Hadassah

by Tommy Tenney

  Today, I am no longer a woman spoken of for her youth and beauty. Constant tending with myrrh massages once delayed, even softened, the onset of wrinkles. At least for a time. No, I am a source of legend perhaps, yet no one will still call me the fairest maiden in the kingdom.

  But that is far from the only bittersweet gift the years have wrought. As you probably know quite well, Xerxes was murdered in his bed only four years after all this took place. I made certain my dear husband was buried with the medallion I gave him on our first fateful night. I still miss him terribly, especially those glorious evenings we shared at the beginning of our marriage. The breathtaking Palace at Susa burned to the ground six years later, which is why I took such pains to describe its splendors to you. I wish you could have seen it, my dear, when it was the virtual center of the world and seemed to contain half its people.

  Indeed, you could no longer say that being King of Persia is to be King of the World. Persia is a far weaker empire than it once was, and its military might is now a patchwork reflection of what I remember. I hear that our current King would rather hire foreign mercenaries to do our fighting than drag our citizens into one more disastrous campaign.

  So, my dear girl, you enter into Palace life at a time probably as perilous and unsettled as my own. Mordecai’s admonition may well apply to you—“ . . . who knows but that G-d placed you here for such a time as this?”

  As you face the “competition,” remember the protocols of the King’s presence, my dear. Heed the Chamberlain as though your life depended on it, because it may. The man has the ear of the King himself, so his advice outweighs that of a thousand others. Bear gifts; do not ask for them. Keep your motives sincere and pure. Remember that this is not about you—your beauty, your charm, your allure. It is about him. Focus on the King. Delight in his presence, and you’ll already have all the attractiveness you need. Cultivate true intimacy, not just sensuality, and influence will come with it. The King’s favor is worth more than all the titles and pomposities a person could ever hoard—as Haman’s fate will readily attest.

  I hope this too-lengthy account of my story proved to you that these maxims are no mere platitudes. Learning and understanding the protocols of the King’s presence could save your life—even the lives of our whole race. At the very least, they could earn you a lifetime’s worth of favor with the King.

  As for me, I can truthfully say that the years have been kind—and mercifully, I can add, free of the excitement that seemed to lurk around every corner during those earlier days. The people remember me warmly, and indeed their adulation has helped keep me safe and protected these many years.

  After Xerxes’ tragic death, I took up residence in the candidates’ harem, in the same favored suite that holds so many fond memories for me. And I find that I have a soft place in my heart for the harem girls, once discarded and now stranded among the careening monoliths of history. I find I hold a great deal in common with them.

  I rejoice to know that Mordecai became one of the most beloved and revered figures Persia has known—the Exilarch, and perhaps the ablest Master of the Audiences any king ever took to his side. As such, he no longer was able to slip anonymously in and out of the Palace grounds to converse with me. And the strange thing is, as I am now the ex-Queen, Poppa became the one with greater access around the Palace. It was I who became compelled to sneak in to see him. And of course, even today in his extreme old age, he still acts like my father. Which I know he is—I suppose I mean that he acts like the father of a ten-year-old. I love him for it. Sometimes I wish I could bring myself back in time as the Hadassah of old, then climb up into his lap for another of those endless stories he once told me about the history of Israel.

  And Jesse, our Hathach the Good Man? He rose to the rank of King’s chief eunuch, with the primary responsibility of managing the royal harems. That’s right, my dear. The very Chamberlain who greeted you on your first day and who this very moment oversees your own year of preparation. So when I tell you to listen to the Chamberlain, it is important. He happens to be my very oldest and very best friend.

  To this day, he and I meet in the Palace orchards as we did so long ago. We reminisce with laughter and not a few tears about the extraordinary events of our youth. We share each other’s burdens, hopes, fears and deepest yearnings. We even shed a few tears for the irrepressible Rachel, whom I brought to live with me in the palace and who lived long enough to see Mordecai save the Jews of Susa.

  I suppose if it were not for the terrible loss inflicted upon Jesse, as well as my very public legacy, we might have married. I cherish his company and rely on his advice, and I could not last a day without our conversations. Besides, I’m sure you’ll agree that he grew into a very handsome man.

  In fact, it was on one of our clandestine walks through the gardens that we spotted you, in some of the very places I once retreated to, clearly praying to G-d. We shared a look charged with decades of history, and I resolved there and then to give this account to you, one that I have been researching and writing for many years.

  Of course, there is another character in this drama, the One who, despite our limited view of circumstances, watched and cared for His people through every twist and turn. He is the One who oversaw its whole outcome—and with whom I still revel in a rich and amazing relationship. He is YHWH, the G-d of my fathers. I cannot pretend that I feel Him every day as strongly as I did during some of those times of agonizing crisis. Yet I do feel His Spirit with me, I speak to Him constantly, and sometimes at the oddest of moments—watching a sunset over the Palace mount, holding a small child, walking with Mordecai or Jesse—I feel His presence as vividly as ever.

  During such occasions I am given to laughing out loud, shouting out a word or two in His praise, raising my hands to the heavens and even weeping uncontrollably. I wish more than anything that I could see Him with my earthly eyes at those times—so I could run to Him like that tiny child seeing his returning father and jump blissfully into His arms. Instead, I content myself with a few feeble old lady’s leaps or two. And then I bask inwardly in the embrace of His presence, exulting in His love and praising Him for all that He is—to me, to my people and now to you.

  They say I am turning into an old woman and that old women are given to this kind of eccentric behavior.

  Hah. I only hope they—and you—will someday share my lunacy.

  For now, this side of paradise, the best substitute I can think of is to return as fast as I can to the bosom of my people—the land of Israel. And that is my dream. I am hoping to soon join a countryman named Ezra on a caravan and return across the deserts to live my last days in the land of my fathers. I do not know if you will have spent your night with the King by the time I depart. I suppose it is of little consequence to your chances, either way. But I will pray that you experience the love that I knew with my Xerxes.

  And I will pray that, as it did for me, your one night with the King changes everything.

  Signed,

  Hadassah,

  Esther, Star of Persia

  52

  JERUSALEM—PRESENT DAY

  Hadassah turned the final page slowly and, with a palpable feeling of regret, closed the cover. The young bride turned to her father. It was the final afternoon, her wedding only hours away. She had promised him she would finish reading the book before the moment came, despite all the preparations at hand. With a long sigh, she laid her head upon his bony shoulder and grasped his arm in both her hands.

  “So, Poppa, do you think she made it?”

  “Who?”

  “Esther. Do you think she made it back to Israel?”

  He smiled and narrowed his eyes ever so slightly to gaze out over the valley of Kidron and the Temple Mount. “Well, my love, experts will tell you there is no historical or archaeological record of Queen Esther ever leaving Persia, let alone arriving here. And I sort of like it that way.”

  “So do I.”

  “But between you and me, I’m sure
she made it. In fact, I’m certain of it. Whether she stayed there for the remainder of her days, only G-d knows.”

  Then he turned in his chair, winced slightly with the aches and pains of an old man and extracted a velvet box from his suit pocket.

  “Here, my dear. Your old aunt wanted you to have this.”

  She knelt before him and reached out delicately to open the box. Inside was an obviously ancient and weathered, yet still exquisite, piece of jewelry—a golden medallion engraved with the Star of David.

  She frowned and glanced up at her father. “What aunt?”

  “Oh, you know. Queen Esther. And she gave it to the young candidate to whom she wrote—”

  “Oh, Poppa,” she gasped, reeling with the knowledge of what she cradled in her hand.

  “I am going to find out the name inscribed second to Queen Esther’s on the memoir,” she finally said to her father when she had her emotions under control. “She is my ancestor, and I feel like she’s here for my wedding.”

  Her father laid his hand on her head and recited the ancient Hebrew blessing that was many times older than the medallion.

  The moment had come. The bride stepped down the aisle of the synagogue just as the sun set upon Purim’s second and final day and the finest view in Jerusalem just beyond. Its final ray sparkled on the spectacular Star of David around her neck. She arrived at the canopy and her groom at last, and he reached forward to pull back her veil. When he saw her face, he frowned at once.

  “What’s the matter?” he whispered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why are you smiling like that? Is everything all right? Do I look—?”

  “You look wonderful,” she said, smiling even more.

  “Most brides I’ve seen looked like they were about to pass out right about now. You’re—”

  She laughed infectiously and reached out to hold him lightly about the neck.

  “I’m smiling because I’m so overjoyed to be in your presence. You are the most desirable and intoxicating man alive—did you know that?”

  Just then, long before the ceremony’s end called for it, the groom bent down and engulfed his bride in a deep, impulsive kiss that did not break until impromptu applause from the guests reached its crescendo. It was such a clearly spontaneous and genuine display of passion that no one had the heart to object. The abashed groom finally pulled away, and laughter rose above the scene.

  His young bride heard the sound of mirth drift up over the nearby rooftops, out over the Kidron Valley, toward the ancient wall that encircled the Old City of Jerusalem. Here was the ancestral home of the Jewish people—beloved children of the Most High G-d who always, even when He is silent, watches over His own. She could not help but smile.

  ATOP THE MOUNT OF OLIVES—LATER THAT NIGHT

  Nestled in each other’s arms, the wedding couple glanced out their French doors toward the lights of old Jerusalem spilling down into the moonlit Kidron Valley.

  “This is a new perfume you wore today,” he said, nuzzling her neck.

  Hadassah laughed. “Yes, dear. It is.”

  “Why would you wear something new like that? Don’t get me wrong—it’s a wonderful fragrance, but it isn’t like you to change something at the last minute.”

  “It’s an old family recipe.”

  “And what is the name of this recipe?”

  She laughed. “Essence of myrrh.”

  “What? Where did you—your family—come up with such a thing?”

  “An old aunt. Aunt Esther.”

  “All right, I give up. But that’s not the only last-minute change you made. I’ve never seen that necklace you wore today, either. That’s a stunning piece of jewelry. Even though it’s a replica, it must have cost a mint.”

  She smiled demurely. “It’s not a replica.”

  “No way. I know my Jewish icons, and if that were real, it would be thousands of years old.”

  “It is.”

  He bolted upright. “You’re joking? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No, I’m not. It’s an ancient family heirloom. It truly is real. I was shocked myself—you should feel how heavy it is.”

  “Hadassah, for that to be real, the historical period would have to date from the time of the Exile.”

  She looked at him for a while, then nodded slowly.

  He paused with a scowl, pondered for a moment, then turned to her again. “Where is it now? If it’s really that old, you can’t leave something like that lying around!”

  “My father has taken it back to the House of Scrolls.” Finally she laughed deeply, heartily, and took his hand tenderly in hers.

  “Why didn’t you tell me these things before?” he asked, searching her face.

  “I only learned of them this week. You and I have been so busy, I haven’t had the chance.”

  “Well, it isn’t too late to start.”

  She laughed. “Jacob, there’s a story I need to tell you.”

  It was a long story—a very long story, and before she was ten minutes into it, his head had settled against her chest, and he had begun to snore lightly. She shook her head with a rueful smile.

  There would be no honeymoon for this Hadassah, either. Jacob could not spare the time. Nor could the nation. For even the first day of marriage would be a busy day in the life of Jacob ben Yuda—Prime Minister of the nation of Israel.

  Tommy Tenney is a highly acclaimed inspirational speaker and the author of the multimillion-selling THE GOD CHASERS series, including God’s Favorite House, The God Catchers, God’s Eye View, and The Prayers of a God Chaser. Tenney has written more than fifty books, both nonfiction and fiction, many of them bestsellers. He and his family live in Louisiana. To learn more, visit GodChasers.net.