Signs and Wonders (40 page)

A
HASUERUS, KING OF
Persia, was the mightiest ruler in all the world. He had swallowed up his neighbors, and sent his armies against Egypt and the land of the Philistines, and Israel and Judah and Syria. He had overthrown those great cities, Ninevah and Babylon. His fleets dominated the Middle Sea, and he held its islands subject. Now his empire stretched from India to Ethiopia. His palace was in the beautiful terraced city of Susa, and Vashti was his queen.

Now, when the Persian armies had overrun Israel and Judah, they had taken out many captives. But Ahasuerus was a subtle man. He had studied the reigns of kings of ages past, and knew how other empires had risen and fallen. And he did not enslave the children of Israel, for he knew what had happened to Egypt’s Pharaoh, and knew of the strange disasters that had struck other conquerors who had attempted to enslave the Israelites. Therefore, Ahasuerus did not treat the Jews as he did his other captive peoples, but allowed them to dwell in peace in the cities of Persia. They engaged in trade, and were scholars, and maintained their own customs among strangers, worshipping their own God, refusing to defile themselves or to eat unclean food. Since they were very quick at languages, and keen merchants; since every one of their children was taught to read and write and was trained in habits of industry, they prospered in Persia. They dwelt in every city of the land. Their prosperity caused them to be disliked in many quarters. Still, they were protected by the king’s edict, and suffered no harm.

There was a man named Mordecai, who dwelt in Susa, where the king’s palace was. He was employed by the court, and, being a master at numbers, served the revenue officer. He was in his middle age, severe, suspicious, very stubborn, with an inquisitive eye and a caustic tongue. He also had a loving heart. He had taken into his house his uncle’s orphaned daughter, Hadassah, and raised her as his own daughter. And Hadassah loved him as though he were her own father. For, although she was extremely beautiful, he cherished her more for her wit than for her beauty. He loved above all things to spend long hours in discourse with her. He told her the ancient tales of her people, and searched the stark events for their hidden meanings. She hung on his words and was entranced by the old tales, and questioned him closely about how this happened, and that, and why they happened the way they did.

So beautiful was Hadassah that the young men of Susa prowled like tomcats around Mordecai’s house. But he never allowed them to approach the girl.

It was Mordecai’s habit to tell her the gossip of the court when he came home after the day’s work. Upon this day, he was bursting with news. The king was in a terrible rage, for Vashti, his queen, had refused his summons to appear at a feast, and had kept to her own chambers. Now, it was said, the king was thinking of putting her aside as wife, and stripping her of royal honors.

This is what had happened. There had been a feast at the palace that had lasted seven days and seven nights. On the seventh night, when all the men were boasting about the beauty of the women they had known, the king had said: “Princes, captains, and nobles, you are men of valor, and have known fair women. But fairest of them all is my wife, Vashti.” Then he had said to a servant: “Go fetch the queen. Tell her to come here and show her matchless face before my guests.”

The messenger hurried to Vashti, who struck him across the face, crying, “They have caroused for seven days and seven nights. They are sodden with drink and of bestial appetite. Am I summoned now to show myself before this vile mob? Am I queen or dancing girl?”

She struck the messenger again and drove him from the room. He returned to the king and told him how his message had been received. Ahasuerus, who was never befuddled no matter how much he drank, simply said: “It is well. She shall be neither dancing girl nor queen.”

The next day, the king called his council together to prepare an edict of divorcement. That evening, Mordecai went home and said: “It is done. He has cast her off as wife. She is queen no more, and will no longer live in the palace.”

Now it was proclaimed throughout the land that the most beautiful young virgins would be selected from every city and province, and be taken to the palace to be trained for the king’s pleasure. This was customary; it took place every few years. What was unusual was the further announcement that the king was seeking not only concubines, but a bride—that she who most pleased him would become queen in Vashti’s place.

Mordecai knew that Hadassah would be taken to the harem, for no one had seen a girl so beautiful. He spoke to her privately: “Hearken to me, my cousin, my daughter, most beloved of daughters. As surely as night follows day, this edict means that you will soon find yourself in the royal harem. You will be near the king, the source of power. Now, where power abides, men conspire. That palace is a web of plot and counterplot. You must do this: Put aside the name Hadassah. Take up your Persian name of Esther, and allow yourself to be thought of as Persian. Do not reveal that you are of Judah.”

“Why not?” she cried. “It is a proud thing to be a daughter of Judah! Who would be heathen who could be Hebrew?”

“Listen to me. A faction has formed in the court that hates the Jews and seeks to rouse the king against them. Allow yourself to be regarded as an orphan girl, ignorant of her roots.”

“You are very wise, cousin,” said the girl. “And I shall accept your counsel, as I have always. But tell me, beloved kinsman, am I to be separated from you totally now, never to see you, never to speak with you?”

“For the first six months you will be kept in seclusion in the women’s quarters in the palace. That is the custom. But I will not lose sight of you for a day. Each day, at a certain hour, I will stand at the gates of the palace near the women’s court. Perhaps I shall glimpse you; perhaps we shall be able to exchange a glance.”

They embraced each other and wept. The next day, Hadassah, who now called herself Esther, was taken to the women’s court in the palace. There she dwelt with the other maidens, undergoing the rites of purification, according to the royal law of the Medes and the Persians. The maidens were bathed in sweet waters and anointed with oil of myrrh and other precious scents. They were trained to play the lute and sing and dance, and their ways were polished so that they would be fit for a king’s chamber.

Each day, as he had promised, Mordecai went to the palace and stood at the gate near the women’s court. Sometimes he glimpsed Esther, sometimes he was glimpsed by her.

At the end of a year, the maidens were summoned to the king, one by one. Some he rejected on sight. Others he took to his chambers for the night. But not one of them did he call back a second time. Finally, Esther was summoned. When the king saw her, he smiled and beckoned her near. He rose to meet her, and took her hand, and said: “Truly are you named. For you burn like a star in the summer sky.”

She entered his chamber that night, and did not leave in the morning. The king held no court that day. He did not appear in his throne room. For three days and three nights he stayed in his chamber with Esther. He became like a youth again. His jaded appetite revived. After three days he led her forth and declared, “Esther shall be my queen.” He set the royal crown upon her head and ordered a great feast where the rites of marriage were performed, and Esther became queen in Vashti’s place.

Everyone did the new queen honor, not only because of her rank, but because they began to love her. She remained modest and gentle-spoken, and was never cruel. Mordecai rejoiced privately at Esther’s triumph. But he boasted to no one about their relationship, nor disclosed who she really was. He held his own counsel, and each day went to the palace and stood in the gate, hoping for a glimpse of her.

But now that she was a queen she was able to leave the palace and visit whom she pleased. Often she would visit Mordecai’s home. And they would embrace each other and converse for hours, as in days gone by. But he would not allow her to reveal herself as his kinswoman, or to use her influence for his advancement in office.

Standing each day at the palace gate, the shrewd Mordecai picked up current and cross-current of intrigue. His keen ear caught whispers; his sharp eye spotted secret gestures. He noticed who spoke to whom. He read faces, studied entrances and departures, sudden friendships, quarrels. One evening, when Esther came to visit him, he had something important to tell her.

“There are two among the king’s chamberlains, Bigthana and Teresh, who are plotting against your husband. Their duty is to keep the door of the king’s chamber. But they plan to open that door and admit armed men who will kill the king, and elevate one of the princes to the throne.”

Esther hurried back to the palace and told the king what had been told her. He immediately ordered an investigation. The plot was uncovered. Bigthana and Teresh were hanged from a tree. Then the entire matter was inscribed in the book of records. And Mordecai’s part in breaking the conspiracy was written down, also, at Esther’s dictation. But the record was sealed and the king did not read it.

Now the king promoted a man named Haman to be chief counselor. He was a wily man, Haman, belonging to the Amalekites, a tribe that had always hated the children of Israel. He was proud, ambitious, ruthless to his enemies, and as single in his purpose as a sword blade. The king, dismayed by the treachery of his two most trusted chamberlains, put Haman in charge of all the palace staff. Haman gathered power in his hands. He labored night and day, and acted for the king in all things, and made his name so feared throughout the land that people bowed to him as though he were the king himself.

But Mordecai had observed Haman for a long time, and loathed him, and did not bow to him when he passed through the gate. A servant of Haman raged at Mordecai, “Who are you that you do not bow to this man who stands next to the king?”

“That is not bowing,” said Mordecai. “That is prostration. You cast yourself on your face in the dust before this man. I am a Jew. I prostrate myself only before God.”

This was told to Haman, who did not seek to avenge himself immediately upon Mordecai, for he sensed a greater opportunity. He went to the king and said: “O great Ahasuerus, you who are king of kings and hold empire over land and sea, know that my one purpose is to serve Your Majesty.”

“I know it,” said Ahasuerus.

“Then I must tell you a grievous thing, O King. There are those in your realm who do not recognize your sovereignty. They refuse to do you homage as everyone else does, and refuse to honor those whom you honor.”

Ahasuerus frowned. “Who are these people?”

“A rebellious people,” said Haman. “A peculiar people, who separate themselves always from their neighbors and follow their own god and their own ways. They are the Jews. Lo, you have protected them against adversity. In the shelter of your compassion they have prospered and multiplied. Now they mock you. May I do you one more service and rid you of this pest?’

“Bring me a blank scroll,” said the king. “I will stamp it with the royal seal. Then you may write upon it whatever you wish, and do to this people what you will.”

Haman, the Amalekite, believed in moody gods. He believed in lucky days and unlucky days. Before doing anything important, he had his astrologers consult the stars and his soothsayers cast lots. Now he wished to choose the right day for the massacre. He wanted to kill every Jew throughout the land suddenly and completely in one bloody stroke. He had his soothsayers write the names of the months on pieces of paper and number the days of each month, and cast lots to find the best day.

Numbers were drawn. The day that came up was the thirteenth day of the twelfth month. But months were numbered differently then. The twelfth month was not December but March, a beautiful month in Persia, a month when the almond trees blossom. Then Haman prepared proclamations for every city and every province, naming the thirteenth day of the twelfth month a day of massacre, when every Jew in every place would be hunted out and killed—every man, every woman, every child.

Mordecai, with his uncanny quickness, learned what the proclamations were going to say before they were written. He rent the clothes from his body, put on sackcloth, and covered his head with ashes. Then he returned to stand at the palace gate. Esther’s maid saw him there and went and told Esther how the tax officer who always stood at the gate was now clad in sackcloth and ashes, and was weeping as though a loved one had died. Esther sent him down fresh garments to wear, but he refused them and said to the queen’s servant: “Send me Hathach, the queen’s chamberlain.”

Hathach went down, and Mordecai said: “I have a message for the queen.”

“Who are you to send messages to the queen?” said Hathach.

“A man with something to say that she will want to hear,” said Mordecai. “Whoever I am, she will thank you.”

There was something in Mordecai’s face that told Hathach, who was a man of discernment, that this matter merited the queen’s attention. “Take this scroll to Queen Esther,” said Mordecai. “Upon it she will read tonight what the governors of the provinces and the governors of the cities will read in five days, the words of a proclamation by Haman. Take it to her quickly.”

Hathach took Esther the scroll. She read it, put on a dark cloak, and went out of the palace. They met at Mordecai’s house. “You must stop this thing,” said Mordecai. “You must use your influence with the king.”

“Alas,” said Esther, “I do not know how much influence I still have with the king. He has not called me to him for thirty days.”

“Do not wait for his summons,” said Mordecai. “Go to him.”

“I cannot,” said Esther. “He is in the inner court. You know the law of the Medes and the Persians, that when the king is in the inner court no one may enter without permission. And whoever enters will be put to death.”

“Death will find you, anyway,” said Mordecai. “Haman has declared that all Jews must die. And when massacre is in the air, the nose of the Jew killer is sharpened, and he smells out Jewish blood no matter how well concealed. Haman will know you as a daughter of Judah; he may already know it. You will die, also. Listen to me, Esther, my daughter, my queen. Listen to me, beloved girl. God has a way of preserving His people. He will not let us all be destroyed. But if you do nothing to save your people, then God’s hand will be upon you. Who can fathom His deep intention? Perhaps you have been elevated to the throne for precisely this occasion—that you may be the instrument of your people’s salvation. Go to the king.”