The Day We Were Meant to Die
The thirteenth day of the twelfth month — Adar — had been a shadow on our calendar.
A date we had whispered with dread.
A day that was meant to be our end.
I remember waking before the sun that morning. The city of Susa was silent, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
But we were not cowering.
Across the city — and in every province of the empire — the Jews stood ready. Not in rebellion. Not in vengeance. But in self-defense.
For the first time in generations, we were not running.
We were standing.
The God Who Turns the Tables
Something remarkable happened that day. The fear Haman had tried to pour into our hearts… was poured into our enemies instead.
Officials, governors, and even nobles began to distance themselves from those who had plotted against us. Many even supported us — not out of loyalty to us, but out of fear of the God who had clearly not forgotten His people.
Across the empire, when attacks came, they were repelled. Those who sought our destruction fell by their own swords.
The gallows were not enough. The plans of evil were dismantled, district by district.
What Haman meant for our end became the stage for our survival.
Victory Without Triumph
In Susa alone, the Jews defended themselves fiercely. And when the king learned that many of our enemies had been defeated, he asked Esther if anything more was needed.
She made a bold request —
Let the Jews in Susa have one more day to finish what had begun. Let Haman’s sons — already fallen — be displayed as a sign that the enemy’s legacy had died with him.
And so it was done.
But let it be known: We did not celebrate blood.
We celebrated survival.
We celebrated the God who turns decrees of death into days of deliverance.
A Day to Remember
When the dust settled and the swords were sheathed,
I knew that what had happened must never be forgotten.
So I wrote letters. To every province, every region, every community. I declared that these two days — the 14th and 15th of Adar — should be days of feasting and joy.
Of giving gifts to one another.
Of sharing food with the poor.
Of remembering that sorrow turned to gladness, that mourning became dancing.
We named it Purim — after the lots that Haman had cast to choose the day of our destruction. Because what he cast in pride, God reclaimed in providence.
Not Just a Victory — A Legacy
I did not do it for fame. I did it because I knew how fragile memory can be in exile.
I wanted every child born after us to hear the story. To taste the sweetness of freedom on their tongues. To know that when God seems silent, He is often moving in secret.
And when they asked why we feasted, we would say:
“Because we were meant to perish… and we did not.”
Joy Among the Scars
Even now, I remember the names we lost.
The families who still bear the pain.
Survival does not erase the wounds — but it gives meaning to the scars.
We were not just spared.
We were seen.
And that is worth more than gold or power.
