Fra:. Uraniel Aldebaran
33º, 90º, 97º, 98° SIIEM, 99º Hon WAEO, K:.O:.A:.
Order of Ancient and Primitive Rite of Memphis and Misraim
At the intersection of history, myth, and sacred tradition stands the enigmatic figure of Hiram Abif—a master builder whose name has traversed millennia and acquired mystical significance far beyond biblical mentions. For millions of Freemasons around the world, Hiram Abiff (the Western variant of his name) constitutes the central figure of their symbolic system—an embodiment of supreme craftsmanship, loyalty to principles, and martyrdom for ideals. The loss of knowledge and sacred secrets of the builder’s art, symbolized by his tragic death in Masonic legend, has become a metaphor for humanity’s eternal quest for lost knowledge and aspiration toward spiritual perfection.
But who was Hiram Abif in reality? What can we learn about him from historical and religious sources that preceded the Masonic tradition? How was this master perceived in Judaism—the tradition that gave the world its initial understanding of him? These questions invite us on an amazing journey through ancient texts, midrashic traditions, and Kabbalistic interpretations that together form a multidimensional portrait of the man who stood at the origins of one of humanity’s greatest architectural and spiritual projects—Solomon’s Temple.
Unlike the Masonic tradition, where Hiram transformed into a semi-mythical hero with a detailed biography and dramatic fate, Jewish literature presents us with a more restrained, yet no less profound image. Immersing ourselves in these sources, we discover not only the historical context of Solomon’s era but also touch upon a complex symbolic system in which metallurgy becomes a metaphor for spiritual transformation, and architectural elements embody cosmic principles.
Hiram Abif represents a figure mentioned in the sacred texts of Judaism in connection with the construction of the First Temple in Jerusalem. In the Tanakh, he is mentioned in the First Book of Kings (מְלָכִים א ז) and the Second Book of Chronicles (דִּבְרֵי הַיָּמִים ב ב), where he is described as the son of a widow from the tribe of Naphtali (or Dan, according to the second source) and a Tyrian father, invited by King Solomon to work on the metal elements of the Temple.
Textual analysis of biblical sources reveals an interesting duality in his origin: a mother from the northern Israelite tribes bordering Phoenicia, and a Phoenician father from Tyre. The tribe of Naphtali was located in the northwestern part of Canaan, while the tribe of Dan, originally situated in the south, later migrated north to the city of Laish (renamed Dan), also near Tyre. This geography explains the possibility of a mixed marriage, as both regions were in close proximity to Phoenician lands.
The name “Hiram” (חוּרָם) has Phoenician roots associated with the meaning “noble” or “exalted,” while “Abif” (אָבִי) can be interpreted as “my father” or “master”—an honorary title. In the Jewish tradition, affiliation with the people is determined by the maternal line, which technically made Hiram a Jew, despite his Phoenician paternal origin and upbringing in Tyre.
In the Targum Jonathan and Targum Onkelos—ancient Aramaic translations of the Tanakh—his name is sometimes transliterated as “Hiram Abu” (father/master). These texts do not add substantial commentary to Hiram’s image, but the very fact of preserving his name and role in these authoritative translations emphasizes his significance in the biblical narrative. The Targums, being not merely translations but also specific interpretations of the text, were of great importance for understanding the Scripture in the period after the destruction of the Second Temple, when the Aramaic language became more widespread among the Jewish population than ancient Hebrew.
The Tanakh characterizes Hiram as a man endowed with a triad of outstanding qualities: “hochma” (wisdom), “tevunah” (understanding), and “da’at” (knowledge). This triad is usually attributed to prophets or sages, which distinguishes Hiram among ordinary craftsmen and brings him closer to Bezalel, the creator of the Tabernacle, who was also “filled with the spirit of G-d.”
Hiram’s main creations were the pillars Jachin (יָכִין, “He will establish”) and Boaz (בֹּעַז, “In him is strength”), which stood at the entrance to the Temple. These bronze columns, about 8.2 meters high with capitals in the form of lilies, had not only architectural but also symbolic significance. Their names are interpreted as promises of stability and strength to the kingdom of David.
Another monumental work of Hiram was the “molten sea” (יָם מוּצָק)—a huge bronze basin with a diameter of 4.5 meters, mounted on twelve bronze bulls and holding about 44,000 liters of water. This vessel was used by priests for ritual ablutions. Creating such a colossal object required profound knowledge of metallurgy, available at that time predominantly to Phoenician masters.
Hiram also made ten movable bronze stands (מְכֹנוֹת) with wheels, decorated with images of lions, bulls, and cherubim, as well as many smaller temple utensils—bowls, pitchers, shovels. In the Second Book of Chronicles, his skills are expanded: he is presented as a universal master, working with gold, silver, bronze, iron, stone, wood, purple, blue, fine linen, and crimson, capable of carving and other arts.
The historical context of Solomon’s era (10th century BCE) is characterized by the flourishing of Phoenicia under the rule of King Hiram I, an ally of Solomon. The Phoenicians were famous for their skill in metallurgy, as evidenced by archaeological findings of bronze artifacts in the Levant. Solomon’s collaboration with Tyre included supplies of cedar, gold, and skilled craftsmen for the construction of the Temple.
In the Talmud, Hiram Abif is mentioned rarely and indirectly. In the tractate Sanhedrin 101b (Babylonian Talmud, page 101b, commentary on the statement of Rav Papa), miracles during the construction of the Temple are discussed, such as stones that placed themselves. In Bava Batra 75a (Babylonian Talmud, page 75a, discussion between Rav Yochanan and Resh Lakish), the wisdom necessary for sacred works is mentioned, which could refer to masters such as Hiram.
Notably, tractate Shabbat 31a of the Talmud contains discussions about craft as a special gift from the Almighty. Although Hiram is not directly mentioned here, these discussions form a theological context in which his mastery can be viewed not simply as a result of training but as a manifestation of a divine gift. The Talmud draws parallels between the act of creation of the world by the Almighty and the creative activity of a craftsman, which is especially significant for understanding the role of such an outstanding master as Hiram in creating sacred objects.
Tractate Yoma 38b touches on the theme of intention (kavanah) in creating temple objects—an aspect that could be relevant for Hiram as not fully Jewish by origin.
The Midrashim contain a whole range of interesting parallels and indirect mentions of Hiram, although direct discussions of his personality are relatively few. In Midrash Tanchuma (Vayigash, paragraph 2, lines 8-15), divine inspiration of craftsmen working on sacred projects is discussed. In Shemot Rabbah (40:1-3, especially in Rabbi Akiva’s commentary on 40:2), an analogy is drawn between Bezalel, the creator of the Tabernacle, and the masters of the Temple. In Bereshit Rabbah (92:2, interpretation of Genesis 43:14), the theme of mixed marriages between Israelites and other peoples is touched upon, which relates to Hiram’s origin.
Midrash Rabbah on the Song of Songs (Shir ha-Shirim Rabbah 1:5, edition of the Vilna Gaon), interpreting the verse “I am black, but comely,” draws a profound parallel between external simplicity and inner wisdom. In this context, the sages discuss masters whose unremarkable appearance concealed an extraordinary inner gift. Although Hiram is not named directly, his mixed origin (half non-Jewish) can relate to this principle: while not belonging fully to the Israelite people externally, he was nevertheless chosen to work on the most sacred edifice. This midrash emphasizes the idea that a person’s true value is determined not by their origin or appearance, but by their inner qualities and abilities.
In Midrash Mishlei (compiled in the 11-12th centuries, commentary on Proverbs 24:3-4), there is an important discussion about the three aspects of building: “Through wisdom a house is built, and by understanding it is established; by knowledge the rooms are filled with all precious and pleasant riches.” The sages correlate these three aspects—wisdom, understanding, and knowledge—with the three qualities attributed to Hiram (hochma, tevunah, and da’at), thereby creating an image of the ideal master whose work becomes a metaphor for spiritual building. This interpretation is especially significant as it directly connects technical skills with spiritual dimensions, emphasizing that the creation of the Temple was not just a construction project but an act of embodying divine wisdom.
Of special note are mentions in the medieval midrashic compilation “Yalkut Shimoni,” specifically in paragraph 182 on verses from the First Book of Kings. In this text, Hiram’s mother, as a widow, is compared to other significant biblical widows, for example, the mother of Samson (from the Book of Judges). This comparison is not accidental: in biblical narrative, widows are often presented as special figures under the direct protection of the Almighty. Such a comparison adds an additional dimension to Hiram’s origin, hinting at his special destiny and purpose. Similar to how Samson’s mother received a divine prediction about her son, Hiram’s mother could be viewed as a woman through whom a divine plan was realized, although such details are not revealed in the canonical texts.
In the midrash “Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer” (chapter 33, discussion of genealogies; edition of the Gaon of Vilna, publication of 1862) and in “Midrash Aggadah” (commentary on 1 Kings 7:13-14, collected by Rabbi Menachem ben Shlomo in the 13th century), it is suggested that Hiram was raised in Tyre after his father’s death, and his widowed mother may have returned to her people. In “Midrash Tadshe” (also known as “Baraita de-Rabbi Pinchas ben Yair,” paragraph 11), which examines symbolic numbers in Scripture, there are indirect references to the proportions of temple vessels created by Hiram.
In the collection “Beit ha-Midrash” (compiled by the Jewish scholar Adolf Jellinek between 1853 and 1878, volume 5, section “Small Midrashim on the Temple”), some little-known legends about the construction of Solomon’s Temple have been preserved. Particularly interesting is the fragment where the manufacture of temple objects is described as a magical process, in which metal became malleable in the master’s hands without the use of ordinary fire. This tradition creates an image of Hiram as a master possessing not only technical skills but also special knowledge of the secret properties of matter, which brings him closer to the image of an alchemist or magician. Such an interpretation, although it does not have direct parallels in canonical texts, reflects the popular desire to add an additional mystical dimension to the creation of sacred objects.
In “Midrash Shocher Tov” (an early medieval commentary on Psalms, also called Midrash Tehillim, Solomon Buber’s edition of 1891, commentary on Psalm 29:3), the sages discuss the verse “The voice of the L-rd is upon the waters” in the context of the molten sea created by Hiram. According to this interpretation, the copper sea symbolized not only a place for ritual ablution of priests but also the cosmic waters over which the spirit of G-d initially hovered (Gen. 1:2). Thus, Hiram’s creation is interpreted as a microcosm reflecting the macrocosm of creation, and the master himself as a man who managed to embody in material form the primordial elements of the universe. This midrash adds a deep cosmogonic subtext to Hiram’s work, making him not just a craftsman but a master reproducing the foundations of the universe.
The Kabbalistic tradition offers particularly rich interpretations of Hiram’s figure and his work, beginning with “Sefer Zohar” (section Vayigash 206a-b, written by Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, or attributed to him, in the 13th century) and ending with the Lurianic school (represented in the works of Rabbi Chaim Vital “Etz Chaim,” sha’ar 39, and in the commentaries of Rabbi Isaac Luria “Sha’ar ha-Pesukim” on the First Book of Kings).
In the Kabbalistic work “Ma’arechet ha-Elohut” (System of Divinity), attributed to Rabbi Peretz ben Isaac ha-Kohen (13th century, section on temple service), there is a profound interpretation of the bronze elements of the Temple created by Hiram. According to this text, bronze (nechoshet) symbolizes the power of judgment (din), but transformed and softened by the master’s art. Hiram, as a bronze master, in this interpretation becomes one who is able to transform the harsh aspects of divine judgment into harmonious forms serving worship. His art, thus, is not merely technical but theurgic – aimed at harmonizing divine forces. This text, following the Kabbalistic tradition, sees in metallurgical work a symbol of spiritual alchemy – the transformation of lower aspects of reality into higher ones.
In the Zohar (Vayigash 206a-b), the Temple is viewed as an earthly reflection of the heavenly palace (Heichalot). Hiram’s triad of qualities—”hochma, tevunah and da’at”—corresponds to the first three of the ten sefirot: Hochma (Wisdom), Binah (Understanding), and Da’at (Knowledge). This interpretation is developed in detail also in the commentary “Zohar Chadash” (section Bereshit 18c-19a) and in “Tikkunei Zohar” (tikkun 70, 124a-b), where a direct connection is established between the triad of the master’s qualities and divine attributes.
In the sections of the Zohar “Terumah” (154b-155a) and “Pekudei” (221a-221b), there are more detailed discussions of the Temple masters in the context of the theory that the earthly Temple was built according to the heavenly model. According to this concept, all elements of the earthly sanctuary had to exactly correspond to their heavenly prototypes, and masters like Hiram acted as conductors of this divine plan, embodying higher reality in the material world. Although Hiram’s name may not be mentioned directly in these passages, his role as the chief metal master makes him a key figure in this process of materializing the divine design.
The pillars Jachin and Boaz in Kabbalah are associated with the sefirot Netzach (Eternity/Victory) and Hod (Glory/Splendor). An alternative interpretation, proposed by Moses Cordovero in “Pardes Rimonim,” sees in them a reflection of mercy (Chesed) and strictness/justice (Gevurah), balanced through Tiferet (Beauty/Harmony).
The molten sea in the Zohar (Terumah 148a) symbolizes the Shekhinah (divine presence) or the sefirah Malchut (Kingdom)—the lower sefirah through which divine light enters the world. In Lurianic Kabbalah, the Temple is interpreted as an instrument of tikkun—the repair of the world after the “breaking of the vessels.” Hiram, as the creator of key elements, participates in this process, and his mixed origin symbolizes the unification of scattered sparks of holiness.
Of special interest is the connection of Hiram’s work with the early Kabbalistic text “Sefer Yetzirah” (section 1, mishnah 1-3; classic edition, attributed to the Patriarch Abraham and recorded in the early Middle Ages), which connects the act of creation of the world with the letters of the Hebrew alphabet and numbers. Also important are the commentaries of Saadia Gaon on “Sefer Yetzirah” (10th century) and interpretations of Rabbi Yehuda ben Barzillai (12th century), which draw parallels between cosmogonic processes and earthly creativity.
In the Kabbalistic work “Sefer ha-Temunah” (Book of the Image or Book of the Figure, 13-14th centuries, attributed to Rabbi Nehunia ben ha-Kanah or his school), the concept that the letters of the Hebrew alphabet contain cosmic forces and forms is developed. As applied to Hiram, this idea is interpreted as follows: the art of a metallurgist, giving form to amorphous material, is analogous to the process by which the letters of the Torah structure reality. The bronze figures of bulls under the molten sea, cherubim, and other images created by Hiram, in this tradition are viewed not simply as decorative elements but as material embodiments of letters and their combinations, forming the secret names of G-d. Thus, Hiram appears as an adept capable of translating transcendent wisdom into physical form, making visible what usually remains beyond perception.
In the work “Sefer ha-Peliah” (Book of Wonder, 14-15th centuries, authorship not precisely established, section on the construction of the Temple), there is a mystical interpretation of the pillars Jachin and Boaz, which adds a new dimension to understanding Hiram’s work. According to this text, the two pillars represent not only principles of stability and strength but also the duality of direct and returning lights in the process of creation (or yashar and or chozer). In this interpretation, Hiram becomes one who creates a physical channel for the circulation of divine energies between higher and lower worlds. Particularly emphasized is the symbolism of hollow pillars, the inner emptiness of which (chalal) corresponds to the Kabbalistic concept of tzimtzum—the contraction or self-limitation of divine presence to create a space for the existence of the world. Such an interpretation transforms the craftsman Hiram into a theurgist, consciously establishing cosmic correspondences between material and spiritual levels of being.
Commentators on the Tanakh add some details to Hiram’s image. Rashi in his commentary on 1 Kings 7:13 explains that Hiram’s father died, leaving his upbringing to his mother. In his commentary on 2 Chronicles 2:13, he notes that “Hiram-Abi” means “Hiram, my master,” emphasizing the honorary nature of the title.
Radak in his commentary on the same passage suggests that Hiram led an entire group of specialists. He explains the difference in the indication of the mother’s tribe as evidence of her origin from border territories where tribes mixed.
Ibn Ezra’s comments (12th century) on 1 Kings 7:13, although brief, add an important nuance to understanding Hiram’s personality. Ibn Ezra, known for his rationalistic approach to Scripture interpretation, emphasizes Hiram’s professional mastery as a Tyrian craftsman but does not delve into the mystical aspects that were later developed in the Kabbalistic tradition. This reflects the duality in the perception of Hiram’s figure in Jewish tradition: on one hand, he is viewed as a real historical character—an outstanding master of his time, on the other—as a symbolic figure whose work has deep spiritual and cosmic meaning.
Malbim (19th century) interprets the triad “hochma, tevunah and da’at” as three levels of mastery: creative vision, understanding of principles, and practical application. According to this interpretation, Hiram combined all three aspects—a rare combination for a craftsman.
In Jewish folklore, particularly in the collection “Ma’aseh Yerushalmi” (medieval Jerusalem tales, manuscripts of the 14-15th centuries, published by Moses Gaster in 1924) and in later Hasidic stories, collected in “Shivhei HaBesht” (compiled by Dov Ber of Linitz in 1814-1815, chapter 47, where traditions about ancient masters are mentioned), Hiram is sometimes portrayed as a master whose products possessed supernatural precision, linking him with the tradition of divine inspiration. In “Sippurei Ma’asiyot” (tales of Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, 1816, the story “The Sophisticated and the Simpleton”), motifs can be traced that can indirectly be associated with the image of a master craftsman similar to Hiram.
In the Masonic tradition, he transformed into Hiram Abiff with a dramatic legend about his murder, although this interpretation has no roots in Judaism.
Symbolically, Hiram embodies the ideal of cooperation between peoples in service to the Almighty, reflecting the universalism of Solomon’s era. His ability to combine Phoenician technical skill with an understanding of the needs of the Israelite cult presents a model of intercultural dialogue and mutual enrichment.
Thus, despite the scarcity of direct mentions, Hiram Abif emerges as a multifaceted figure, combining historical authenticity and symbolic significance. His contribution to the creation of Solomon’s Temple makes him an important, though often underappreciated figure in the history of Judaism and Middle Eastern culture. The diversity of sources, from the Tanakh to Kabbalistic texts, creates a multilayered image of a master whose art became a bridge between material and spiritual worlds, between human creativity and divine design.
Concluding our study of the figure of Hiram Abif, we seem to emerge from an ancient labyrinth of texts with a precious mosaic of fragments from which the image of this outstanding master is composed. Just as he himself combined disparate elements into a harmonious whole of temple structures, we have attempted to gather together mentions of him from various layers of Jewish tradition to restore his historical and spiritual image.
What in the Masonic tradition has turned into a coherent and dramatic narrative about Hiram Abiff, in the original Jewish literature appears as a scattering of individual mentions, hints, and interpretations. And yet it is precisely this heterogeneity of sources that allows us to see the multifaceted nature of his image: from a historical craftsman who existed in a specific era and created real artifacts, to a mystical symbol connecting the earthly and heavenly, human art and divine creativity.
It is amazing how a figure mentioned only in passing in the Tanakh has acquired such significance in subsequent traditions. This testifies to the deep human need for symbols of mastery, dedication to one’s work, and sacred knowledge. In the Jewish tradition, Hiram remains an example of how human skill can serve a higher purpose; in Masonic tradition, he becomes an archetype of an initiated master, preserving knowledge even in the face of death.
Perhaps the true significance of Hiram Abif lies in the fact that his image is open to interpretations, each reflecting the spiritual searches of its era. Just as the temple objects he created served as conduits between humans and the divine, his own image became a channel through which each generation can in its own way comprehend the relationships between craft and art, matter and spirit, human creativity and divine design.
We began our journey with the question of who Hiram Abif was for the Masonic tradition and what could be learned about him from original sources. Completing it, we see that these two images—the Masonic Hiram Abiff and the biblical-Jewish Hiram Abif—do not contradict but complement each other, creating a remarkably rich symbol of human genius, capable of embodying the eternal in the temporal, the spiritual in the material, and transforming simple metal into a work of art serving higher purposes.
