The celebrations had quieted, but their echoes still lingered in the streets of Susa. The scent of feasting still clung to the air, and the laughter of children could still be heard in the courtyards. For my people, this was a new beginning.
But for me, it was a moment of reflection.
I stood on the palace balcony, gazing out over the city that had once felt like a gilded cage. Now, it was something else. A place of purpose. A place where I had found the courage to become more than I ever imagined.
My journey had not been the one I dreamed of as a child. I had once pictured myself as a simple Jewish wife, raising children, passing down the songs of my mother and the wisdom of my father. I never envisioned myself as a queen, standing at the side of the most powerful man in the world, wielding influence over an empire.
But God had known.
For such a time as this.
From Orphan to Queen
I thought back to the little girl I had been—the orphan who had clung to Mordecai’s teachings, who had longed for the warmth of her parents’ embrace. I remembered the fear that gripped me when I was taken to the palace, the uncertainty of my future.
I had once believed that my fate was in the hands of others. The king’s decree, the will of the court, the laws of Persia—these were the forces that shaped my life.
But I had been wrong.
It was not Xerxes who determined my future. Not the nobles. Not even Haman.
It was God.
And He had not abandoned me.
Even when I could not see His hand, He was working. In the whispers of Mordecai’s wisdom, in the strength I found when I stood before the king, in the moment I spoke the truth and saw justice prevail.
My life had not followed the path I imagined.
It had followed the path I was meant to walk.
A People Rooted in Persia
But even with our victory, I could not ignore an uncomfortable truth.
Our people had been saved.
Yet, they had not returned home.
Long ago, King Cyrus had decreed that the Jews could return to Jerusalem, to rebuild the temple, to restore what had been lost. Ezra and Nehemiah had already led some of our people back to the land of our fathers.
But most had stayed.
Why?
I often wondered if, after so many generations, Persia had become more than just a land of exile. Perhaps for many, it had become home.
The streets of Susa, the markets, the courtyards—these were now woven into the lives of my people.
Many of them had never seen Jerusalem. The stories of the temple, of David and Solomon, were ancient history to them, tales passed down like distant dreams.
Would they ever return? Or had God chosen to bless them here, among the nations?
God’s Plan in Persia
If they had all left, if they had returned to Jerusalem, what would have become of us?
Would I have been here, in this palace, to stop Haman’s plan?
The thought sent a chill through me. If the Jews had abandoned Persia completely, Haman’s decree might have been carried out unchecked. There would have been no one left to defend.
Instead, God had allowed us to stay.
And through that, He saved us.
I saw it clearly now. The exile was not just about punishment. It was about preservation.
Perhaps God had not yet called all of His people back to the land of their fathers because their purpose here was not yet complete.
Perhaps He had placed them here—placed me here—for reasons far beyond what any of us could see.
And perhaps, even now, He was still working.
The Nature of Courage
I had once believed that courage was something that felt strong.
That it was loud, unshaken, fearless.
But I had learned that courage was often quiet.
It was the trembling voice that spoke when silence was safer.
It was the step forward when standing still felt easier.
It was choosing to believe in something greater than fear.
Courage is not the absence of fear.
It is the refusal to let fear win.
And that is what I would carry with me for the rest of my days.
The Legacy of My Story
The story of what had happened would live on, not just in my memory but in the hearts of my people.
Every year, when the time of Purim came, the Jews would remember. They would tell their children of the queen who stood before the king and pleaded for her people.
They would remember that even in exile, God had not forsaken them.
They would remember that even in the darkest of moments, deliverance was near.
They would remember that a Jewish orphan named Hadassah became Esther, Queen of Persia, not because of fate, but because of faith.
And they would remember the words that changed everything:
For such a time as this.
My Final Prayer
As I turned from the balcony, stepping back into my chambers, I knelt beside my bed one last time.
“Lord, I do not know what the future holds. I do not know if my people will ever return to the land of our fathers. I do not know if Persia will remain our home forever. But I know this—You are faithful. You are good. And You are always working, even when we cannot see it.”
“Thank You for choosing me. Thank You for guiding me. Thank You for such a time as this.”
With that, I rose.
Tomorrow, I would go on as Queen Esther.
But in my heart, I would always be Hadassah.
And that was enough.
