them exactly to the spot where they were awaited. Even Solomon, wisest of kings, had served as the courier of the decree he thought he was defying.
The teaching is spare: when heaven has set a meeting, our cleverest escapes are sometimes the roads that bring us there.