Hadassah

by Tommy Tenney

  I took to my room and paced about, calling on G-d and challenging Him to tell me why He would allow such a horror to take place. Completely forgetting all the times He had rescued me before, I once again allowed myself to doubt His power and His care for me. After all, what could be done? Even if he wanted to, Xerxes himself could not reverse a royal order stamped with his signet ring. The law of the Medes and Persians, acknowledging how notoriously fickle its sovereigns could be, made it utterly impossible to change the law after that stamping had taken place. The situation seemed impossible—I could think of no way out. Our lives were as good as over. Even if Haman were somehow dispensed with, the law would still be enacted.

  I found myself considering whether it would be more dignified to take my own life. Yet the moment I seriously entertained the notion, it seemed like an obscene and impossible thing to do. I owed it to everyone—Mordecai, Jesse, even the Jews of Persia, to embrace my fate—and theirs—with courage.

  And when that thought occurred to me, I sat down on my bed and realized the way before me. No matter how hopeless, I would go in to Xerxes. Regardless of the outcome. It was a risk I could take, and I would take it.

  As soon as I made the decision, my grief and rage seemed to ease somewhat. In its place came an inexplicable sense of repose. While I did not deny or ignore the fate that hung over me and my people, the knowledge of what I would do gave me direction, a sense of purpose.

  To preserve the feeling and prepare me for what was to come, I retreated to my private chambers and summoned my handmaidens for a three-day period of fasting. I hoped the time would resemble those halcyon days spent together just before my very first night with Xerxes. By now these wonderful women knew my needs and moods seemingly long before I even recognized them, so they were not dismayed at my request for a quiet and subdued atmosphere.

  I sent Jesse to find Mordecai and tell him this: “Please go home, assemble all the Jews in Susa and ask them to fast and pray for me for three days. My handmaidens and I will do the same. Then I will go in to the King unbidden, even though it is against the law. And if I perish, I perish.”

  The handmaidens and I spent the most peaceful and serene three days I have ever lived through, before or since. They seemed to delight in serving me, in giving me comfort and ease through the fasting period. And my state of mind grew so tranquil that after the first few hours of their ministrations, I did not even feel the hunger.

  Yet from the first morning I found myself spending more time talking with G-d than anyone else. During those three days I prayed by the hour, simply pleading and imploring and, yes, cajoling Him to show me why He would visit such a fate upon His people—why He would allow their systematic deaths in this way. And the more I spoke with Him, the more I was certain He was answering, quietly exhorting me to have faith and remain intent on Him.

  Finally I had an answer to the lament that had always afflicted me during times of trouble: Why? Why take me so far only to let this happen? This time I knew precisely why I had been allowed to go this far.

  And the strange thing is, I did not have an inner assurance of success—that the King would lower his scepter, spare my life, then heed my pleas and somehow right this terrible wrong against my people. Of that happening, I had no certainty whatsoever. It had been a very long time—maybe decades—since the scepter had been lowered for a supplicant. Who was I to flaunt the laws of the Medes and the Persians? I did not even know for certain if he would notice me—especially with Haman’s constant distraction. I did, however, in spite of all that the Persian tradition and law was telling me, have a very real conviction that I was in the right place, doing exactly the right thing. And for some strange reason, despite the threat of death, that was enough.

  And so once again I underwent an abbreviated version of my long-ago preparation for the King. I bathed in myrrh. I had scented oils rubbed into my skin. I knelt over the incense burners to infuse my hair and skin with fragrant smoke. I asked the handmaidens to adorn my face and hair with the finest cosmetics, remembering exactly the combinations of colors and aromas that the King had responded to most strongly in the past. I summoned the Palace cooks to my side and ordered them to prepare a sumptuous banquet for that evening, for a small group—only three people. I clothed myself in my royal robes to remind him of our covenant, choosing again the King’s favorite style and colors, and then, escorted only by Jesse and two Immortals whom he trusted, I opened the door to my chambers and began the long journey to the Inner Court. Uninvited hammered into my mind with each step.

  A passing throng of Palace functionaries turned with surprised looks at my approach and parted before me. I had been gone from public sight for a noticeable period. And undoubtedly, many rumors about my state of mind must have arisen following my collapse the day I had received Mordecai’s news. Lastly, I am sure that my appearance without the King—especially given that he was already holding court that day without me—along with my dress and demeanor and the unusual composition of my party, was quite unprecedented. The Queen usually wore royal robes to accompany the King to court, and then only with the traditional contingent of soldiers, aides and eunuchs.

  I ignored the stares, neither smiling nor frowning, allowing the flinty resolve that I felt to show upon my face. Inwardly, I was speaking to G-d almost constantly, asking Him for favor and begging Him for the lives of the Jewish people. My own survival did not seem so important that day for some reason, but in another odd twist, the population I had once largely ignored now struck me as infinitely valuable. They were depending on me. I could feel their communal anxiety, their thoughts, even their prayers surrounding me like a shroud. I had heard the entire city was in an uproar—what would the court scene be like?

  I suppose I have exhausted your patience with all my descriptions of how I felt at each stage of this story. I have done so because I wanted you to know that I was little more than a frightened young girl trying to do her best, not some exalted figure of history whose fate was predetermined and whose composure was perfect at all times. Yet I must once more indulge in an account of my feelings, for today was both unexpected and strange. Instead of foreboding or anxiety or any of the expected emotions, I felt like I had passed into some high place of serenity with a peaceful resignation, almost as if I were drifting above a mass of storm clouds—floating calmly among the thin wisps of vapor that crown the uttermost heights of the heavens.

  The feeling grew with every step closer to Xerxes and my fate. I truly believed that if I died, so be it. G-d could somehow use even that to save His people. It was beyond me now. If her husband does not grant her quarter, what is a queen’s life worth anyway? And if the decree went forward, who was I to grasp at my own survival? Everything that mattered most to me would have already been swept away. I had only one course of action before me, and that singleness of purpose was itself a great relief. I had done my best, ridden the buffeting winds of fate as carefully as I could, and now I stepped willingly into a date with destiny. The horizon of that day stood dark with thunderclouds holding no portent of whether they would linger or benignly pass over.

  I mean that last description only symbolically, of course. There were very few stormy days in Susa. And as I stepped from the doors of the Palace, the sun assaulted me mercilessly. I winced and Jesse turned to me with an apologetic look, realizing that no one had any sort of shade to offer me. I simply shook my head and waved away his concern.

  Thankfully he did have the small litter waiting for me, so I did not have to walk the great distance through the terraces to the Inner Court. A part of me silently bade good-bye to the place as I proceeded through it, for the prospect of this being my last day was growing more distinct with every passing second. I could picture the moment of upcoming death with as much reality as any other outcome. Maybe a quick demise. I pictured Xerxes’ fist tightening upon the scepter as he glanced away and refused to lower it, the brief hiss of air across the edge of the approaching blade, the initial slice of metal into
my neck.

  And then, the hereafter. A reunion with my family. With my mother, who had suffered the same form of death.

  I shook my head and willed these thoughts away from me. Continuing to pray was far more important than these morbid contemplations. Despite faithless meanderings, another part of my being could feel G-d drawing closer than ever to me.

  And then is when it struck me. Despite all my thoughts and meditations—and now in hindsight it seems hopelessly ignorant of me—I had failed to remember the initial source of my insights about how to approach the King.

  Jacob. The Holy of Holies. The Shekinah. The incredible joy of approaching G-d like a small child running into the arms of a returning father.

  I am ashamed to say it, but it was not until then that I remembered it all again. That the King of Kings was my father, that he missed me and longed for my presence as dearly as my own father had—and as urgently as I had come to crave the presence of Xerxes. And just as I had come to anticipate those times of fellowship with Mordecai and Jesse—simply basking in the warm glow of their nearness—G-d looked forward to my being with Him.

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  So that day, with the eyes of hundreds still upon me, the motion of the litter lulling me into a meditative state, with the heat of the hour and above all the gravest risk I had ever faced—I closed my eyes and began to trust in the simple presence of the Almighty. And He took the occasion to flood my senses with an overpowering awareness of himself. I actually pictured myself as a toddler climbing into His vast and all-loving arms. Although I never lost sight of His other attributes—His righteousness and power, even His jealous anger—the side of Him that then poured into my awareness was the tender and loving YHWH of my earliest childhood.

  I found myself praising Him in simple terms. “Dear G-d,” I prayed, “thank you for your mighty and righteous deeds, for who you are. Thank you for meeting me here, for bringing your presence to my aid. You are so holy, so faithful. . . .”

  And I began to recognize, pouring from my spirit, some of the same words that had left my lips when I had met Xerxes for the first time. Somehow my delight and praise seemed to have found its truest recipient. I had come full circle, a journey that brought me back—to YHWH.

  And G-d’s presence was indeed the most amazing distraction; in fact, it soon began to make the momentous occasion of the day almost pale in significance. And still I did not gain a sense of certainty that my quest would prove successful and my life spared. Instead, it continued to become clear that this—this intimacy with Him, this joy at His presence—was itself the true substance of life. That it actually dwarfed my life in importance, not to mention some fleeting moment of fleshly pain upon death.

  So strongly grew this inward peace that when the litter settled upon the threshold of the Inner Court and I stepped upon solid ground again, I was almost entirely consumed with my spiritual life rather than the gravity of the moment. And I was glad for it, of course—for the distraction was at the very least a welcome respite from what lay ahead.

  The doors of the court were crowded with supplicants and bureaucrats. I suppose most of them knew that the Queen was not scheduled to enter the King’s presence that day—as I had not entered it for quite some time. So shock and consternation grew suddenly very plain on the hundreds of faces around me. I kept my gaze fixed ahead and simply walked, just concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other. Even though the red carpet was clear of loiterers—kept so by the threatening stares and weapons of the Immortal guards—an even larger swath began to part open before me. The hall in which I had been crowned suddenly opened wide in all its majesty, culminating in the marble platform of the throne itself.

  As I came closer, the surprise grew audible; it sounded like a long, shared gasp emanating from the assembled crowd. I also caught more of the knowing looks between ladies of the court, perhaps inwardly celebrating the fact that I might be soon to share Vashti’s fate. If she could be deposed for not coming when bidden, I could certainly be disposed of for entering unbidden! Oh, I knew how rare it was for the scepter to be lowered and intruders spared. I did not care. I was destined to take the next step and the one after that.

  “Dear Father,” I prayed, “I embrace your plan, your destiny for this moment. I want no other outcome but the one you have ordained. Please do not let me take one step outside your will.”

  Time seemed to stretch into infinity the nearer I approached. Those final strides seemed to last a lifetime. I know that my ears shut themselves down somehow—all sound died away except for the beating of my heart. I continued walking and kept my eyes away from the King’s, even though he was now but a few dozen cubits away. I was not yet ready for that moment of truth. I kept my head slightly lowered. Another sight from which I averted my gaze was the pair of Cushite soldiers flanking the throne, their gleaming swords held at the ready behind their backs. Yet I could sense them nervously shifting to their ready position—unsure of their next move, afraid to take action yet fearful of doing nothing.

  But then I was there; my feet struck the first step of the platform as I woodenly forged ahead. I stopped. And then it was time: I looked up into the eyes of my husband, who at that moment was anything but my spouse but instead my King, my earthly sovereign and perhaps soon to be my judge and jury.

  His lips were pursed and his eyes questioning; he was genuinely surprised at my entrance. He cocked his head and peered at me, like someone trying to query the other without using words. As though he was asking, What is it? Can’t you let me know your errand somehow, before I have to speak?

  Another endless moment passed. I felt I could have left my body, gone home to the Palace and lived several years in the pause that stretched between us. I heard, behind me, a great hush fall over the entire hall as if they, too, had entered into this moment of suspended time.

  I saw the King’s fingers flex and unflex around the scepter, appearing to decide on their own whether to grant me my life.

  “Please, Lord,” I whispered, “give me wisdom. Give me your direction on what to do next.”

  And then the strangest thing yet happened—I felt the corners of my lips begin to tug upward. My cheeks start to flex. My spirit begin to lift. It made no sense, yet the muscles of my face began to act in one accord, disobeying my every command. I smiled.

  Xerxes frowned.

  “Why do you smile, my Queen? Most people at an intrusive moment like this would look like they’d soon faint with fear—as well they should. What causes you to smile so oddly at this moment?”

  My smile broadened, because even though his expression remained grim and surprised, I knew he was remembering the moment we had first met and the similar words he had spoken then.

  “Because, your Majesty,” I answered in a soft voice, “even at this moment of highest danger, of which I am well aware, your presence fills me with joy. I am overwhelmed when I come close to the one I love.”

  The shared memory flashed between us. His head nodded slowly with a suppressed chuckle—I could tell he was gladdened that we had both kept that distant moment hidden in our hearts.

  And then that which I had not dared to hope for: King Xerxes lowered the scepter. The gasp that now arose from the spectators was neither soft nor wavering. In fact, the clamor of shared surprise—and I hope relief—nearly caused me to swing around in alarm.

  There remained one more part of this ritual to perform. I had to accept his grace, his mercy. I leaned forward and touched the tip of the scepter and felt a wave of gratitude—toward him, but most of all toward G-d—wash over my senses.

  I removed my fingers from the scepter’s jewels and leaned back again. But Xerxes took the occasion to lean closer to me. “What troubles you, my beautiful Queen? And what is your request? I will surely give it to you, my love, even if it is half the kingdom.”

  “You will be glad to know, my lord, that I do not come for nearly that much.”

  “Yet I hope it is an errand of great importance.”
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  “The highest, your Majesty.”

  And I took a breath. I glanced from side to side and realized immediately that I had made the right decision about how to proceed next. This was not the right place, not the optimal setting for me to state my plight. There were too many prying eyes in here, too many distractions and competitors for his attention. I needed to speak on my territory, on the ground of my greatest strength. So, realizing the absurdity of what I was about to say, I closed my eyes for a split second, opened them again and said, “I offer only one simple request.” I took a deep breath. “But not at the moment. If it pleases the King, may the King and Haman the Master of the Audiences come today to a private banquet that I have prepared for you.”

  Xerxes visibly stiffened at my strange reversal, yet he kept his eyes glued on my every move. Finally his stare broke and he turned to an aide beside him with a smile. “Quickly, find Haman and bring him here so we can do as Esther desires!” Then a quizzical look spread slowly across his face.

  Before he could question me further, I hastily asked to be dismissed so that I might prepare for the evening. I left the room using every ounce of Palace protocol I could remember—curtsying perfectly, glancing with a smile at every court official, walking at just the proper gait—and thanked G-d when I passed the threshold and left the throne room behind. I don’t mind telling you my legs could barely hold me upright as I found my way back to the litter, which returned me to my quarters. I was enormously relieved, as you might guess, but I also knew it was not over yet.

  My private Palace cooks did not disappoint. They prepared a lavish meal of spit-grilled pheasant, kebabs of beef and peahen, roasted potatoes, grilled asparagus tips and desserts from around the world. And, of course, wine—this night the finest Chaldean blends flowed freely into our cups. I had chosen one of my favorite spaces in the Palace: a high balcony overlooking the sprawling grounds of the citadel and the city beyond it. Far ahead, beyond an intricate latticework of streets and rooftops, the sun sank onto a thick horizon of sand and cloud and inflamed the western sky into a riot of reds, oranges and turquoise.