It’s a question that comes up right at the beginning of Kohelet Rabbah, the ancient rabbinic commentary on the Book of Ecclesiastes. It kicks off by asking about the opening line: “The words of Kohelet, son of David.”
The text points out that three prophets – Kohelet, Amos, and Jeremiah – have their prophecies attributed to them, rather than directly to God like other prophets. As it says, "The words of Kohelet"; "the words of Amos" (Amos 1:1); "the words of Jeremiah" (Jeremiah 1:1). This is contrasted with, say, the beginning of the Book of Joel, which reads: “The word of the Lord that came to Joel son of Petuel.” The Midrash suggests a reason: God doesn’t attach His name to negative matters. Interesting, right?
But then the commentary dives into the names themselves, and that's where it gets really fascinating. Why was Jeremiah called Jeremiah? Well, the text suggests it’s because, in his days, Jerusalem became desolate – irmeia in Hebrew, connecting the name to the destruction. And Amos? Rabbi Pinḥas says it’s because his tongue was "encumbered" – amus. The people of his generation even wondered, “The Holy One blessed be He overlooked all His creations and rested His Divine Presence only on this stutterer with a severed tongue?” Ouch.
And Kohelet? Why that name? Because, we're told, his words were stated in an assembly – hak’hel. It’s a reference to Solomon, who gathered the people to hear his wisdom, as it says: “Then Solomon assembled” (I Kings 8:1). Rabbi Aḥa, quoting Rav Huna, paints a picture of a constant flow: one group entering as another was exiting, all eager to hear Solomon's wisdom. Think about that image – the queen of Sheba certainly did when she said to him: “Happy are your people, happy are these servants of yours” (I Kings 1 Kings 10:8), and it is written: “There came from all the peoples to hear Solomon’s wisdom” (1 Kings 5:14).
The commentary then throws us a curveball: Solomon had multiple names! He was called Yedidya, Kohelet, and Solomon. But Rabbi Yehoshua says he had seven names: Agur, Yakeh, Lemuel, and Itiel, in addition to the first three! Shmuel weighs in, saying the primary and most authentic were Yedidya, Kohelet, and Solomon, but concedes the others were epithets given to Solomon, and, crucially, they were given to be expounded – meaning, each name held a deeper meaning.
So, what do these other names signify? Agur, because he was filled (agur) with Torah. Yakeh, because he would expel (heki) his words, like a basin that’s sometimes full, sometimes empty; the idea being that Solomon sometimes studied Torah, and sometimes forgot it. As the commentary notes, this forgetting happened when his heart strayed from following God.
And then we get to Lemuel, which is particularly interesting. It’s said he spoke (nam) to God (El) in his heart, saying he could increase horses, wives, and money – a direct reference to the restrictions placed on the king in Deuteronomy 17:16–17 – and not sin. Itiel, finally, is explained as Solomon saying: God is with me (iti El) and I am able to marry numerous women. These extra names hint at Solomon’s hubris, his belief in his own ability to manage temptations that ultimately led him astray.
Finally, the commentary circles back to the phrase "son of David." It highlights Solomon’s lineage: king, son of a king, wise man, son of a wise man, righteous man, son of a righteous man, nobleman, son of a nobleman. Rabbi Yudan, quoting Rabbi Alexandri, offers a powerful metaphor: An ox, until its tendons are cut, can be suspended by even one tendon. But once the tendons are cut, it needs numerous ropes and nails to hold it up. So too, until Solomon sinned, he could depend on his own merit. But after he sinned, he became dependent on the merit of his fathers. That’s why, as it’s written in 1 Kings 11:13, God says, “However, I will not tear away the entire kingdom; I will give one tribe to your son for the sake of David, My servant.”
Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai adds a final thought: Happy is one who was privileged to reign in a place of royalty. He contrasts Solomon, “king in Jerusalem,” with Og, king of Bashan, who simply “dwelled in Ashtarot in Edre’i” (Deuteronomy 1:4). The location, the seat of power, matters.
So, what's the takeaway here? Perhaps it’s a reminder that even the wisest among us, the most privileged, the most blessed, are still human, still fallible. The names we carry, the lineages we inherit, the wisdom we acquire – none of it guarantees righteousness. It's a sobering thought, and one that resonates just as powerfully today as it did when these words were first written.