Queen Esther

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 messengers rode hard, their horses kicking up dust as they carried the king’s decree to every province of Persia. The new law, bearing the royal seal, traveled faster than the whispers of Haman’s treachery had. “On the appointed day, the Jews may stand and defend themselves against any who would seek to harm them.”

The sun rose over Susa, casting golden light over a city that had seen the fall of one ruler and the rise of another. Just a day ago, the gallows stood tall in Haman’s courtyard, a symbol of his unchecked ambition and cruelty. Now, it was empty. His name, once spoken with fear and reverence,

The tension in the air was nearly suffocating. As I stood in my chambers, the weight of the moment pressing against my chest, I knew there was no turning back. The time for hesitation had passed. My people’s fate, my own fate, rested upon what would happen tonight. The banquet was prepared—the finest dishes, the

The great halls of the palace were silent, wrapped in the hush of midnight. Even the ever-burning torches lining the corridors flickered lazily, casting long, sluggish shadows upon the marble floors. The world outside slept, but within the grand chambers of the king, there was no rest. Xerxes shifted beneath the heavy silk covers, exhaling

The banquet hall glowed with the light of countless lamps, their golden flames dancing against the polished stone walls. Servants moved like shadows, pouring rich wines into goblets and laying platters of the finest foods before the king and his most trusted advisor, Haman. I sat beside Xerxes, my hands resting lightly on my lap,

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

The palace brimmed with its usual opulence, but beneath the surface, tension simmered like an approaching storm. Each day seemed to carry a heavier weight, and the air grew thick with whispers. Something was brewing—something ominous and calculated. Haman, now a man of immense influence, walked the halls with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

The air in the palace shifted the day the royal decree was issued. It was not uncommon for officials to rise and fall in the favor of the king, but Haman’s promotion came with an authority that seemed to tilt the balance of power in the court. “Haman the Agagite,” the herald’s voice echoed through

Esther 2: 21–23 The palace was alive and hummed with the rhythm of power — the echo of sandals against marble, the soft shuffle of scrolls, the laughter of courtiers masking ambition. I had learned to read these sounds as one reads a psalm: the pauses, the hidden meanings between the lines. But that morning,

The palace was a world of its own, a labyrinth of glittering halls and towering pillars where every corner echoed with murmurs of power and ambition. In the days following the lavish celebrations that crowned me as queen, I found myself swept into its currents. I should have felt victorious, triumphant even. But as I

Twelve months. That’s how long it took for a simple girl like me to be transformed into what the king might deem worthy. Twelve months of daily rituals, countless oils and perfumes, and lessons in grace, etiquette, and charm. It was exhausting, not just for the body but for the soul. Each day in the

The journey to the palace felt like a slow march into exile. We were herded into ornate carriages, our lives no longer our own, and though the air was heavy with the chatter of the other young women, I stayed silent. My hands gripped the folds of my cloak tightly as I stared at the

The city buzzed with rumors. For days, the streets of Susa had been filled with the murmurs of merchants, the hurried whispers of neighbors, and the occasional exclamations of those who had seen the royal couriers. The king’s decree was clear: young, unmarried women of exceptional beauty were to be brought to the palace. From

Before I became Esther, I was Hadassah. Yes, Hadassah—a small, fragrant myrtle tree, a symbol of righteousness and peace, resilient and steady, but hardly the kind that grows to touch the sky. I thought my life would be just that: rooted, quiet, ordinary. I was a child of simple beginnings, born into a small Jewish

I was Hadassah before I was Esther. Before the crown, before the throne, before the weight of a nation rested on my shoulders—I was just a girl. A girl who dreamed of an ordinary life, of family and quiet joys, of days that stretched into years without fear or uncertainty. But that life was never