The news of Haman’s decree had spread like wildfire. The streets of Susa, once filled with the usual bustle of merchants and traders, now carried an undercurrent of fear. I felt it in the hushed conversations of the palace servants, in the anxious glances exchanged among the Jewish attendants, and most of all, in the heaviness of Mordecai’s message.
“Do not think that because you are in the king’s house, you alone of all the Jews will escape. For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?“
I had read and reread those words, each time feeling the weight of them press heavier on my chest. For days, I paced my chambers, torn between duty and fear. The law was clear—anyone who approached the king uninvited, even the queen, could be put to death unless he extended the golden scepter. And I had not been summoned to the king in thirty days.
The silence was ominous. Had I lost his favor? Would he receive me, or would I be just another forgotten woman in his court, cast aside without a second thought?
I pressed my forehead against the cool marble of my chamber walls. I was afraid. But fear would not change the decree. Fear would not save my people.
So I sent a message to Mordecai:
“Gather together all the Jews who are in Susa, and fast for me. Do not eat or drink for three days, night or day. I and my attendants will fast as you do. When this is done, I will go to the king, even though it is against the law. And if I perish, I perish.“
The Eve of Courage
That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling of my chamber. The flickering oil lamps cast long shadows on the walls, their movements restless, like my thoughts. Sleep did not come easily—not with the weight of my decision pressing down on me.
I turned onto my side, curling into myself as if I could shield my heart from the dread creeping in. Will I die tomorrow? Would I even be remembered?
A shuddering breath escaped my lips.
But then I thought of Mordecai—his steady faith, his unwavering conviction that I was placed here for a purpose. I thought of the Jews in Susa, mourning in sackcloth, waiting, hoping, praying. I could not turn away from them. I was their only chance.
As dawn broke, I rose from my bed and knelt beside it.
“Lord, You parted the sea for our fathers. You raised up leaders to deliver Your people. I am nothing before You, but if it is Your will, grant me favor today.”
With a deep breath, I stood, gathering my resolve. No more fear. No more hesitation.
If I perished, so be it.
The Third Day
The palace corridors felt colder than usual as my attendants dressed me in royal garments. Layers of fine silk draped over me, woven with threads of gold and deep blue. Jewels adorned my wrists, my neck, my forehead—but they felt like chains rather than ornaments.
I turned to the polished bronze mirror, studying my reflection. The woman staring back at me looked every bit the queen of Persia, but deep inside, I was still Hadassah, the orphan girl who had dreamed of an ordinary life.
“The Lord is my refuge and my strength.” I whispered the words under my breath, steadying my resolve.
With slow, measured steps, I walked through the corridors leading to the king’s hall. The guards at the doors stiffened at my approach, their eyes betraying their unease. They knew the law. They knew what was at stake.
When the palace doors opened, and I stepped into the hall, I was no longer Hadassah, the orphan girl of Susa. I was Esther, Queen of Persia, and I was ready to meet my fate.
As the doors opened, a hush fell over the grand chamber.
King Xerxes sat upon his golden throne, adorned in his royal robes. Around him, nobles and courtiers whispered among themselves, their eyes darting between the king and the lone woman daring to stand before him.
My heart pounded, but I willed my hands not to tremble.
Silence stretched between us like a blade’s edge. The weight of a thousand expectations bore down on me, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. Would he extend his scepter?
Then, the moment I had dreaded—Xerxes’ eyes locked onto mine.
I saw the flicker of surprise in his gaze, then something else. Recognition.
A heartbeat. Then another.
And then—the golden scepter lifted.
Relief surged through my veins like a rushing river. I let out the breath I had been holding and stepped forward, my hands clasped in gratitude. Bowing low before him, I reached out and lightly touched the tip of the scepter, as was custom.
“My queen,” Xerxes said, his voice steady but laced with curiosity. “What is it? What is your request? Even up to half the kingdom, it will be given to you.”
I lifted my head, meeting his gaze. The tension in the room had not fully dissipated, but the first hurdle had been crossed.
“My lord,” I said, my voice calm but resolute, “if it pleases the king, let the king and Haman come today to a banquet I have prepared for him.”
Whispers rippled through the court. A banquet?
Xerxes raised an eyebrow, then glanced at Haman, who stood to the side, his expression unreadable.
“A banquet?” Xerxes repeated, amused.
“Yes, my king,” I replied. “A banquet in your honor. Come, and bring Haman with you.”
For a brief moment, there was silence, then—Xerxes nodded. “Very well. Have it prepared.”
A murmur of approval spread through the hall. I bowed once more and withdrew, my mind racing.The first step had been taken. But the real battle was still ahead.
