45

My dear young maiden, I know I have described several periods of great despair and anguish in my life. I hope they seemed understandable to you and that I have not appeared as someone flighty and unbalanced, for I certainly do not see myself as that kind of person. And indeed, these were unusually tumultuous times, such as I have not endured since.

But let me assure you: no matter how intense and difficult any previous period of grief may have seemed, none compared to this one. To have survived my childhood, to have overcome Misgath’s plot, gained the King’s love and favor and become Queen of Persia, only to face a brutal execution by my family’s murderers along with every one of my countrymen—it seemed a cruel, sadistic fate. I felt I was spinning uncontrollably into some black, hopeless pit. An abyss where either end was equally horrific—to continue falling or to strike bottom.

I took to my room and paced about, calling on G-d and challenging Him to tell me why He would allow such a horror to take place. Completely forgetting all the times He had rescued me before, I once again allowed myself to doubt His power and His care for me. After all, what could be done? Even if he wanted to, Xerxes himself could not reverse a royal order stamped with his signet ring. The law of the Medes and Persians, acknowledging how notoriously fickle its sovereigns could be, made it utterly impossible to change the law after that stamping had taken place. The situation seemed impossible—I could think of no way out. Our lives were as good as over. Even if Haman were somehow dispensed with, the law would still be enacted.

I found myself considering whether it would be more dignified to take my own life. Yet the moment I seriously entertained the notion, it seemed like an obscene and impossible thing to do. I owed it to everyone—Mordecai, Jesse, even the Jews of Persia, to embrace my fate—and theirs—with courage.

And when that thought occurred to me, I sat down on my bed and realized the way before me. No matter how hopeless, I would go in to Xerxes. Regardless of the outcome. It was a risk I could take, and I would take it.

As soon as I made the decision, my grief and rage seemed to ease somewhat. In its place came an inexplicable sense of repose. While I did not deny or ignore the fate that hung over me and my people, the knowledge of what I would do gave me direction, a sense of purpose.

To preserve the feeling and prepare me for what was to come, I retreated to my private chambers and summoned my handmaidens for a three-day period of fasting. I hoped the time would resemble those halcyon days spent together just before my very first night with Xerxes. By now these wonderful women knew my needs and moods seemingly long before I even recognized them, so they were not dismayed at my request for a quiet and subdued atmosphere.

I sent Jesse to find Mordecai and tell him this: “Please go home, assemble all the Jews in Susa and ask them to fast and pray for me for three days. My handmaidens and I will do the same. Then I will go in to the King unbidden, even though it is against the law. And if I perish, I perish.”

The handmaidens and I spent the most peaceful and serene three days I have ever lived through, before or since. They seemed to delight in serving me, in giving me comfort and ease through the fasting period. And my state of mind grew so tranquil that after the first few hours of their ministrations, I did not even feel the hunger.

Yet from the first morning I found myself spending more time talking with G-d than anyone else. During those three days I prayed by the hour, simply pleading and imploring and, yes, cajoling Him to show me why He would visit such a fate upon His people—why He would allow their systematic deaths in this way. And the more I spoke with Him, the more I was certain He was answering, quietly exhorting me to have faith and remain intent on Him.

Finally I had an answer to the lament that had always afflicted me during times of trouble: Why? Why take me so far only to let this happen? This time I knew precisely why I had been allowed to go this far.

And the strange thing is, I did not have an inner assurance of success—that the King would lower his scepter, spare my life, then heed my pleas and somehow right this terrible wrong against my people. Of that happening, I had no certainty whatsoever. It had been a very long time—maybe decades—since the scepter had been lowered for a supplicant. Who was I to flaunt the laws of the Medes and the Persians? I did not even know for certain if he would notice me—especially with Haman’s constant distraction. I did, however, in spite of all that the Persian tradition and law was telling me, have a very real conviction that I was in the right place, doing exactly the right thing. And for some strange reason, despite the threat of death, that was enough.

And so once again I underwent an abbreviated version of my long-ago preparation for the King. I bathed in myrrh. I had scented oils rubbed into my skin. I knelt over the incense burners to infuse my hair and skin with fragrant smoke. I asked the handmaidens to adorn my face and hair with the finest cosmetics, remembering exactly the combinations of colors and aromas that the King had responded to most strongly in the past. I summoned the Palace cooks to my side and ordered them to prepare a sumptuous banquet for that evening, for a small group—only three people. I clothed myself in my royal robes to remind him of our covenant, choosing again the King’s favorite style and colors, and then, escorted only by Jesse and two Immortals whom he trusted, I opened the door to my chambers and began the long journey to the Inner Court. Uninvited hammered into my mind with each step.

A passing throng of Palace functionaries turned with surprised looks at my approach and parted before me. I had been gone from public sight for a noticeable period. And undoubtedly, many rumors about my state of mind must have arisen following my collapse the day I had received Mordecai’s news. Lastly, I am sure that my appearance without the King—especially given that he was already holding court that day without me—along with my dress and demeanor and the unusual composition of my party, was quite unprecedented. The Queen usually wore royal robes to accompany the King to court, and then only with the traditional contingent of soldiers, aides and eunuchs.

I ignored the stares, neither smiling nor frowning, allowing the flinty resolve that I felt to show upon my face. Inwardly, I was speaking to G-d almost constantly, asking Him for favor and begging Him for the lives of the Jewish people. My own survival did not seem so important that day for some reason, but in another odd twist, the population I had once largely ignored now struck me as infinitely valuable. They were depending on me. I could feel their communal anxiety, their thoughts, even their prayers surrounding me like a shroud. I had heard the entire city was in an uproar—what would the court scene be like?

I suppose I have exhausted your patience with all my descriptions of how I felt at each stage of this story. I have done so because I wanted you to know that I was little more than a frightened young girl trying to do her best, not some exalted figure of history whose fate was predetermined and whose composure was perfect at all times. Yet I must once more indulge in an account of my feelings, for today was both unexpected and strange. Instead of foreboding or anxiety or any of the expected emotions, I felt like I had passed into some high place of serenity with a peaceful resignation, almost as if I were drifting above a mass of storm clouds—floating calmly among the thin wisps of vapor that crown the uttermost heights of the heavens.

The feeling grew with every step closer to Xerxes and my fate. I truly believed that if I died, so be it. G-d could somehow use even that to save His people. It was beyond me now. If her husband does not grant her quarter, what is a queen’s life worth anyway? And if the decree went forward, who was I to grasp at my own survival? Everything that mattered most to me would have already been swept away. I had only one course of action before me, and that singleness of purpose was itself a great relief. I had done my best, ridden the buffeting winds of fate as carefully as I could, and now I stepped willingly into a date with destiny. The horizon of that day stood dark with thunderclouds holding no portent of whether they would linger or benignly pass over.

I mean that last description only symbolically, of course. There were very few stormy days in Susa. And as I stepped from the doors of the Palace, the sun assaulted me mercilessly. I winced and Jesse turned to me with an apologetic look, realizing that no one had any sort of shade to offer me. I simply shook my head and waved away his concern.

Thankfully he did have the small litter waiting for me, so I did not have to walk the great distance through the terraces to the Inner Court. A part of me silently bade good-bye to the place as I proceeded through it, for the prospect of this being my last day was growing more distinct with every passing second. I could picture the moment of upcoming death with as much reality as any other outcome. Maybe a quick demise. I pictured Xerxes’ fist tightening upon the scepter as he glanced away and refused to lower it, the brief hiss of air across the edge of the approaching blade, the initial slice of metal into my neck.

And then, the hereafter. A reunion with my family. With my mother, who had suffered the same form of death.

I shook my head and willed these thoughts away from me. Continuing to pray was far more important than these morbid contemplations. Despite faithless meanderings, another part of my being could feel G-d drawing closer than ever to me.

And then is when it struck me. Despite all my thoughts and meditations—and now in hindsight it seems hopelessly ignorant of me—I had failed to remember the initial source of my insights about how to approach the King.

Jacob. The Holy of Holies. The Shekinah. The incredible joy of approaching G-d like a small child running into the arms of a returning father.

I am ashamed to say it, but it was not until then that I remembered it all again. That the King of Kings was my father, that he missed me and longed for my presence as dearly as my own father had—and as urgently as I had come to crave the presence of Xerxes. And just as I had come to anticipate those times of fellowship with Mordecai and Jesse—simply basking in the warm glow of their nearness—G-d looked forward to my being with Him.