Our sages explored this very human tendency in fascinating ways, especially when looking at the stories of Solomon and Moses. Let's dive in.
Our journey begins with a verse from Exodus (6:2-3): “God spoke to Moses and said to him: I am the Lord. I appeared to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob as God Almighty, but by My name the Lord I did not make Myself known to them.” What's going on here? What does it mean that God revealed Himself differently to the patriarchs than to Moses? Shemot Rabbah (6) uses this verse to launch into a discussion about wisdom, madness, and the perils of thinking we're smarter than we are.
The text quotes Ecclesiastes (2:12): “I turned myself to behold wisdom and madness and folly; for who is the man who comes after the king to do what he already has done?” The Midrash understands this verse as referring to both Solomon and Moses, two figures who, in different ways, thought they could outsmart God. Talk about hubris!
First, let's talk about Solomon. God, in the Torah, gave kings specific instructions: "Only he shall not accumulate horses for himself…and he shall not accumulate wives for himself, and his heart will not stray, and silver and gold he shall not greatly accumulate for himself" (Deuteronomy 17:16–17). Solomon, brilliant as he was, thought he could circumvent these rules. "He shall not accumulate wives for himself," the Torah says, "isn’t that so 'his heart will not stray?' I will accumulate, and my heart will not stray!"
Big mistake.
According to the Midrash, at that moment, the letter yod – the smallest letter in the Hebrew alphabet – from the word "yarbe" (accumulate) went up and protested before God! It pleaded, "Master of the universe, didn’t You say that there will never be a letter negated from the Torah? Behold, Solomon is revoking me! Perhaps today he will negate one, and tomorrow another, until the entire Torah is negated." God reassured the yod, saying that Solomon and a thousand like him would be negated before even a calligraphical embellishment of the Torah would be. Interestingly, the Midrash connects this to the changing of Sarai's name to Sarah and Hoshea's name to Joshua, showing how letters do change, but within God's plan, not in defiance of it.
The consequences for Solomon were severe. The Midrash interprets Proverbs 30:1, "The words of Agur ben Yakeh," to mean that Solomon "collected [iger] matters of Torah and expelled them [hekian]." He became known as "Itiel," which the Midrash cleverly interprets as "God is with me [iti El] and I will prevail," reflecting Solomon’s overconfidence. And what happened? "It was when Solomon grew old, his wives led his heart astray" (1 Kings 11:4). Ouch. Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai even said it would have been better for Solomon to be a sewer cleaner than to have that verse written about him!
So, Solomon’s story serves as a cautionary tale about the limits of human wisdom when it comes to divine decrees. But what about Moses?
The Midrash suggests that Moses, too, fell into a similar trap. God had already told Moses that Pharaoh would not let the Israelites go (Exodus 3:19) and that He would harden Pharaoh's heart (Exodus 4:21). Yet, when Pharaoh made the Israelites' labor even harder, Moses questioned God: “Why have You harmed this people?” (Exodus 5:22).
The Midrash argues that this questioning was also a form of "madness and folly." How could Moses, after being told what would happen, question God's plan? According to the Midrash, the attribute of justice (represented by the divine name Elohim) sought to harm Moses for this. However, God, seeing Moses's distress over the suffering of Israel, relented and treated him with the attribute of mercy (represented by the divine name Y-H-V-H, often pronounced Adonai).
What can we learn from these interpretations of Solomon and Moses? Perhaps it's a reminder that even the wisest among us, the most righteous among us, are not immune to the temptation of thinking we know better than God. It's a call to humility, to recognizing the limits of our understanding, and to trusting in a wisdom greater than our own. It is a lesson that understanding the Torah requires more than just intellect – it demands a recognition of something greater than ourselves.