Intrigue
in Shushan
Rabbi Ari Kahn[1]
Purim is a raucous holiday. With gifts and costumes
and perhaps a little wine, it is a day (or, in Israel, what seems like an
entire week) of celebration and happiness. What is the source of this festive
atmosphere? Our automatic assumption is that an answer may be found in Megillat
Esther, The Book of Esther that tells the story of this unique celebration
and is read on Purim. And yet, the story told in the Megillah is a
complex one, and, in fact, gives only a partial answer to our question. At the
very least, we must admit that as far as the heroine of the tale is concerned,
the story’s ending was not necessarily “happily ever after” on a personal level.
More generally, the Megillah describes turbulent times, rife with
existential danger, reversals of fortune, and dramatic changes of status; the
complications are magnified when we read the text through the eyes of
traditional rabbinic commentary.
Ahashverosh is introduced as a king who loves to
party. We know very little about him from the text, other than the fact that he
seems to be a gracious host, attentive and caring - that is, to everyone but his
wife. We are provided with important background information about this Persian
monarch by rabbinic tradition: Ahashverosh was a usurper to the throne. The real
royalty was his wife Vashti.[2]
When Ahashverosh overthrew the king, the foremost
symbol of his conquest was Vashti, whom he wished to display for all to see,
like all of his other possessions and conquests. Thus, the order to parade
Vashti before the officers and ministers of his court was no mere drunken whim;
the very fact that he could order her to appear was proof of his power and
authority. Although some 20th and 21st century writers
have described Vashti as a feminist heroine, it would be best to avoid reading modern
values into ancient sources, which may lead to an anachronistic reading of the
story. It seems likely that the struggle between Vashti and Ahashverosh was not
a battle between sexes as much as between classes, namely between the new
ruling class and the old regime that had been ousted by force.
Vashti’s refusal to comply puts Ahashverosh in an
untenable position; in fact, all the other nouveau lords and ministers
understood the problem immediately: Vashti’s defiance threatened them as much
as it did the king, for all of them had taken the estates and wives of the
former aristocracy. They feared all the conquered women would follow Vashti’s
cue, and a wide-scale rebellion would result. They urged Ahashverosh to nip the
uprising in the bud, forcing him to choose between losing his trophy wife and
losing his throne.
Theirs was not a loving relationship: Vashti detested
the former stable boy[3] who had risen to power through violence and
ruthlessness, nor did she have any illusions about her husband’s priorities or
methods. She made a conscious choice in favor of her own dignity by refusing to
be put on display, choosing death over a life of subjugation and humiliation.
With Vashti gone, however, Ahashverosh was faced with
a new problem: He was in desperate need of the stamp of legitimacy and nobility
Vashti had provided. His most important trophy was gone, and he needed a new queen.
An empire-wide search was initiated, capped off by a
bizarre and sordid contest: The winner would become queen and the losers would join
the royal harem, the “stable” of the king’s mistresses. Ironically, but
not surprisingly, Esther, the Jewish girl who had no desire to be queen, was chosen.
Her disinterest, her lack of desire to win, her “standoffish” attitude, is
precisely what reminded Ahashverosh of his not-so-dearly departed, aristocratic
wife Vashti. Esther was the perfect Vashti replacement.
Things begin to move along smoothly for Ahashverosh:
He subcontracts most decisions to his diabolical, megalomaniacal, anti-Semitic
chief-of-staff, Haman. And as diabolical, megalomaniacal anti-Semites are wont
to do, Haman conceives a plan to make the world Judenrein.
The pieces begin to come together; the gears begin to
mesh. Esther, who has been perceived up to this point as passive, distant, even
docile, reveals a completely different side of her personality, displaying leadership,
spunk and brilliance. On the one hand she requests that the Jews fast and pray
for her. On the other hand, she sets in motion a plan to divide and conquer,
pitting the megalomaniacal Haman against her insecure, paranoid husband. She
invites both men to a private party. The ever-suspicious Ahashverosh cannot sleep;
he knows something is awry, but is racked with doubt. Is Haman plotting against
him, or is it Esther? Are they perhaps in cahoots? Will he be forced, once
again, to choose between two things he values – his wife and his closest advisor
– in order to remain on the throne? Perhaps he should have both threats
eliminated, have both Haman and Esther killed, despite the messy and
inconvenient aftershocks? This is not, after all, the first plot to assassinate
him. It had happened before, when, of all people, a Jew named Mordechai had
saved his life.
Unable to sleep, in search of insight or precedent,
he reads through old protocols, when his train of thought is interrupted by a commotion
outside: Haman has come to the palace, uninvited, in hopes of convincing the
king to have Mordechai executed. Ahashverosh, focused on solidifying his power,
is keen to publicly reward Mordechai for his loyalty, as a means of staving off
insurgency. For his part, Haman is completely focused on himself. Oozing megalomania,
he can think of no one more worthy of the king’s largesse than himself, and suggests
that the unnamed object of Ahashverosh’s favor be dressed in the king’s clothes
and paraded through the city on the king’s horse by a member of court.
This is clearly not the wisest thing to suggest to an
insecure ruler who is hyper-sensitive to the trappings of royalty. Ahashverosh’s
suspicions about Haman are compounded by Haman’s own greedy grab at the
spotlight. It is surely no coincidence that Ahashverosh, himself an erstwhile
stable boy, commands Haman himself to lead the royal mount through the streets
of Shushan: This is a demeaning job for a person of such high station, a clear
demotion in the eyes of the king, and perhaps also a silent warning to his
upwardly mobile advisor to tread carefully: The path between the palace and the
stables can be a two way street.
One party follows another. On the second night, Esther
levels accusations at Haman in language she knows will resonate in
Ahashverosh’s tortured mind: Haman has been insubordinate, and has attempted to
manipulate Ahashverosh into a self-destructive policy that would eliminate the king’s
most loyal subjects and bring about widespread unrest in the kingdom. Soon
Haman is led to the very gallows he had prepared for Mordechai, while
Mordechai, and with him all the Jews of the kingdom, rise to unprecedented
positions of respect and influence.
What is it that we celebrate, then, in the frivolity
of Purim? An unbiased reading of the story leaves us nonplussed, because it
seems no more than the story of a man who kills his wife on the advice of his
best friend and then kills his best friend on the advice of his wife. For Jews,
though, the story cannot be read without a very particular bias: For us, Purim
is a joyous day. The Megillah is a microcosm of a very particular view
of Jewish history, fraught with assimilation and heroism, existential danger
and Divine intervention, and above all, Jewish survival against seemingly
insurmountable odds. The Book of Esther celebrates our collective happy ending;
it celebrates the miracle of Jewish survival, celebrated each year with food
and drink and the exchange of gifts and good will. It celebrates the fact that the
real and true King, the only King, the Master of the Universe, has stepped in
to rescue us from annihilation throughout history, and it gives us hope that He
will never abandon us, even in times of great darkness and danger. L’chaim!
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