The Royal Ring
I never imagined I would be summoned to the inner court.
One moment, I was standing at the king’s gate in sackcloth, still mourning the edict that threatened us all. The next, a royal messenger approached — no fear in his voice this time, only honor.
“The king has called for you.”
When I entered the palace, I saw her. Esther.
She stood by the king, no longer just my adopted daughter — now a queen in truth, in presence, in power.
She smiled at me, softly. There were tears in her eyes, and I understood.
We had both survived something sacred and terrifying.
Then Xerxes turned to me.
He removed the signet ring — the same ring he had once given to Haman.
And he placed it in my hand.
Just like that, I was now the second most powerful man in Persia.
But I did not feel triumphant.
I felt the weight.
Esther’s Second Plea
Not content with the downfall of Haman, Esther approached the king again. She threw herself at his feet and wept — not for herself, but for our people.
“Let an order be written to revoke the dispatches that Haman devised,” she begged.
The king did not reverse the first decree — not even he could undo a sealed royal law.
But he gave us the authority to write another.
To respond.
To fight back.
The Pen That Fought a Sword
So I sat down with the scribes.
And I wrote.
In the name of the king, and with his seal, I sent a new message to the provinces:
On the thirteenth day of Adar, the Jews may assemble. They may protect their lives. They may destroy anyone who attacks them. They may stand together. And they will not be punished for surviving.
This was not vengeance. It was permission to live.
It was protection wrapped in parchment and ink.
We translated it into every language, for every people. We sent it by the fastest messengers, on the king’s swiftest horses. Because when death has a date… hope must ride faster.
A City’s Reversal
When the first decree was announced, Susa was confused and grieved.
But when the second one went out, the city rejoiced.
Jews who had hidden in silence now stepped into the streets with dignity.
There was feasting, singing, and light in their homes.
And for the first time in years, I walked through the city in royal robes — not as a traitor, not as a victim, not as an exile — but as a vessel of justice.
Blue and white linen. A large crown of gold. A purple robe of fine fabric.
But none of it compared to the look on Esther’s face when I returned.
She nodded as if to say:
You carried me this far. Now let me carry you.
My Father’s Name, My People’s Honor
I thought of my ancestors that day — of my father Jair, and his father Shimei, of Kish from the tribe of Benjamin.
So many centuries ago, our forefather Saul failed to destroy Agag, king of Amalek. He spared what he should have judged, and our people paid the price.
Now here I stood, the son of Benjamin, wearing the robe of the empire once ruled by the enemy of our people.
Not for revenge.
But for restoration.
Hope in Every Home
That day, across the empire, Jews began to hope again.
The children laughed. The elders prayed with new fervor.
And in the distant provinces, strangers began to say,
“The God of the Jews has not forgotten them.”And they were right.
He hadn’t.
