We’re going to delve into a story where a moment of perceived justice sets in motion a chain of events leading to... Rome. Yes, that Rome.
Our tale revolves around King Solomon, the wisest of men, but even he couldn’t escape the long arm of cause and effect. It all starts with Joab, and then Shimei ben Gera.
Shimei, you see, had a history with David, Solomon's father. According to the biblical account, Shimei had hurled curses and stones at David during a time of great distress for the King (II Samuel 16:5-13). It was a pretty low blow. After David's death, Solomon remembered this disrespect. Joab also found himself on Solomon's wrong side. Both men paid the ultimate price. The text tells us Shimei's death, in particular, was a bad omen for Solomon.
Why? Because Shimei wasn't just anyone. He was Solomon's teacher! As long as Shimei, this living reminder of the past, was around, Solomon held back from a fateful decision: marrying the daughter of Pharaoh.
The moment Shimei was gone, Solomon went ahead with the marriage. A big mistake, many believed. And that's where things get really interesting.
The Zohar, that foundational text of Jewish mysticism, and Ginzberg's Legends of the Jews tell us that immediately after Solomon married Pharaoh’s daughter, the Archangel Gabriel himself descended from heaven. What did he do? He planted a reed in the sea. Just a single reed.
Sounds insignificant, right? But here's where the story takes a turn into the mythic. Slowly, inexorably, earth began to accumulate around that reed. Bit by bit, an island began to form.
Now, fast forward. On the very day that Jeroboam, the first king of the Northern Kingdom of Israel, erected those infamous golden calves – a blatant act of idolatry – a small hut was built on that newly formed island. And that, my friends, was the very first dwelling place of Rome.
Rome! From a reed planted by an angel as a consequence of Solomon's marriage. Incredible, isn’t it?
Midrash Rabbah and the Talmud (Shabbat 56b) expand on the negative associations with Solomon's marriage to the Egyptian princess. The Rabbis saw it as a catalyst for spiritual decline and, ultimately, for the division of the kingdom.
So, what are we to make of this fantastic tale? Is it a literal historical account? Probably not. But as a story, it's incredibly powerful. It speaks to the interconnectedness of events, the idea that even seemingly small actions can have enormous, unforeseen consequences generations later. It also serves as a cautionary tale about the dangers of straying from the righteous path.
It's a reminder that our choices, both good and bad, create ripples that extend far beyond our own lives, shaping the world in ways we may never fully understand. And sometimes, those ripples lead to Rome.