Throughout our history, Hashem has performed miracles
to save His people, and many cities around the world have established their own
“Purim” with their own unique megilla reading. Here is an account of a
imaginary sixth-century Purim miracle.
by Talia Beyidna
I was born and
raised in Hyrcania, one of the most beautiful provinces known to man. Hyrcania
was nestled in between the Caspian Sea in the north and the Alborz Mountain
Range in the south. In the mornings, we would awaken to the hawking of the
bustling markets in the city squares, and in the evenings we would fall asleep
to the songs of the jays, nightjars, and Persian lads on their flutes trying to
romance the lasses. The Jewish community had settled in the hills of Hyrcania,
and while we could not see the sea from where we lived, during the windy
seasons, we could feel the mist on our cheeks.
Living near the
Silk Road, we always found new curiosities to marvel at in the markets filled
with silks and jades from Asia and new inventions from the Byzantines and the
Gaels. And during the hazy evenings of summer, after our learning and chores
were completed, we would gather to hear the tales of the storytellers and
foreign travelers, filling our minds with adventures and fantasies from all
over the world. If we were lucky, there would be some wind carrying with it the
scent of cinnamon and saffron from the traders.
Growing up, the times
of the year we anticipated most were Rosh Chodesh. Many of us would trek the
day before to daven at sunrise by the Caspian Sea, especially on Rosh Chodesh
Elul, when the flamingo migration would spark our awe and songs to Hashem: “May
my talk be sweetened before Him, I will become filled with happiness before
Hashem.” While the Psalmist has claimed that Mount Zion was the most beautiful
and joyful vista in the world, there was no doubt that we were a close second.
The Jewish
community thrived during that time under the reign of King Yazdegerd. While I
myself was raised in a family of scribes, most of my Jewish neighbors were
involved in trade and commerce, taking full advantage of the merchandise
passing back and forth from Asia to Europe. In fact, Yazdegerd’s
great-grandfather, King Ardashir, had encouraged the immigration of Jews, with
the hope of turning Hyrcania into a marketing exchange along the Silk Road,
sending and selling an influx of merchandise to the Persian lands.
It is well known
that when there was a fire one year that ravished the main shul and a section
of the fledgling Jewish community, Ardashir used his own coffers to help the
Jews rebuild. In only three years, he was able to replenish his losses from the
trade market that our community had built. King Yazdegerd likewise understood
the economic necessity of the Jewish merchants and allowed us to raise our
children in the vision of Yaakov, without imposing any added taxes or
restrictions. He also respected and had a warm relationship with our rabbi,
rosh yeshiva, and community leader, Rabbi Mordechai Ibn Chasdai. Under Rabbi
Mordechai’s leadership and teachings, Hyrcania developed into a real Ir va’eim
b’Yisrael, a province where Torah and Jewish pride flourished and grew.
* * *
Yes, Yazdegerd
went back a long way with Rabbi Mordechai. When Yazdegerd was a prince, he was
tasked with guarding Hyrcania’s northeastern military base. At that time, Rabbi
Mordechai had been a supply specialist for the same base. One fateful day, as
he was dropping off a shipment of uniforms, a cry was sent out. A very large
detachment of Huns was charging the base from the north, and it was obvious
that their troops vastly outnumbered ours. As Yazdegerd seized up, Rabbi
Mordechai took command. He ordered the elite guard to protect Yazdegerd, the
rest of the foot soldiers to defend the northern wall, and the horsemen and
cavalry to split into four regiments. He sent two toward one of the Alborz Mountains
on the east of the incoming troop, and the other two toward a western mountain.
He instructed them to wait until a fifth of the Huns had passed and then to
attack from both the front and the back of the mountains. His strategy worked,
and after the Huns saw their troops split three ways from what appeared to them
to be a larger army, they fled, and the fort and the four regiments were able
to conquer those who were trapped in the front lines.
I was 17 at that
time, and I will never forget the Purim that followed. While Rabbi Mordechai
was reading the Megilla, Prince
Yazdegerd rode into shul with his entire entourage. We all watched as Rabbi
Mordechai went over to him, welcoming him and requesting what he could do to
assist the Prince.
“I know that today
you recount the story of the miracles of old, and I too would like to hear it,”
said the Prince. Rabbi Mordechai smiled and led the Prince to sit at the front.
He finished the Megilla and read it
again in Persian for the Prince. Since then, every year on Purim, Yazdegerd
would invite Rabbi Mordechai to the palace to read the Megilla for him. This would follow with an affectionate toast: “The
Persians of old were blessed to have their Mordechai, and I, likewise, am
blessed to have ‘my Mordechai.’”
We smiled at the
blessings given to us from Hashem, on having found an oasis during our travels.
Yet we understood that we were still in exile. We heard of the Persian battles
with the Byzantines and the Romans and trembled at the atrocities they did to
the countries that fell before them. And while Yazdegerd treated us fairly, we
would make ourselves scarce when he flew into fits of rage. Whether it was
caused by commands coming from the Shah of the Sassanid Empire, whom he served,
or was triggered by various battles or soured business ventures, we knew that
if he ever had a change of heart, we would face his wrath and would once again
need to uproot ourselves and look for a welcoming city elsewhere.
* * *
Time continued to
march on. I met my beautiful wife the following year and was ordained as a chacham
a few years later. I was taken under the direct tutorage of Rabbi Mordechai,
and at the age of 26, I joined the leadership of our kehilla.
What an exciting
time it was. As a way of showing gratitude to Rabbi Mordechai for saving his
life as well as cementing his trust with the Jewish community, King Yazdegerd
planned to throw a lavish celebration. It was the tenth anniversary of the
Alborz battle, and Rabbi Mordechai’s entire family and yeshiva were invited. The
excitement was palpable. We gathered in the garden court of the palace, and to
say that this was the same as Achashveirosh’s banquet would not be an
exaggeration. “Hangings of white, of fine cotton, and blue, fastened with cords
of fine linen and purple on silver rods and pillars of marble: the divans were
of gold and silver, upon a pavement of alabaster, marble, pearl, and precious
stone.” This was hedonism at its best, yet Rabbi Mordechai instructed us that,
for peace and for Heaven’s sake, we should come, “as long as everyone remembers
that they are only here for Hashem’s honor.”
The wine flowed,
the harps and sorna-flutes played, and happiness and joy permeated the air. Yazdegerd
raised a toast to each of his military advisors, and the highlight was at the
end of the celebration, when he picked up his chalice and asked for silence. “I
want to salute a dear friend of mine and of the kingdom, Rabbi Mordechai. I
will always value his friendship, and we will treasure and respect the Jewish
community forever and for all time – a salute to ‘my Mordechai!’” We had found
a land in which we could hold high the pride of the Torah, while still being
respected and beloved by the reigning monarchy. We were ecstatic.
* * *
I was still
walking on air the next morning. As I crowned myself with my tefillin, readying myself for shul,
screaming rent the air. I rushed out to the source of screaming and was shocked
to see Rabbi Mordechai and his family being led away in chains. I ran to be by
his side, when I felt a scimitar at my neck. “You are coming with us as well,” said
a gruff voice. As I was chained, I felt my senses heighten, almost eerily, as
if my body were disassociated from the rest of me. I felt the reverberation of
each door being slammed open. I heard the shrieks of my friends’ wives as their
husbands were being dragged away, and the sound of hundreds of chains dragging
along the cobblestone streets.
We were in shock,
completely at a loss for what could have triggered such a harsh disgrace. We
were led in bewilderment and tears to the palace where we were placed on our
knees before King Yazdegerd. “How dare you?” Yazdegerd roared at Rabbi Mordechai.
I trembled as I looked up at the King. I had never in my life seen him, or
anybody, as livid as he looked, his face a deep red with spit foaming at the
corners of his mouth. What had happened to that cordial monarch of last night?
“How dare you do
what you did to me last night? How dare you repay all of my kindness with
cruelty?” We watched the sword pressing harder into Rabbi Mordechai’s neck,
watched as the blood trickled down his shirt. We looked at Rabbi Mordechai and
saw in his eyes a man who was shouldering the fate of the community with his
every word yet resolute in knowing his own innocence and the innocence of his
flock.
“Please, Your
Majesty, please tell us what is troubling you so much. You know that we are all
loyal subjects; you know how I saved your life and how I would lay down my life
for you any day.”
“Liar,” thundered the King, “You and your
people know exactly what you have done. I welcomed you into my palace, I drank
with you to your health, and yet you had the audacity to repay me with thievery
and deceit.”
“Your Majesty,
please tell us what was stolen.”
King Yazdegerd
took a deep look at Rabbi Mordechai, analyzing him, switching back and forth
between disgust and trust. “You know, that as the King of Hyrcania, my word is
absolute. I command armies at will and can open or close the many roads of
trade at my whim. I can build, I can destroy, I can shower with blessings, and
I can put men to the sword. However, my word only has that power when it is
sealed with the ring of Hyrcania, the signet ring of the first king of
Hyrcania, King Shapur. Last night, my ring was stolen. If my enemies find out,
I will lose my power, I will lose my throne. I invited you and your followers
to my palace, and you used that opportunity to usurp my power. You were my Mordechai!” he screamed, his
voice reaching a crescendo. “Yet you are no Mordechai. Mordechai would have
never acted in the manner in which you have acted!”
Rabbi Mordechai
looked at the King and slowly stood up, gently pushing the sword away from his
neck. “Your Majesty, I swear that neither I nor my students have taken your
ring. We are loyal subjects; we would never deny nor forget the benevolence with
which you have treated us. How could we steal even a single coin from you?”
“I don’t believe
you,” replied the King. “I want you to tell me who here has stolen my ring. Only
then will I spare your lives, only exacting the due vengeance upon him and his
family.” Silence reigned. “So be it,” proclaimed the King. “Either you have
taken it, or you know who has taken it. Either way, you are guilty of treason,
and I will have my vengeance on all of you here and now. You have your own sins
to blame for your blood, as not a single one of you is willing to admit to
stealing my ring – not one of you is willing to return it and suffer the
consequences of his actions.” The King gave one last scowl at Rabbi Mordechai.
“You are no Mordechai, for if you were really innocent and righteous, your G-d
would have saved you as he did the Mordechai of old. That alone is enough for
me to confirm your guilt.”
“Your Majesty,”
Rabbi Mordechai answered back, his gaze never wavering from the King’s eyes.
“As you know, Mordechai was given three days to beseech G-d for salvation. Give
us three days, and we will likewise beg of our G-d to perform miracles. Then we
will let Your Majesty know where the ring is.”
“So be it,”
replied the King, “I will give you three days to prove your innocence and return
the ring. However, if on the fourth morning my ring is not returned, know that
I personally will oversee the entire Jewish community being put to the flame.”
And with that, we
were ushered out of the palace to the cold hard street with the realization
that we were still in our exile in the cold, harsh world.
* * *
Rabbi Mordechai
wasted no time in notifying the Jewish community. We all tore our clothes, from
man to women, from toddler to infant, and dressed in sackcloth and ash. I went
into my house to hug my dear innocent children, Shmuel and Hadassah, placing
the ashes on their heads together with my wife. Holding our children close to
our hearts, we started walking toward the main street of our community. There, I
came to a scene that I had never seen before: a new Tisha b’Av, a new dread. The
Jewish masses huddling together in fear and panic, the sounds of crying and
wailing enveloping us as a dark cloud. And in the middle stood the bima
with Rabbi Mordechai, his face white as a sheet.
“My brothers and
sisters. Hashem has judged us for our sins, for our mistakes and our wrongs,
and has found us guilty. Perhaps it was for not longing for the Beis Hamikdash;
perhaps it was for not caring for Hashem’s return. Perhaps it is for not
bringing in Hashem’s Torah into our lives or for not allowing ourselves to come
close to Him with love and awe. Perhaps some of us have been dishonest in
business; perhaps some of us have been deceitful with our tongues. However, we
are not a people that is ever widowed from Hashem, as Hashem has promised us,
‘For no matter how low you will descend, I will never be disgusted, be
abhorred, to destroy or annul My covenant with you.’
“This is not the
first time that we have faced such a terrible decree. When this decree was
declared to our ancestors during the days of Mordechai and Esther, they fasted
for three days, wrapped in prayer and Torah, and we will do the same. Yet it is
not the fasting that will avert this decree but the repentance and returning to
Hashem that has that power. I beg of you, look into your hearts and search out
your deeds. If you have been dishonest in business, make reparations, if you
have harmed anyone with your mouth, make amends. We will call out to Hashem,
and our tears will never cease, until Hashem looks down and has mercy from His
heavens.”
* * *
We spent the next
three days in a daze. We watched our children fasting and crying, comprehension
dawning on their young innocent minds. We cried, repented, and fasted, more
than we had cried and repented on any previous Yom Kippur. Rabbi Mordechai in
his kittel and sackcloth stood there like
an angel, standing straight on the bima from morning to late at night,
leading our community in prayer. He would only step down when it came time to
study with the children, telling us, “We must follow the path set forth by our
leaders, for the children’s study of Torah has within it the ability to break
down the walls of Heaven itself.”
At nightfall we ate
just enough to give us strength to fast the next day, which, upon the urging of
Rabbi Mordechai, was followed by deep honest introspection and finally Tikkun Chatzot at midnight. Yet, we were
no closer to finding out the truth about the ring or to finding any path to
salvation.
By the third
night, we were all broken and exhausted. I laid my children to sleep, crying as
we sang the Shema together, wondering
if this was the last time I would kiss my children. The windows were all open,
and we could hear all of the children singing the Shema together, as in a haunting symphony, a melody of tears mixed
with Jewish pride and accepting their love for Hashem. We all knew what
tomorrow would bring, and we all knew that we would have one last Shema to say before we returned to our
Creator. We knew that we were innocent, and we also knew that we were pure and
would ascend to the heavens like an offering, an offering of love.
* * *
The next morning,
we all gathered by Rabbi Mordechai’s house to escort him to the palace. We were
shocked by his appearance; the man that emerged was not the man we expected to
see. But, although his eyes were sunken and his cheeks had become taut from the
fasting and prayer, his eyes shone with a fire of confidence and determination
that we had never seen before. He was a leader, and he would shepherd and
cradle his flock with every ounce of love that he could muster. “Come,” he said
in a gentle voice. “Let us go down to the palace to the King.” We followed him,
and we stood like brothers in unity as one before the throne of the King.
“Well Mordechai,”
asked Yazdegerd, “Have you come to tell me where my ring is?”
“Yes, your
Majesty, I have come to reveal to you who has taken your ring and where it can
be found.” We looked at each other incredulously, trying to comprehend Rabbi
Mordechai’s plan.
“So tell me, where
is my ring?”
“Your Majesty, I
believe that your ring is hidden in the royal bakery, and one of the bakers was
the one who slipped it off your hand during the celebration.”
King Yazdegerd
silently stared at Rabbi Mordechai for what seemed like an eternity, finally
calling forth the captain of the royal guards. “I want you to lead a squad of
soldiers to the bakery and search the entire bakery for my ring. Do not leave a
single spoon unturned nor a single baker unguarded and unquestioned. In the
meantime, I want you likewise to surround these Jews with soldiers until we
find out if they are indeed speaking the truth.” We waited, feeling every
second slowly tick by as we looked up to Rabbi Mordechai for support and
solace.
Suddenly from the
doorway a shout burst out. “Your Majesty, it is as the rabbi has said. We found
the ring hidden in a sack of flour in the back of the storage room. Your
Majesty, your kingdom has been saved.” The King’s face spread into a smile, and
we all burst out with cries of joy, our hearts singing and our mouths brimming
with praise and thanksgiving to our Father in Heaven.
When the
jubilation had finally died down, a man was brought in before the King. His
cheeks were broken from having been punched, and his stomach was blackened from
the fists of the guards. “Your Majesty,” proclaimed the captain of the guards,
“I think that we may have uncovered the source of your predicament. We
investigated why the ring was hidden in the flour, and after some persuasion,
we ‘convinced’ the assistant baker to tell us why he hid your ring there. This
man before you is a Hun from the battle 10 years ago. He was angered at the
loss of what was supposed to have been an easy victory, and he was incensed at
how they had lost: to a rabbi, of all people. He became a baker in your
Majesty’s palace and plotted and waited for the opportunity to exact revenge
both on your Majesty and on Rabbi Mordechai. When the tenth anniversary
celebration was scheduled, when Rabbi Mordechai and his students would be in
attendance, he knew that this would be the perfect opportunity. He slipped off
the ring as he was bringing in the qottab cakes and hid it away that evening. We
furthermore found out that he was planning to alert the Huns so that they would
once more attack when the kingdom would be in a state of turmoil and chaos over
the loss of the signet ring.”
The King looked at
Rabbi Mordechai and declared, “My Mordechai, I should never have doubted you. You
saved my life 10 years ago, and now again you have saved my kingdom. I know
that your G-d performed miracles for you as he performed for the Mordechai of
the Book of Esther, for you, too, are as righteous as he was. I hereby proclaim
that you will be treated as viceroy of the kingdom, and if you ever need any
assistance for your community, you have the right to come to me directly to
request it. And as you are indeed a true friend, I will follow in the tradition
of the Persian emperor of old, Achashveirosh: You will leave before me adorned
in royal robes of blue and white, with a magnificent tiara of gold and a mantle
of fine linen and one of purple wool.”
“Your Majesty,”
bowed Mordechai as he exited, “I will cherish your friendship and kindness
forever.”
* * *
With great pride
and jubilation, we walked Rabbi Mordechai back to the bima in the center
of the Jewish community, where he once again took his place. Once more, he
needed to call for silence, but this time instead of shrieks and wailing, the
street was filled with laughter and cries of joy. “My beloved community,” he
lovingly addressed us, “we must never forget the huge miracles and wonders that
Hashem has given to us on this day. Hashem has delivered us from grief to
happiness, from mourning to celebration, from death to life. We will likewise
follow in the footsteps of the righteous men and women of our heritage and declare
this day forever as a day of celebration for ourselves and our children – a day
of Hallel and praise and gratitude to
Hashem, a day of charity and of sending foods to one another. We will remember
the unity that we had when the sword was to our neck, and we must always hold
tight to that unity until Hashem sends us a complete salvation and brings us
back to Yerushalayim with the building of the Beis Hamikdash.”
I ran to hug my
two beloved children and held them high as we danced in song and poetry for the
One who had given us a new lease on life and who constantly gives us life each
and every day. But as no one else had asked the question, I could not hold
myself in silence anymore.
“Rebbe,” I called
out. “How did Rebbe know that the ring was hidden in the bakery?” There was
complete silence as Rabbi Mordechai turned around and smiled at me.
“My son,” he
addressed me, “the ways of Hashem are truly wondrous. For the past three days,
I davened with tears before Hashem asking him to have the same mercy that he
had on Mordechai Hatzaddik. I beseeched of Him to send me a message as to where
the ring might be – perhaps a divine inspiration, perhaps a verse to wake up
to, which is considered almost like a mini-prophecy. But alas, no message was
forthcoming. Last night, as I had resigned myself to my fate, hoping that
perhaps I could beg Yazdegerd to spare some of the community or some of my
students who are as dear as my children, the following thought came into my
mind: The Chocham had instructed us, ‘If you do not know what path to take, O
most beautiful of nations, follow in the footsteps of the righteous before you,
and you too will be able to lead your flock in safety.’ So I pulled out the
Megillas Esther and started studying it, hoping for a hint, a message, or an
idea. Yet again, none was forthcoming. As my eyes grew heavy, I mustered every
last bit of my energy for one last prayer in which I asked Hashem to have mercy
on the young Jewish children of our community who devote themselves to the
study of Torah. I begged Hashem to please have mercy on them, so they too can
read the Megilla and celebrate your salvation with their children as well.
“As I awoke this
morning, I found that my finger was resting on the following line of the
Megilla, ‘Beshaim hamelech Achashveirosh nichtav, vinechtam bitabaas hamalech
– In the name of the King Achashveirosh it will be written and sealed with the
ring of the king.’ (Megillas Esther 3:12) I was puzzled as that is not where I
had left off the night before, and if this was supposed to be a message, as it
mentions the ring of the king, what could the message be? And then Hashem’s
kindness hit me like a lightning bolt. The word nechtam which means
‘sealed’ could also be read as nachtom which means ‘baker,’ and
therefore the words of nechtam bitabaas hamalech which means ‘sealed
with the ring of the king,’ could be understood to mean ‘the baker is with the
ring of the king.’
“I quickly jumped
up and proclaimed, ‘Let the name of Hashem be blessed from this world through
the next for wisdom and strength are to Him. He gives the wise their wisdom and
the knowledge to those who understand. He reveals deep and hidden matters,
knows what is in the dark, and light is always with Him. To you, the G-d of my
fathers, do I thank and give praise for you have given me wisdom and strength,
for you have let me know what I have asked of you, the matter which concerns
the King.’
“You see, my son,
salvation can always come from Hashem as Hashem will never allow the Jewish
people to become widowed.”
And for the Jews
there was light and happiness, joy, and prestige.
