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 among them, the king would choose his queen.
When the announcement reached our community, it brought an uneasy quiet. To many, the decree seemed distant, like the affairs of the palace often were. But for families with daughters of age, the words carried an ominous weight.
I had heard the proclamation too – firsthand.
That night, sleep did not come. As I lay on my mat, staring up at the ceiling, my thoughts were a tangled web of fear, confusion, and quiet disbelief. Could it truly happen? Could they come for me?
I thought of my name—Hadassah, the myrtle tree. Small and unassuming, yet fragrant and steadfast. That was how I saw myself: rooted in the familiar, in the life Mordecai had given me after my parents were taken. But now, it seemed those roots were being torn away, and I was powerless to stop it.
The Weight of the Decree
Two days passed by since the king’s decree echoed through the streets of Susa. Two days since my world had been turned on its head.
I busied myself with daily chores, though my hands trembled as I ground the grain. Mordecai had said little since our conversation by the door. He seemed preoccupied, retreating into deep thought whenever I sought his counsel.
That night, finally, Mordecai sat me down by the dim light of a single lamp. His face was lined with worry, but his voice was steady. “Hadassah,” he said, “we cannot know the plans of the Almighty. But we can trust that He sees us, even in this.”
Mordecai’s words reassured me, as he always did. I nodded, trying to absorb his strength, but my heart was heavy. What if I was taken? Would I ever see him again? Would I ever return to this quiet home that had become my refuge?
Days passed in anxious waiting. I tried to carry on as usual—grinding grain, tending to the small courtyard garden, weaving cloth—but the weight of the decree lingered like a storm cloud.
Every knock on the door sent a shiver down my spine. And then, on the seventh day, the knock came—the one I had been dreading.
The Moment They Came
The moment, when it came, was both sudden and surreal. I was kneeling by the garden, pulling weeds from the soil, when I heard the voices at the gate.
“Is this the house of Mordecai?”
Mordecai’s voice replied, calm but firm. “It is. How may I help you?”
I froze, my hands still buried in the dirt. Slowly, I rose and turned toward the gate. Two men stood there, dressed in the fine robes of the king’s officials, their uniforms gleaming in the afternoon sun. Behind them, a small entourage waited, their horses restless.
One of the men stepped forward. “By order of King Xerxes,” one of them announced, “we are here to take your household’s maiden to the palace.”
Mordecai glanced back at me, his expression unreadable, but I saw his hands clench at his sides. Then he turned to the officials. “She is here. Her name is Esther,” he said simply.
I wanted to run, to hide, to shrink away from their gaze. But I knew it was futile. Slowly, I stepped forward, my legs trembling beneath me.
The men looked me over, their eyes cold and assessing. “She will do,” one of them said with a curt nod.
Mordecai placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm and steady. “Go with them, Hadassah,” he said softly, using my Hebrew name, a quiet reminder of who I was. “Do not be afraid. The Lord’s plan is greater than we can understand.”
Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them away. “Yes, Uncle,” I whispered.
Leaving Home
They gave me little time to prepare. A small bag was packed—just a few garments and a handful of keepsakes. As I tied the bag shut, my fingers lingered on the edge of a small embroidered cloth, a gift from Mordecai.
When the moment came to leave, my heart pounded as I stepped forward. With trembling hands, I gathered my scarf over my hair and looked back at Mordecai one last time.
He embraced me tightly, his beard brushing against my cheek.
“Remember who you are,” he said. “No matter where you go, no matter what they call you, you are Hadassah. You are a child of God.”
I wanted to protest, to run, to cry out against the injustice of it all. But I swallowed my fear and nodded, stepping out into the unknown.
His words stayed with me as I mounted the horse provided by the officials. The journey to the palace was long and silent. The other girls taken from Susa rode alongside me, their faces pale and drawn.
I looked back only once. Mordecai stood in the doorway, his figure growing smaller and smaller until it disappeared entirely.
The Journey to the Palace
The road to the palace was lined with a mixture of beauty and hardship. We passed golden fields of barley and vineyards heavy with grapes, but we also saw the faces of the poor, their lives untouched by the king’s wealth.
I wondered what the other girls were thinking. Did they see this journey as a blessing or a curse? Some seemed resigned, their faces expressionless. Others wept quietly, their shoulders shaking with each sob.
For me, the journey was a blur. My thoughts were a storm of memories—of my parents, of Mordecai, of the life I had just left behind. But beneath the sadness, a small ember of resolve began to grow. Mordecai’s words echoed in my mind: God’s hand is in all things.
The Palace Gates
When we arrived at the palace, its sheer size was overwhelming. The gates loomed high above us, adorned with carvings of lions and winged creatures. Beyond them, the sprawling complex stretched as far as the eye could see, its walls gleaming in the afternoon sun.
As we passed through the gates, I felt a sense of finality. This was no longer the world I knew. I was stepping into a place of power and opulence, a place where my identity would be tested in ways I could not yet imagine.
I glanced up at the towering walls, then back at the girls beside me. We were strangers brought together by the whims of a king, each of us carrying our own fears and hopes.
And yet, as the gates closed behind us with a resounding thud, I could not shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.
