For me, one of the wonders of Jewish holidays is the ways that they always manage to resonate, each year, with issues that we, as Jews and the world, are living through. That said, the ties between Purim and the horrific war in Ukraine seem especially uncanny.
The Megillah, the scroll of Esther, portrays a ruler of a vast empire who is capricious and easily manipulated. The ruler is persuaded first to do away with his wife, then to issue decrees against all women, and finally to raise to power a vicious advisor who plots genocide against the Jewish people in his kingdom. It shows what can happen when one person holds complete power over the levers of power, including making laws and enforcing them. While Ahasverus appears ultimately more hedonistic and ineffectual than ruthless or strategic, the Megillah shows the potential for terror and harm inherent in such a form of government.
In an article in today’s eJewish Philanthropy, Andres Spokoiny, president and CEO of the Jewish Funders Network, writes about the dangers of kings from Ahasverus to Putin:
What’s really terrifying about the Purim story – and about the medieval kings turning on the Jews – is the capriciousness of it. Ahasuerus didn’t care about the Jews one way or another, but Haman promised him some loot and a good excuse for a feast, so why not? There was no rule of law, no checks and balances, no independent courts, no free press to criticize the move. In other words: In a liberal democracy, the Purim story couldn’t have happened.
It should be unnecessary for Jews – or anybody for that matter – to enumerate the advantages of democracy over dictatorship. And yet, in our times, democracy is endangered by the seemingly irresistible allure of totalitarianism. It seems that every time we experience uncertainty or instability, we start looking with nostalgia to the protection of the autocrat.
In Spokoiny’s view, the Megillah presents a warning to avoid the temptations of authoritarianism, the allure that a single ruler can “fix” problems such as antisemitism, because when one person has unchecked power, that power can and eventually will be used against us, and others.
There’s another side of the Megillah that speaks to us powerfully in this moment, and that is the depiction of heroism. People around the world are responding to the heroic leadership of Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelenskyy. His cool, determined presence during the war, his ability to rally and champion Ukraine while proclaiming the country’s desire for peace and independence, his courage in going about Kyiv, visiting the sick and wounded, in speaking to the Russian people, to Congress and more, have been extraordinary. Perhaps even more extraordinary is the rise of this 44-year-old Jewish comedian to such a position. He went from playing a teacher who becomes president on TV, to winning an actual election in a landslide with 73% of the vote.
Zelenskyy’s rise and heroic actions strongly parallel Esther’s unlikely ascent to power and heroism, with the beauty contest perhaps an ancient equivalent to pop culture stardom today. One aspect that I think the Megillah highlights is the mystery and the miracle by which some people become heroes. Why does Esther become a hero? What in her background would lead us to think that she had it in her? The text is utterly silent about her development, her thoughts, attachments and feelings during her upbringing; the only clue, I believe, lies in the character of Mordechai, who raises her.
The mystery of Esther’s character, and why she ultimately steps forward to save her people, emerges in the description of the beauty contest in chapter 2, where she is described as acted upon, silently going along, a passive participant in a disturbing spectacle to win the hand of a dubious prize, the drunken king. In my book The Biblical Hero, I ponder the meaning of Esther’s silence and the powerful ambiguity lurking beneath the surface:
The story’s reticence to reveal Esther’s thoughts is prone to provoke wonder at what lies beneath her powdered face. Is she excited at this opportunity to rise in status from obscurity to royalty? Is she instead merely a dutiful adopted daughter, following Mordecai’s instructions but unsure of their ultimate purpose? Or does she share some of the qualms and intelligence of the implied reader, possessing some detachment and perhaps even disgust at the king’s behavior and his beauty contest? Might this underlying intelligence be precisely Esther’s edge, enabling her ironically to win the pageant itself? …
It is possible that Esther’s silence hides one or more of these motives, but it might also be true that she harbors a mix of emotions, thoughts, and goals that are not clarified or of which she is not entirely aware. She might be flattered by the attention, honor and adulation one moment and brought back to the reality of the king’s character and the Jews’ situation the next. Her silence may cover a plan; it may cover no plan; or it may conceal a bewildering stew of feelings waiting for meaning, direction, and lucidity.
In the Megillah and in Ukraine today, the opportunity and call for heroism arises under the most extreme of circumstances. The question is, what lessons do we want our students to draw from such examples of heroism? We may hope that they develop the strength of character to serve as heroes–and never face such circumstances that require them to do so. The Megillah gives us strength to believe that such heroism can prevail over authoritarian rulers and genocidal schemes. May it be so.