A Gate and a Prayer
The king’s gate became my second home. Each morning I would rise, wash my face in cold water, recite the Shema, and make my way through the city streets — until the palace towers came into view.
There was no invitation for me to be there. I was not part of the royal court. But no one questioned the man who stood quietly, day after day, on the outer edge of Persian power, eyes always fixed on what he could not reach.
I came to listen. I came to wait. But mostly, I came to pray.
No Letters, No Voice
Hadassah — no, Esther now — was gone behind walls I could not see through. No notes came. No words slipped through the guards. She could not visit, and I could not call for her.
I didn’t know what perfume they gave her, what jewels they placed in her hair. I didn’t know if she cried at night, or if she was learning to walk with grace and silence like the other women.
But I knew her heart. And that gave me peace, even as uncertainty gnawed at the edges of my soul.
A Whisper Beneath Stone
It was during one of those long days at the gate that I heard it — a whisper barely louder than a breeze. Two voices. Familiar. Careless. Dangerous.
Bigthana and Teresh, two of the king’s eunuchs, stood within earshot, speaking in Aramaic too quickly for most to catch. But I had learned to listen between languages.
They were plotting something. Not drunken gossip or servant’s grumbling — no, this was colder. Clearer.
They spoke of the king. Of vengeance. Of a door left unguarded. Of blood spilled without warning.
My heart slowed. My skin tightened. This was treason. Assassination.
I stepped back into the shadows of the gate, my breath still but my mind racing. I didn’t know where Esther stood in the palace hierarchy. I didn’t know if the king had even looked at her yet. But I knew she was there. And I knew what I had to do.
A Risk to Be Remembered
The next day, I sent word through the right channel — quietly, carefully. It reached Esther, and she passed the message to the king in my name.
Within days, the plot was exposed. The two men were seized and executed. The danger was gone, and peace returned to the palace.
But I remained at the gate. No reward. No favor. No parades.
The event was recorded in the royal annals, written down in ink on pages I would never see. My name mentioned, but not remembered.
And I was fine with that because the king still lived and Esther still breathed. That was enough.
Between the Lines of Destiny
Looking back, I realize how easily I could have dismissed what I heard that day. I could have chalked it up to idle talk, to bitterness and exaggeration. I could have decided to stay silent.
But in exile, the faithful must learn to act quickly and righteously — or risk being buried by the silence. That moment — small as it seemed — would one day shift the entire story. But I didn’t know that yet.
I only knew that I had kept watch. That I had stood on the threshold of power and darkness. That I had listened. And that I would keep listening. As long as she was inside those walls, I would not leave the gate.
