Daf Ditty Megillah 14: Hallel or Megillah?

Have you ever seen

anything
in your life
more wonderful

than the way the sun,

every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon

and into the clouds or the hills,

or the rumpled sea,
and is gone--
and how it slides again

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out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower

streaming upward on its heavenly oils,

say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance--
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love—

do you think there is anywhere, in any language,

a word billowing enough
for the pleasure

that fills you,

as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you

as you stand there,

empty-handed--
or have you too
turned from this world--

or have you too

gone crazy
for power,
for things?

Mary Oliver. The Sun

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The Sages taught in a baraita: Forty-eight prophets and seven prophetesses prophesied on
behalf of the Jewish people, and they neither subtracted from nor added onto what is written
in the Torah, introducing no changes or additions to the mitzvot except for the reading of the
Megilla, which they added as an obligation for all future generations.

The Gemara asks: What exposition led them to determine that this was a proper mode of action?
On what basis did they add this mitzva? Rabbi Ḥiyya bar Avin said that Rabbi Yehoshua ben
Korḥa said that they reasoned as follows: If, when recalling the exodus from Egypt, in which the
Jews were delivered from slavery to freedom, we recite songs of praise, the Song of the Sea and
the hymns of hallel, then, in order to properly recall the miracle of Purim and commemorate God’s

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delivering us from death to life, is it not all the more so the case that we must sing God’s praise
by reading the story in the Megilla?

The Gemara asks: If so, our obligation should be at least as great as when we recall the exodus
from Egypt, and let us also recite hallel on Purim. The Gemara answers: Hallel is not said on
Purim, because hallel is not recited on a miracle that occurred outside Eretz Yisrael. The
Gemara asks: If so, with regard to the exodus from Egypt as well, which was a miracle that
occurred outside Eretz Yisrael, how are we able to recite songs of praise?

The Gemara answers: As it is taught in a baraita: Prior to the time when the Jewish people
entered Eretz Yisrael, all lands were deemed fit for songs of praise to be recited for miracles
performed within their borders, as all lands were treated equally. But after the Jewish people
entered Eretz Yisrael, that land became endowed with greater sanctity, and all the other lands
were no longer deemed fit for songs of praise to be recited for miracles performed within them.

Rav Naḥman said an alternative answer as to why hallel is not recited on Purim: The reading of
the Megilla itself is an act of reciting hallel. Rava said a third reason why hallel is not recited on
Purim: Granted that hallel is said there, when recalling the exodus from Egypt, as after the
salvation there, they could recite the phrase in hallel: “Give praise, O servants of the Lord”
(Psalms 113:1); after their servitude to Pharaoh ended with their salvation, they were truly servants
of the Lord and not servants of Pharaoh. But can it be said here, after the limited salvation
commemorated on Purim: “Give praise, O servants of the Lord,” which would indicate that after
the salvation the Jewish people were only servants of the Lord and not servants of Ahasuerus?
No, even after the miracle of Purim, we were still the servants of Ahasuerus, as the Jews
remained in exile under Persian rule, and consequently the salvation, which was incomplete, did
not merit an obligation to say hallel.

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The Gemara asks: Both according to the opinion of Rava and according to the opinion of Rav
Naḥman, this is difficult. Isn’t it taught in the baraita cited earlier: After the Jewish people
entered Eretz Yisrael, that land became endowed with greater sanctity, and all the other lands
were no longer deemed fit for songs of praise to be recited for miracles performed within them.
Therefore, there should be no hallel obligation on Purim for the miracle performed outside of the
land of Israel, and Rav Naḥman’s and Rava’s alternative explanations are incorrect.

The Gemara answers: They understood differently, as it can be argued that when the people were
exiled from Eretz Yisrael, the other lands returned to their initial suitability, and were once
again deemed fit for reciting hallel on miracles performed within them.

Summary1

According to the rabbis the prophets never added anything to the “Torah,” i.e. the corpus of
commandments that a Jew must observe, except for the reading of the Megillah. This is a reading
of Purim we’ve seen elsewhere—it’s the holiday of innovation. The prophets derived the
obligation to read the Megillah from a “kal vehomer” argument. If we sang the praise of God after
the Exodus from Egypt, all the more so we should sing it when we were saved from death at the
time of Haman. Of course, the problem is that we do not recite Hallel on Purim—we say the
Megillah. The Talmud answers that we don’t recite Hallel for miracles that occurred outside of
Israel.

If we don’t say Hallel for miracles that occurred outside of Israel, then how can we say Hallel for
the Exodus itself! The answer is that there is a difference between miracles that occurred before
the Israelites entered the land (such as the Exodus), and those that occurred after they entered the
land. Once the Jews entered the land, they could only say Hallel for miracles that occurred in the
land. That is why we don’t say Hallel on Purim.

Rava said: There is a good reason in that case [of the Exodus from Egypt] because it says [in the
Hallel], “Praise you O servants of the Lord,” and not servants of Pharaoh. But can we say in this
case, “Praise you, servants of the Lord” and not servants of Ahashverosh? We are still servants of
Ahashverosh.

1
https://www.sefaria.org/Megillah.14a.8?lang=bi&p2=Daf_Shevui_to_Megillah.14a.3-7&lang2=bi

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By offering other reasons for why we don’t say Hallel on Purim, Rava and R. Nahman imply that
we could say Hallel for miracles that occurred in other lands. This contradicts the baraita from
above. The resolution is that once all of the people went into exile, it again became proper to recite
Hallel.

The Prophetesses

The Gemara shares many stories today, including:2

• A comparison of Achashverosh's and Haman's hatred for the Jews (different

problems in their fields)
• 48 prophets and 7 prophetesses told of the 613 mitzvot, but the only change to the
Torah was the addition of the recitation of the Megilla
• Do we recite Hallel on Purim? Or is the Megilla actually a form of Hallel?
• Is Hallel only sung to celebrate certain miracles?
• A review of some of the prophets
• Prooftexts for the prophetesses: Sarah, Miriam, Deborah, Hannah, Abigail, Huldah,
and Esther

Each prooftext tells us in part how our Sages viewed women, particularly when women held
power. The stories are different from each other, each fascinating in its own way. It is notable
that the story of Abigail suggests a prior knowledge of the halachot regarding menstrual
blood. Because of Abigail's cunning, the rabbis suggest that women are always thinking ahead.

Unfortunately, after sharing their respect for these prophetesses, the rabbis take a step back. Rav
Nachman suggests that it is unbefitting for a woman to be haughty, and that we know that Deborah
and Huldah were both haughty. A prooftext is provided for each of these claims. We also learn
that Deborah means hornet and Huldah means marten, both of which are "loathsome". Thus these
prophetesses should have known to control their haughtiness - they already had names predicting
bad behaviour.

At the very end of our daf, the rabbis argue about the lineage of our prophetesses. Were they of
pure descent? Or perhaps were they descended of prostitutes and converts? Ending our daf on
this note leaves me to wonder that the rabbis felt it necessary to question our prophetesses. Yes,
they do question the lineage and the personal traits of men, but to do this to the only women in
places of power seems almost calculated. How uncomfortable were our Sages with the idea that a
number of women held places of power? If they left our prophetesses unquestioned, what might
this have meant to the lives of the women who lived beside these rabbis? And to the rest of us,
who came later?

2 http://dafyomibeginner.blogspot.com/2014/07/

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Rav Avrohom Adler writes:3

Rabbi Abba said: The parable of Achashverosh and Haman resembles two men, one of whom had
a pile of dirt in his field and the other had a ditch. The one who had the ditch said: I wish that the
owner of the pile would sell me the dirt so that I can fill up my ditch. The one who had the pile
said: I wish that the owner of the ditch would sell me the right to use his ditch so that I can dump
my dirt into it. One day, they happened to meet and the owner of the ditch said to the owner of the
pile: Sell me your pile. The owner of the pile replied: Take it for nothing. Achashverosh and
Haman both wished to destroy the Jewish people; when Haman offered to buy the right to kill
them, Achashverosh was ecstatic and he agreed without demanding any payment at all.

It is written in the Megillah [3:10]: The king removed his signet ring from his hand and gave it to
Haman, son of Hamdasa, the Agagite, persecutor of the Jews. Rabbi Abba bar Kahana said: The
removal of this ring had a greater effect than fortyeight prophets and seven prophetesses, who
preached that the Jewish people should mend their ways, but to no avail; but this decree caused
them to repent.

The rabbis taught in a braisa: Forty-eight prophets and seven prophetesses prophesied to Israel,
and they didn’t subtract or add to the Torah except for the reading of the Megillah. The Gemora
discusses the basis for this enactment. Rabbi Chiya bar Avin said in the name of Rabbi Yehoshua
ben Korchah: If the Jews, who were liberated from slavery in Mitzrayim and brought to freedom,
sang praises to Hashem when they saw the Egyptians drowning; certainly we should commemorate
our deliverance from death to life. The Gemora asks: Why don’t we recite Hallel on Purim? The
Gemora answers: We do not recite Hallel on a miracle that occurred outside of Eretz Yisroel. The
Gemora asks: If so, why did they sing when they were leaving Mitzrayim? The Gemora answers
by citing a braisa: Before they entered Eretz Yisroel, Hallel could be recited on miracles outside
Eretz Yisroel; it was only after they entered Eretz Yisroel that Hallel could only be recited on
miracles that occurred inside of Eretz Yisroel.

Rav Nachman states that the reading of the Megillah replaces the obligation to recite Hallel. Rava
explains that there is no obligation to recite Hallel on the miracle of Purim because we are still
servants of Achashverosh. The Gemora concludes that once they were sent into exile, Hallel can
be recited even on a miracle that transpired outside of Eretz Yisroel.

The Gemora states that there were actually more than forty-eight prophets but only a prophecy that
was necessary for future generations was recorded.

The Gemora enumerates the seven prophetesses. They were: Sarah, Miriam, Devora, Channah,
Avigayil, Chuldah and Esther. The Gemora provides Scriptural proof that these seven women were
indeed prophetesses.

The Gemora cites proof that Esther was a prophetess. The Megillah states [5:1]: On the third day,
Esther clothed herself in royalty. The Gemora asks: The Megillah should have written that she

3 http://dafnotes.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/Megillah_14.pdf

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clothed herself in royal clothing? The Gemora answers that the verse is implying that Esther was
clothed in the Divine spirit. (14b) Rav Nachman said: Chuldah was a descendant of Yehoshua.
Rav Eina the Elder asked Rav Nachman from a braisa which explicitly states that Chuldah was a
descendant of Rachav, the innkeeper. Rav Nachman responded: Both statements are correct since
Rachav converted and subsequently Yehoshua married her. The Gemora states that although
Yehoshua did not have any sons; he did have daughters.

MEGILLAH AND HALLEL

There is a dispute cited in the Gemora regarding the reason that Hallel is not recited on Purim. One
reason offered is that once Klal Yisroel entered Eretz Yisroel, we do not recite Hallel on a miracle
that occurred outside of Eretz Yisroel. This reason is challenged because it can be said that once
they were sent into exile, Hallel can be recited even on a miracle that transpired in the Diaspora.
Rav Nachman states that the reading of the Megillah replaces the obligation to recite Hallel. Rava
explains that there is no obligation to recite Hallel on the miracle of Purim because we are still
servants of Achashverosh.

Shulchan Aruch (O”C 693:3) rules that Hallel is not recited on Purim. The Mishna Berura (7) cites
Rava’s explanation that it was not regarded as a complete redemption since we are still servants of
Achashverosh. The Rambam in Hilchos Chanukah (3:6) writes that the sages did not establish the
obligation to recite Hallel on Purim because the reading of the Megillah is regarded as if he would
be reciting Hallel.

The Meiri writes that if one does not have an accessible Megillah, he has an obligation to recite
Hallel. The Poskim dispute if this Hallel should be recited with a brocha or without. The Chasam
Sofer (O”C 192) asks the following question on this Meiri. If Purim falls out on a Friday, the cities
that are surrounded by a wall will also read the Megillah on Friday. Shouldn’t they recite Hallel
on Shabbos since that is their actual day of Purim? The Pri Megadim does state that this indeed
would be the halacha. In the sefer Birchas Refoel (14), he explains that when the Gemora states
that “reading the Megillah is regarded as reciting Hallel” it does not mean that reading the Megillah
is a fulfillment of the obligation of reciting Hallel; rather the meaning is that one is not obligated
to recite Hallel after the miracle of Purim has already been publicized. Once the Megillah was
read, there is no necessity or reason to recite Hallel. According to this, there would not be any
necessity to recite Hallel on Shabbos after the Megillah was read the day before.

THE MOUND AND THE PIT

Rabbi Abba said: The parable of Achashverosh and Haman resembles two men, one of whom had
a pile of dirt in his field and the other had a ditch. The one who had the ditch said: I wish that the
owner of the pile would sell me the dirt so that I can fill up my ditch. The one who had the pile
said: I wish that the owner of the ditch would sell me the right to use his ditch so that I can dump
my dirt into it. One day, they happened to meet and the owner of the ditch said to the owner of the
pile: Sell me your pile. The owner of the pile replied: Take it for nothing. Achashverosh and
Haman both wished to destroy the Jewish people; when Haman offered to buy the right to kill
them, Achashverosh was ecstatic and he agreed without demanding any payment at all.

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The commentators ask: If Achashverosh hated the Jews as much as Haman and also wished to
annihilate Klal Yisroel, why did he remain in power after the miracle of Purim? Why was Haman
hung on the gallows and not Achashverosh?

The Ben Ish Chai explains this with the following parable: A son of a certain King was taken
captive and he fell into the hands of two enemies (of the king) that intended to kill the prince. They
both resolved to delay the killing, but for two different reasons. One said that he did not feel that
it was becoming to kill a prince with a sword and have his blood flowing on the ground like an
animal; he would rather wait and place poison in a goblet of wine and have the prince drink it.
This way, he would die on his couch; a pleasant death and one that is fitting for a prince. The other
one felt that killing the prince by sword would not be painful enough. He would rather wait, light
a fire and burn him to death; this would cause tremendous embarrassment to his father the king
and the prince would suffer tremendously.

Due to their procrastination in carrying out the execution, the king was able to locate their
hideaway and rescued his son from the captors. The king released the one who wanted the prince
to die in an honorable manner because it was due to the delay that the king was able to rescue his
son. The other fellow was not so fortunate and the king burned him at the stake in the same manner
that he intended to kill the prince. Achashverosh was like the first captor. He wanted to destroy
the Jews but he didn’t want to degrade them. He didn’t want them sold like cattle and that is why
he refused to accept the money which Haman offered. He told Haman: Choose a decent death for
them, one that you would be comfortable yourself to die with. Haman, on the other hand, had no
such compunction. He wanted to humiliate the Jews. His plan was that they should initially be sold
like animals in a marketplace and then there should be a decree to cut their heads off like donkeys.
He wanted that Mordechai should be hung on the gallows and remain there. This is why
Achasverosh was vindicated and Haman was punished measure for measure.

REINCARNATIONS

Rav Nachman said: Chuldah was a descendant of Yehoshua. Rav Eina the Elder asked Rav
Nachman from a braisa which explicitly states that Chuldah was a descendant of Rachav, the
innkeeper. Rav Nachman responded: Both statements are correct since Rachav converted and
subsequently Yehoshua married her. The Gemora states that although Yehoshua did not have any
sons; he did have daughters.

It is written [Breishis 39:10]: Now it came about when she (Potiphar, Pharaoh's chamberlain’s
wife) spoke to Yosef day in and day out, that he did not obey her, to lie beside her and to be with
her. Rashi cites the Medrash: to be with her in the World to Come. Rabbi Yonason Eibshitz asks:
Where did Potiphar’s wife get the idea that she was destined to be with Yosef in the World to
Come? He answers: It has been passed down through a tradition that Yehoshua was a gilgul
(reincarnation) of Yosef and that Rachav was a gilgul of Potiphar’s wife.

It emerges that her words were accurate; though she was a bit hasty. Her soul was fated to be with
Yosef’s soul but not in this lifetime. This attachment would have to wait until a later time when
Yehoshua married Rachav.

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 THE SOURCE IN THE TORAH FOR RECITING HALLEL AND
FOR READING THE MEGILAH

Rav Mordechai Kornfeld writes:4

The Gemara says that the Chachamim instituted the reading of the Megilah on Purim because they
found a source in the Torah for such an enactment. They derived from a Kal v'Chomer that there is a
Mitzvah to give praise to Hash-m when He saves the Jewish people through a miracle. The Torah
relates that the Jewish people sang praise (the "Shirah") to Hash-m when they left Mitzrayim, passed
through the Sea, and saw the Egyptians drown. If it was appropriate to sing praise to Hash-m when He
performed a miracle to deliver the Jewish people from slavery to freedom, then certainly it is
appropriate to sing praise to Hash-m when He performs a miracle to save the Jewish people from death
and gives them life (as occurred at the time of Purim).

Does the obligation to sing praise to Hash-m, as derived from the Kal v'Chomer, have the status of a
Mitzvah d'Oraisa or a Mitzvah d'Rabanan?
(a) The CHASAM SOFER (YD 233) maintains that the obligation to sing praise to Hash-m when He
saves the Jewish people through a miracle is a Mitzvah d'Oraisa, because it is derived through a Kal
v'Chomer from the Shirah that the Jewish people sang when they were saved from Mitzrayim. Their
Shirah was a fulfillment of a Torah Mitzvah to praise Hash-m.

This apparently is the source for the opinion of the BEHAG (quoted by the RAMBAN in Sefer
ha'Mitzvos, Shoresh Rishon) who maintains that Hallel (on Chanukah) and the reading of the Megilah
(on Purim) are Mitzvos d'Oraisa. The Kal v'Chomer mentioned in the Gemara here teaches that there
is a Torah obligation to thank Hash-m when He saves the Jewish people through a miracle.

The Chasam Sofer points out that this does not mean that there is a Mitzvas Aseh d'Oraisa to read the
Megilah on Purim. Rather, it means that mid'Oraisa there is a requirement to make some display of
praise to Hash-m to show appreciation for the miracle. The Chachamim instituted exactly what form
of praise to make; in the case of Purim, it is the reading of the Megilah. However, even if one does not
fulfill the d'Rabanan requirement but makes some other display of praise to Hash-m, he fulfills the
Torah obligation to praise Hash-m for the miracle.

(b) The NETZIV (in HA'EMEK SHE'EILAH, Vayishlach 26:1) challenges the explanation of the
Chasam Sofer. How can an obligation to praise Hash-m every year for a miracle that occurred once be
derived from the Jews' praise of Hash-m at the Sea for the miracle He performed then? When they
praised Hash-m for taking them from slavery to freedom, that Shirah was said at the time that the
miracle actually took place. From that event we may derive only an obligation to praise Hash-m at the
time that the miracle occurs, but not an obligation to praise Hash-m every year on the anniversary of
the miracle.

Another difficulty with the opinion of the Chasam Sofer is the intent of the Gemara's question here.
The Gemara asks that Hallel should also be said on Purim because of the Kal v'Chomer ("Iy Hachi,

4 https://www.dafyomi.co.il/megilah/insites/mg-dt-014.htm

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Hallel Nami Neimra"). If the Gemara means, as the Chasam Sofer explains, that the obligation to
express gratitude to Hash-m for His miracle is derived from the Shirah which the Jews sang at the Sea,
why does the Gemara ask that Hallel should be said on Purim? There are already a number of other
expressions of gratitude to Hash-m for His miracle, such as the reading of the Megilah, the Mitzvos of
Mishlo'ach Manos and Matanos l'Evyonim, and the Se'udah. Why does the Gemara ask that Hallel
should be said, if any display of praise suffices to fulfill the Torah obligation?

The Netziv asks a third question. According to the Chasam Sofer, how can the Gemara in Rosh
Hashanah (19b) say that the festivals listed in Megilas Ta'anis were annulled? Those days were all days
on which miracles took place, and which the Chachamim established as days of Simchah to give praise
to Hash-m for His miracles. According to the Chasam Sofer, who says that the obligation to give praise
to Hash-m for His miracles is mid'Oraisa, how can those days become annulled such that no display of
praise is made on those days? According to the Chasam Sofer, refraining from giving praise to Hash-
m on those days constitutes a transgression of a Mitzvas Aseh d'Oraisa! (HA'GA'ON RAV CHAIM
ZIMMERMAN zt'l, in AGRA L'YESHARIM, ch. 19-21, discusses this question at length and points
out that the son of the Rambam debated this issue with Rav Daniel ha'Bavli in SEFER MA'ASEH
NISIM, #1.)

Perhaps a resolution to these questions on the opinion of the Chasam Sofer may be suggested as
follows.
The Kal v'Chomer which teaches the obligation to praise Hash-m when He saves the Jewish people
through a miracle actually includes two parts. The first part is the Kal v'Chomer from the Shirah at the
Sea which obligates the Jewish people to praise Hash-m at the time the miracle occurs. The second
part is another Kal v'Chomer from the Yamim Tovim -- the annual commemoration of the miracle
which the Torah requires the Jewish people to observe. The Torah requires that the festivals of Pesach
and Sukos be observed as a form of praise to Hash-m for the miracles He did for the Jewish people
many years ago. If the Torah obligates the Jews to commemorate, perpetually, a miracle which brought
them from slavery to freedom, then all the more so must they make a perpetual commemoration of a
miracle which brought them from death to life. Hence, the Kal v'Chomer teaches both the obligation
to praise Hash-m for the miracle when it occurs, and the obligation to commemorate the miracle each
year on the anniversary of the event. This answers the first question.

How does the Chasam Sofer answer the second question on his opinion? Perhaps the reason why the
Gemara asks that Hallel should be said on Purim even though there are other displays of praise to Hash-
m for the miracle of Purim is as follows. The Gemara's question is that the praise for the miracle should
be expressed specifically through the exact form of praise which the Torah uses. Since the form of
praise in the Torah is the Shirah, a song of praise to Hash-m, the Mitzvah to praise Hash-m for His
miracles should similarly be expressed through a song of praise, or Hallel. Why did the Chachamim
enact a new form of praise for Hash-m (such as the reading of the Megilah)? The Gemara answers that
"the reading of the Megilah replaces the recitation of Hallel." This means that the Chachamim deemed
it appropriate to institute the reading of the Megilah to publicize the events of Purim. Once that Mitzvah
has been fulfilled, however, it is no longer necessary to recite Hallel because the miracle has already
been commemorated (and the Torah obligation to praise Hash-m has already been fulfilled) through
the reading of the Megilah.

The answer to the third question -- why did the Chachamim annul the festive days recorded in Megilas
Ta'anis -- may be as follows. Those festivals differed from Chanukah and Purim in that the miracles
which those days commemorate were not open and obvious miracles. A heretic could attribute those
miracles to natural causes and coincidences (see Ta'anis 17b-18b). Consequently, the obligation to

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praise Hash-m for those miracles is not included in the Kal v'Chomer, and thus the obligation is only
mid'Rabanan.

For example, the twenty-eighth day of Adar was instituted as a festive day to commemorate the miracle
which occurred when the Jews -- led by Rebbi Yehudah ben Shamu'a and his colleagues -- held a
demonstration to protest the harsh decrees which the Romans had issued against them, and the decrees
were rescinded. That miracle could easily be attributed to natural factors, such as the political pressure
exerted by a prominent segment of the population lobbying on behalf of social reform. Other festive
days were enacted to commemorate the deaths of wicked Roman oppressors, and to commemorate the
triumph over the claims of the Tzedukim who wanted to abolish certain Mitzvos of the Torah. The
Torah obligation, as derived from the Shirah, to praise Hash-m for His miracles applies only to miracles
which are similar to the miracle of the redemption from Mitzrayim in that they are open and obvious
miracles. The obligation does not apply to miracles which are not obvious.

The miracles of Chanukah and Purim were clear and obvious miracles. On Chanukah, the weak and
outnumbered Jews defeated the large and mighty army of the Syrian-Greeks. On Purim, an inexplicable
and sudden reversal of the plans of Haman occurred; at one moment he was the highest-ranking official
in the empire next to the king whose campaign of genocide was invincible, and moments later he was
headed for the gallows. Accordingly, those miracles are included in the Torah obligation to praise
Hash-m.
(Although the miraculous salvation of Purim did not involve a miracle as obvious as that of Chanukah,
when one day's worth of oil burned for eight days, it certainly was recognized as a miraculous turn of
events by all who fasted for three days, prayed for salvation, and then immediately experienced it. Even
Haman was caught off-guard by his sudden turn of fate. (See also EMEK BERACHAH, p. 123, s.v.
"v'Hineh b'Maseches Megilah.")

Compared to the salvation which occurred on Purim, the events recorded in Megilas Ta'anis look
mundane (which is why those holidays are no longer observed; see Rosh Hashanah 18b, Shabbos 13b).
What was "hidden" about Purim was that all of the circumstances which led to Haman's downfall had
already been planted firmly in place ("Refu'ah Kodem l'Makah") unbeknown to all. Even though
disaster looked imminent, Hash-m's protection was there all the time.)

Steinzaltz (OBM) writes:5

Rabbi Abba bar Kahane taught: When King Achashverosh removed his ring and transferred the
power over the Jews to Haman (see Esther 3:10), it brought about greater repentance among the
Jews than all of the 48 prophets that had been sent by God to admonish them.

Who are the 48 Nevi’im referred to by Rabbi Abba bar Kahane?

Rashi has one set of suggestions that reaches 46 individuals and closes with the admission that
there are two that he cannot identify. Among the prophet he mentions are

5 https://www.ou.org/life/torah/masechet_megillah915/

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the Avot: Avraham, Yitzhak and Yaakov. Rabbeinu Chananel offers an alternative list that begins
with Moshe and Aharon and closes with Mordechai Balshan – the Mordechai of the Megillah.

The commentaries discuss the various Biblical figures that might be considered for inclusion on
this list, and in particular the identity of the two individuals that should fill out Rashi’s list. Some
figures are the subject of clear dispute in the Gemara. Daniel, for example, is said by the Gemara
to have not been a prophet, yet he appears in some of the lists. Among the suggestions raised
are Shem va-Ever and Eldad u-Medad.

According to the baraita, the only thing that these nevi’im added to the Torah was the
commandment of Purim, i.e. the reading of Megillat Esther. Rashi points out that there is an
additional commandment – the mitzvah to light Chanukah candles.

He answers that Chanukah was established by the Sages, rather than by the prophets, which puts
it in a different category of halakha. The Ran explains this position by pointing out that Rabbinic
decrees are always established for the purpose of protecting Biblical commandments, or ensuring
that they will be properly fulfilled. Reading the Megillah is unique in that it is an independent
celebration. Tosafot Ri”d offers a simple explanation – that the intent of the baraita is to say that
no public readings of the Tanakh were added aside from reading the Megillah.

Rabbeinu Bechaya explains that a prayer which one utters at a time of distress is the most
acceptable.6

This is a fundamental concept in Jewish philosophy. In order to fully understand the statement of
Rabbeinu Bechaya, Rav Henoch Leibowitz, in the Chidushei HaLev, reminds us that prayer has a
unique characteristic. It has always been described as ‫ ”שבלב עבודה‬- service of the heart", and
therefore is controlled by the level of our intensity.

An individual who is beset by tragedy and difficulty will reach into his heart to propel his kavana
to greater heights. Hashem's acceptance of our requests is directly affected by the degree to which
we amplify the intensity of our prayers. Chazal teach us that even the slightest increase in kavana
could potentially influence the ultimate outcome.

The Navi (2 Melachim 22:14) records that certain Jewish leaders once went to Chuldah the
prophetess to discuss the indications of the looming churban. The Gemara (Megilla 14b) asks why
they went to Chuldah instead of Yirmiyahu, who was the leader of that generation. The Gemara
responds that Yirmiyahu had given Chuldah permission to provide prophecy, and since she was
his relative, he would certainly be satisfied if she were to be given this opportunity.

6 https://www.dafdigest.org/masechtos/Megilla%20014.pdf

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The Gemara then asks why King Yoshiyahu sent them to Chuldah, and responds: “Women are
more merciful than men. They hoped that she would request mercy to change the bad to good.”
At first glance, this passage seems extremely difficult. Yirmiyahu constantly pleaded with Klal
Yisrael to repent in order to avert the impending churban. The Midrash (Introduction to Eicha, 34)
describes in great detail the tormenting anguish Yirmiyahu experienced upon witnessing the
churban. Such a remarkable leader surely would pray to Hashem with his entire heart!

Apparently, Yirmiyahu's best attempt would not equal that of Chulda, simply “because women are
more merci ful.” Certainly, Yirmiyahu was a pious man, steeped in Torah and mussar. But King
Yoshiyahu decided that Chulda's innate potential to be “more compassionate” might prevent the
imminent churban.

Yoshiyahu knew that even the slightest increase in kavana might save our holy Beis HaMikdash.

Rambam (1), based on a pasuk, writes that women may not be appointed king. He then proceeds
to apply the same restriction to any appointed position of authority and disqualifies women from
serving in a leadership position.

The commentators struggle to pinpoint the source for this halacha, since it is not explicit in the
Gemara or Midrash. Sefer Kiryas Melech (2) suggests that it is R’ Nachman’s statement in our
Gemara that serves as the source for Rambam’s ruling. When R’ Nachman stated that prominence
is not becoming for women he was not referring to haughtiness, since that trait is prohibited even
for men, rather he was referring to appointing women to positions of authority and stating that it
is inappropriate. This, concludes Kiryat Melech, is the source of Rambam’s ruling.

Rav Moshe Feinstein (3) addressed this issue in the following context. A Torah scholar who
supported himself as a mashgiach passed away leaving behind a widow. Being that she was
knowledgeable, G-d-fearing and trustworthy, it was suggested that she take over her husband’s
position to support herself and her family. Rav Feinstein wrote that in his opinion this would
violate Rambam’s restriction against a woman serving in a position of authority. Positions of
authority are not a function of prestige as some may mistakenly think.

A position of authority is defined by the requirement to act contrary to another’s interest. Taking
our case as an example, the job of a mashgiach is not to do what the owner wants but rather to
inform the owner that something he may have thought was acceptable is not. Anyone who has that

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authority, regardless of the prestige it carries, is considered to be in a position of authority. Rav
Feinstein offered instead the following suggestion.

Rather than hiring the widow herself as the mashgicha, the business should hire the rabbi of the
community to be the mashgiach and she will serve as the rabbi’s employee, reporting to him rather
than to the business owner. In this way she can financially support herself without violating the
position of Rambam who restricts her from serving in a position of authority.

When Rav Yitzchak Yehudah Yechiel Safran, zt”l, completed his longest work, the Heichal
Habrochah on Chumash, he traveled around to procure approbations for his new book. When he
reached the town of the famous Yismach Moshe, the Rav was unfortunately ill and his grandson,
the Yitav Lev, was presiding in his stead.

When the Yismach Moshe heard that the famous gaon from Komarna had come to visit, he ordered
his grandson to extend as much honor as possible to their guest. “Ask the Komarna Rebbe to give
over some of his very deep Torah to my chassidim at the Shabbos tisch on Friday night,” he said.
The Yitav Lev obeyed his grandfather’s directive, and on Friday night he requested that the
illustrious guest speak in his stead.

The Heichal Habrochah refused, however. Since he was known to be a ma’ayan hamisgaber, an
ever-fresh spring bursting with new Torah insights, the Yitav Lev was a bit surprised that the
Komarna Rebbe was unwilling to speak. “Perhaps the Rebbe is tired from his long journey,” he
thought. On Shabbos morning, he again publicly requested that the visiting Rebbe speak for the
community. Once again, the guest absolutely refused.

The Yitav Lev considered, “Maybe he will agree for the third meal, since it is considered the most
elevated time of the entire Shabbos.” When the time came for a lesson to be told over during
seudah shelishis and the Heichal Habrochah still refused to speak, the Yitav Lev asked for an
explanation.

The Heichal Habrochah explained, “The Gemara in Megilla 14b recounts that when King
Yoshiyahu found a sefer Torah hidden in the Beis HaMikdash open to a certain verse, he sent a

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delegation to Chuldah HaNeviah for an explanation. The Gemara asks how they could have sent a
delegation to Chuldah when Yirmiyahu HaNavi, the more senior prophet, was still alive? We are
told in the name of Rav that since Chuldah was a relative of Yirmiyahu, they could approach her
without holding it against her.”

The Rebbe turned to the Yitav Lev, “You are a relative of the mora d’asra, you say the Torah!”

Rabbi Joshua Mikutis writes:7

Today’s page contains a simple but profound lesson: The actions of ordinary individuals can be
more powerful than the words of our weightiest prophets.

Those familiar with the Book of Esther will recall that after Haman hatches his genocidal plan to
annihilate the Jews, he receives the ultimate sign of approval from Ahasuerus: The king removes
his signet ring and hands it to his most trusted advisor. This act leaves no doubt about Haman’s
authority, as Ahasuerus gives him his literal and figurative stamp of approval.

This might not be the detail of the Purim story you remember best. Perhaps what sticks in your
mind is the beauty contest Esther wins that earns her the title of queen, or the fasting she does in
preparation to enter the king’s throne room, or the feast she throws for Ahasuerus and Haman
where she reveals her true identity. Or maybe it’s when Mordechai refuses to bow to Haman, or
when the king orders Haman to hang on the gallows constructed for Mordechai. But the rabbis
understand this seemingly small act, of Ahasuerus transferring his signet ring to Haman, as not
only a central element in the Purim story, but as an absolutely singular moment in the history of
the Jewish people:

Rabbi Abba bar Kahana said: The removal of Ahasuerus’s ring was more effective than the 48
prophets and the seven prophetesses who prophesied on behalf of the Jewish people, as they
were all unable to return the Jewish people to the right way, but the removal of Ahasuerus’s
ring returned them to the right way.

This is a remarkable statement. Rather than view Haman’s elevation as a moment of tragedy in
the Jewish saga, it is seen as a turning point, paving the way for the people to become better.

Various rabbinic authorities guess at who the 48 prophets are. (Today’s daf does list the seven
prophetesses — Sarah, Miriam, Deborah, Hannah, Abigail, Huldah and Esther — and describes
their accomplishments). While there is disagreement about who makes the list of 48 male
prophets, certain names appear everywhere: Moses, Aaron, Jeremiah, Isaiah and Ezekiel to name
a few. But even these major league prophets, today’s daf suggests, were largely unable to
convince the people to change their behavior and do right both by their fellow humans and God.

So why is this moment, when Haman receives Ahasuerus’ signet ring, more morally edifying
than the prophesying of 55 of the most notable figures in the Tanakh?

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The 16th century talmudist, kabbalist and philosopher Rabbi Judah Loew, better known as the
Maharal of Prague, suggests that the transfer of the ring from Ahasuerus to Haman caused a
crisis for the Jews because until that moment, they believed that God works through kings, for
better or worse. Sometimes a king acts as an agent of punishment; other times, as an agent of
redemption.

But the passing of kingly authority to a singular individual represented a dramatic threat — one
that was exacerbated by the fact that the individual is no friend of the Jewish people. No longer
could the Jews be assured that God’s will, for their benefit or detriment, was being done through
a king. It was now undeniable that history was in the hands of individuals.

And this, says Rabbi Loew, was a key moment for the Jewish people. In the past, they had been
able to ignore prophetic predictions and carry about their lives, trusting that things would work
out according to God’s intention no matter what they did. But at the moment that Haman slipped
Ahasuerus’ signet ring onto his own finger, they came to understand that individuals can make a
significant impact on history — for better or much worse. But as dark as it was to contemplate
that Haman could destroy the Jewish people against God’s will, the reverse was also possible:
The Jewish people could assert control over their own destiny. And, as we know from the story,
they did.

In the end, the rabbis suggest, the realization of crisis trumps the rhetoric of prophets. When we
know and feel in our guts that it is in our hands to shift the course of history, we do not need a
prophetic voice to encourage us. Ahasuerus passed the ring to Haman, and the people responded
by repenting (in the rabbinic imagination), and then fighting their enemies. And we too as
readers are reminded that we have the agency to make real historical change.

Rabbi Johnny Solomon writes:8

Much of our daf (Megillah 14a-b) teaches us about the ‫ – שבע נביאות‬the seven biblical prophetesses
(Sarah, Miriam, Devorah, Chana, Avigail, Chuldah & Esther) whose prophecies related not only
to themselves but to others and/or the Jewish people as a whole. And as Massechet Megillah’s
primary focus is the Purim story, I’d like to explore the biblical source cited by our Gemara from
Megillat Esther to demonstrate that Esther was a prophetess.

Having asked the Jewish people to fast for three days and pray for their safety, we are told that on
the third day, as she prepared herself to enter Achashverosh’s palace to invite him to what would
become a series of banquets, ‘‫ – ַוִתְּלַבּשׁ ֶאְסֵתּר ַמְלכוּת‬and Esther dressed herself in royalty’ (Esther
5:1).
As the Gemara explains, were the verse to have wished to tell us that Esther wore royal clothes it
should have said, ‫‘ – ותלבש אסתר בגדי מלכות‬and Esther dressed herself in royal clothes’. But given
that the verse is not so specific, and given that our Sages explain that ‘‫ המלך‬- the king’ is also to be
understood as a veiled reference to God, and in light of the fact that a verse in Divrei HaYamim I

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12:19 states ‫‘ – ְורוַּח ָלְבָשׁה ֶאת ֲﬠָמַשׂי‬and the spirit seized (literally, ‘clothed’) Amasai’ (which teaches
us that a ‫ רוח‬can clothe a person), the Gemara explains that ‫ – שלבשתה ברוח הקודש‬Esther ‘clothed
herself with the Divine spirit’.

Reflecting on this teaching, Rav Avraham Mordechai Alter (1865-1948) - the fourth Rebbe of Ger
otherwise known as the Imrei Emes – notes something significant within the verse cited by our
Gemara which, having begun by informing us ‫‘ – ַוִתְּלַבּשׁ ֶאְסֵתּר ַמְלכוּת‬and Esther dressed herself in
royalty’, continues to relate –‫‘ – ַוַתֲּﬠֹמד ַבֲּחַצר ֵבּית ַהֶמֶּל– ַהְפּ ִניִמית ֹנַכח ֵבּית ַהֶמֶּל‬and she stood by the inner
courtyard of the kings palace, while the king sat upon his throne’.

As the Imrei Emes asks, it is strange that we are told that Esther dressed herself in royalty and
stood by the inner courtyard, but we are not told about her going to stand in the inner courtyard.
Instead, the verse speaks as if one immediately led to the other.

With this in mind, he explains that this entire verse can be understood to describe how we approach
God: ‘it is known that in our service of God, the main duty of a person is to prepare their heart and
accept upon themselves the yoke of heaven, with the rest being done with the assistance of heaven.
Therefore we are taught, ‘and Esther dressed herself in royalty’ – meaning that when she prepared
her heart and accepted upon herself the yoke of heaven, she was then clothed with the divine spirit
and then immediately found herself standing in the ‘inner courtyard’ of God’.

Though each of us may not become a prophet, we all yearn for divine closeness and the feeling
that we are in God’s inner courtyard. And as the Imrei Emes explains from the steps taken by
Esther, this can be achieved when we prepare our heart and clothe ourselves with a sincere love
and desire to come close to God.

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 Whipped Into Shape

Rabbi Jay Kelman writes:9

Often it takes our enemies to whip us into shape. “Rav Abba the son of Kahana said: Greater was
the removal of the ring [of Achashverosh] than the 48 prophets and 7 prophetesses[1] who
prophesied for Israel, for all of them did not return them to good, yet the removal of the ring
returned them to good” (Megillah 14a).
Moshe, Aaron, Miriam, Yishayahu, Yirmiyahu, Michah, Yonah, and many others all tried to get
the Jewish people to improve their moral sensitivity, their concern about the distribution of justice,
to be more caring of the poor and widowed, but it had little impact. Even the warning that exile
awaited the people was to no avail. The people went on their merry ways, oblivious to any dangers
lurking.
It was only when Achashverosh took off his ring, letting Haman know that he was free “to destroy,
to slay, and to cause to perish, all Jews, both young and old, little children and women, in one
day”, that the Jews truly felt they were in danger. As long as it was their own people chastising
them, they remained comfortable in their ways, confident that a father would never truly hurt his
children. But once an outsider threatened them—and with annihilation, no less—they began to
realize that they were in real danger from an enemy who wanted them dead.
The distinction between our internal battles and those forced upon us by our external enemies is
reflected in the words the kohen masuch milchama, the equivalent of the chief military chaplain,
would tell the troops before they went into battle. “He shall say to them, “’Hear, O Israel, you
are about to join battle with your enemy’ (Devarim 20:3)—with your enemy but not against your
brother, not Judah against Shimon nor Shimon against Benjamin, that if you fall into their
hand they shall have mercy on you, as it is said, ‘Rather against your enemies do you march, so
that if you fall into their hand they will have no mercy on you’ (Mishnah Sotah 8:1)”.
It is the rare person who is able to repent out of love without first repenting out of fear. As Freud
noted—and as we see all around us—the power of hate is much greater than the power of love.
Our prophets may have had very harsh words to say about us and warned us of impending doom.
Yet it was done out of concern and love for the Jewish people, with the hope that such would never
actually transpire. In contrast, our enemies act out of hate, looking forward to the day when their
threats against us might, G-d forbid, be fulfilled.
While the Jewish people faced external enemies while sovereign in their land, they understood the
reasons for such enmity—even if those reasons were misguided. Other nations wanted their land
to help enlarge their empire. But with the Jewish people exiled and living peacefully under their
Persian rulers, what claim could others have against the Jews? And why hatred? When
Achashverosh took off his ring, the Jewish people understood that the hatred directed against them
has little to with any actual claim. It is our mere existence that engenders hatred. And the Jewish

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people understood that now was the time to come together—to send food to others (soldiers?) and
gifts to the poor.
That Purim marked, for the Jew, a new awareness of his position in the world underlies the next
teaching of the Gemara. “Our rabbis taught: 48 prophets and 7 prophetesses prophesied for
Israel, and they did not subtract nor add to what is written in the Torah, with the exception of
the reading of the Megillah.” The role of the prophet is to teach, to elevate and to inspire—but
not to deal with matters of Jewish law.
Yet somehow, reading the Megillah in commemoration of the Purim miracle was an exception.
And this exception is not rooted in any biblical source, as none is needed. “If, for being delivered
from slavery to freedom, we chant Hallel, should we not do so all the more so for being delivered
from death to life?” There was an intuitive understanding that something had changed. Pharaoh
may have wanted our slave labour, but Haman wanted us dead. This was an unanticipated
development, but one that ultimately had most positive results.

[1] As the Talmud notes, “Many prophets arose in Israel, double the number of those who left Egypt; but prophecy that was needed
for future generations was written and that which was not needed was not written”. The Torah is not a book of current events and
does not bother recording that which is of historical importance only.

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 The Special Mitzvah of Reciting Hallel
Rabbi Yirmiyohu Kaganoff writes:10

Hallel is our unique praise to Hashem that is reserved for special occasions. Whenever the Jews
survived a crisis, they responded by singing Hallel. Thus, we sang Hallel when we crossed the
Yam Suf and again after the allied kings of Canaan were defeated in the days of Yehoshua.

Hallel was sung when Devorah and Barak’s small force defeated the mighty army of Sisra and
when the huge army of Sancheiriv fled from Yerushalayim. It was also sung when Chananyah,
Mishoel, and Azaryah survived Nevuchadnetzar’s fiery furnace and when the Jews were saved
from Haman’s evil decrees. After each of these events, Jews recited Hallel to thank Hashem for
their miraculous salvation (Pesachim 117a, see Rashi; cf. Rashbam).

In the same vein, Chazal instituted the recital of Hallel to commemorate Yomim Tovim and days
when miracles provided salvation for the Jewish people. The Gemara teaches that we recite the
full Hallel eighteen days every year in Eretz Yisrael and twenty-one days in Chutz La’Aretz. These
days include: The eight days of Sukkos/Simchas Torah (nine days in Chutz La’Aretz), the eight
days of Chanukah, the first day(s) of Pesach and Shavuos (Arachin 10a). Each of these days is
either a Yom Tov or commemorates a miracle. Full Hallel is not recited on Rosh Chodesh, because
it is neither a full Yom Tov nor does it commemorate a miracle (Arachin 10b).

Hallel includes Chapters 113-118 of Tehillim, with some of the verses repeated.

WHY DO WE RECITE THESE SPECIFIC VERSES?

The Gemara (Pesachim 118a) says that these chapters of Tehillim were chosen for Hallel because
they mention five unique events: (1) The Exodus from Egypt, (2) The Splitting of the Yam Suf,
(3) The Receiving of the Torah, (4) The Resurrection of the Dead, and (5) The Travails of the
Coming of Moshiach.

• The Exodus from Mitzrayim is explicitly mentioned in the pasuk, “Be’tzeis Yisrael
Mi’mitzrayim,” “when Yisrael left Egypt.”
• The Splitting of the Yam Suf is implied in the pasuk, “Hayom ra’ah vayanos,” “The Sea
saw and fled.”
• Receiving the Torah is alluded to by the pasuk, “He’harim rakdu ch’eilim,” “The
mountains danced liked rams.” This refers to the mountains that danced in excitement when
the Jewish people received the Torah.

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(4) The Resurrection of the Dead is implied by the pasuk, “Es’haleich lifnei Hashem be’artzos
hachayim,” “I will walk before Hashem in the land of the living,” thus alluding to a future time
when the deceased will return to life.
(5) The Travails of the Coming of Moshiach is implied by the pasuk, “Lo lanu Hashem,” “Not
for our sake, Hashem.” This pasuk alludes to several calamitous events that will transpire in the
era preceding Moshiach’s arrival.

WHY ARE PARTS OF THE HALLEL REPEATED?

The practice of repeating some pesukim of Hallel is already mentioned in the Mishnah (Sukkah
38a). Many interpretations are suggested for this custom. Rashi explains the reason for this custom
as follows: From the words “Hodu Lashem ki tov” until “Pischu li shaarei tzedek,” every theme
mentioned is repeated. After “Pischu li,” this style ceases. However, in order to make the rest of
the Hallel continue this poetic style, the custom is to repeat these last pesukim.

WHY DO WE SPLIT A PASUK IN HALF?

During Hallel, we divide the pasuk “Ana Hashem Hoshia Na, Ana Hashem Hatzliacha Na” in half
and recite it as two different pesukim. This practice is already mentioned in the Gemara (Sukkah
38b). Normally, it is forbidden to divide a pasuk, except to teach schoolchildren, who may find it
too difficult to learn the explanation of an entire pasuk at one time (Megillah 22a). Why are we
permitted to divide this pasuk during Hallel?

Tosafos (Sukkah 38b) explains that this pasuk is different because it was originally recited as part
of a conversation between Dovid HaMelech and his family. Dovid’s brothers declared “Ana
Hashem Hoshia Na” and Dovid responded “Ana Hashem Hatzlicha Na” (Pesachim 119a).
Therefore, even though it was subsequently written down as one pasuk, it is treated as two separate
statements during Hallel.

WHY IS HALLEL RECITED STANDING THE WHOLE YEAR, BUT

SITTING AT THE SEDER?

Most mitzvos are performed while standing, and there are additional reasons why Hallel should be
recited standing. Hallel testifies to Hashem’s miracles and wondrous deeds, and testimony must
be made while standing (Mishnah Berurah 422:28). Furthermore, the pasuk in Hallel declares,
“Sing praise, servants of Hashem who are standing,” implying that this is the proper way to give
praise (Shibbolei Leket).

On the other hand, at the Seder Hallel is recited sitting, because this demonstrates that we are
freemen (Shibbolei Leket).

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Someone who recited Hallel while sitting need not repeat it (Mishnah Berurah 422:28, quoting Pri
Megadim).

WHEN SHOULD ONE RECITE HALLEL?

Chazal derive from the verse of Hallel, “From when the sun rises in the east until it sets shall
Hashem’s Name be praised,” that Hallel should be recited by day and not by night (Megillah 20b).
Although the day begins when the eastern horizon lights up (amud hashachar), Chazal ruled that
Hallel should not be said until after sunrise.

One should preferably recite Hallel immediately after Shacharis. However, if one failed to do so,
one can recite Hallel the entire day.

The exception to this rule is when we recite Hallel on Pesach night as part of the Haggadah since
the miracle took place at night. Many communities have the custom of reciting Hallel in shul, also,
that night.

MAY ONE LEAN WHILE RECITING HALLEL?

Resting one’s weight on a table or shtender in such a way that one would fall if the support was
removed is considered the same as sitting. Therefore, many poskim contend that one may not lean
while reciting Hallel (Magen Avraham 422:11). However, some poskim (Beis Meir; Biur Halacha)
maintain that it is acceptable to rest one’s weight on a stand or table while reciting Hallel.

WHY IS HALLEL ON SUKKOS DIFFERENT FROM HALLEL ON

PESACH?

Why do we recite the full Hallel every day of Sukkos, but only on the first day of Pesach?

The Gemara gives a surprising answer. On Sukkos, we recite full Hallel daily, since each day of
Sukkos has a different korban in the Beis HaMikdash, while on Pesach, we do not recite full Hallel
every day, because the same korban was offered every day. Thus, we see that Yom Tov is not a
sufficient reason to recite Hallel. There must also be something novel about the day.

In a similar vein, we recite Hallel every day of Chanukah, because the miracle became greater
every day as the oil miraculously continued burning. Therefore, each day is considered a new Yom
Tov (Tosafos, Taanis 28b s.v. veyom).

The Midrash provides a different reason why the full Hallel is not recited on Pesach — we should
not recite Hallel at the time when our enemies suffered (quoted by Shibbolei Leket #174).

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There is no Hallel on Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur because one should not sing on days when
judgment is being rendered (Arachin 10b). Rambam explains that these are not days of total
simcha, and that Hallel must be recited only on days of complete simcha (Hilchos Chanukah 3:6).

HALLEL ON PURIM?

Why we do not recite Hallel on Purim? After all, we do celebrate the tremendous miracle that
transpired by saying the prayer Al HaNisim and performing many mitzvos. The Gemara provides
three answers.

(1) Because the miracle of Purim occurred outside Eretz Yisrael.

(2) Because reading the Megillah is a form of Hallel.

(3) Because in Hallel we say, “Praise Him, servants of Hashem,” and we are still servants of
Achashveirosh (Arachin 10b).

There is a practical difference between these opinions. According to the second opinion, someone
who has no Megillah to read on Purim would be required to recite Hallel! Indeed, Rambam appears
to rule according to this opinion (Hilchos Chanukah 3:6).

“HALF HALLEL”

Why do we say only a partial Hallel on Rosh Chodesh and the latter days of Pesach? Reciting the
partial Hallel on these days originated as a minhag and not as a takanah of Chazal. Reciting partial
Hallel on Rosh Chodesh as a custom is mentioned in a puzzling story.

The Gemara relates that the Amora, Rav, went to Bavel. [It is unclear whether this meant the
country of Bavel in the environs of present day Iraq, or the city of Bavel (Babylon).] Rav was
perturbed when the congregation began reciting Hallel after the repetition of Shemoneh Esrei and
was about to interrupt them. But when he noticed that they were skipping parts of the Hallel,
presumably similar to what we do, he chose not to interrupt them, saying, “I see that they are
observing a custom of their fathers” (Taanis 28b).

Rav’s reactions seem very enigmatic. Why was he so concerned about their reciting Hallel that he
was prepared to interrupt them in the middle? Furthermore, why did the fact that they omitted
something make him change his mind? And, finally, why did he justify their practice on the basis
that it was a custom of their fathers?

To understand what happened, we need to understand what is wrong with reciting Hallel on days
not included in Chazal’s takanah.

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The Gemara teaches us that someone who recites Hallel every day is a blasphemer (Shabbos 118b).
What? A blasphemer! What’s so terrible about what he did?

The Maharal explains as follows: Non-believers sometimes ask that if Hashem is all-powerful,
why does He allow evil to exist? Why aren’t all evildoers immediately destroyed? But to believers,
this is not a question at all, because they understand that Hashem allows the world to exist
naturally, without His interference. If Hashem destroyed evildoers, His existence would be so
obvious that there would be no reward for those who do His will. Therefore, Hashem allows the
world to function without His obvious involvement.

However, occasionally the need arises for Hashem to perform a miracle. When this happens,
Hashem demonstrates His presence, and the world temporarily switches into “miraculous mode.”
We commemorate these special occasions by reciting Hallel and celebrating the revelation of
Hashem’s presence.

But, reciting Hallel on an ordinary weekday implies that Hashem’s control over the world should
always be obvious. This leads to blasphemy, because if Hashem’s control is obvious, non-believers
can ask why evildoers continue to exist without Hashem destroying them. Thus, the non-believer
interprets saying Hallel every day as proof that Hashem is powerless to stop the forces of evil. This
is, of course, terrible blasphemy (Gevuros Hashem #61). This is why Rav was so disturbed when
he noticed the people of Bavel reciting Hallel on a day that is neither Yom Tov nor a day when a
miracle occurred.

WHY DID RAV, INDEED, NOT STOP THE RECITAL OF HALLEL?

Why did Rav change his mind when he realized that the people were omitting parts of Hallel?

Although Rishonim record variant customs as to which parts of Hallel are omitted on Rosh
Chodesh, every custom I have seen, as well as the usual practice today, omits the passages that
include the words “Lo lanu” and “Ahavti” (see Rashi, Taanis 28b s.v. de’midalgi; Rambam,
Hilchos Chanukah 3:7). These omissions delete two of the five essential components that make
the Hallel a unique praise. By skipping these passages, what is left is, indeed, a beautiful praise,
but it is not a fulfillment of the mitzvah of Hallel.

Only when one recites the full Hallel on a weekday is it considered blasphemy. Therefore, the
custom of the community of Bavel was to recite a partial Hallel on Rosh Chodesh, thus praising
Hashem for his wondrous deeds, without performing an act that could, G-d forbid, imply
blasphemy. This is why Rav saw no reason to interrupt them.

25
DO WE RECITE A BRACHA ON “HALF-HALLEL”?

As we mentioned, Hallel on Rosh Chodesh is a custom and not a takanah of Chazal. Do we recite
a bracha before reciting this partial Hallel, since reciting it is, technically, not a mitzvah but a
custom? This question is disputed by the Rishonim. Rambam rules that one does not recite a bracha
before doing a custom (Hilchos Chanukah 3:7). This approach is the prevalent practice among the
Sefardim and Edot HaMizrach in Eretz Yisrael, who do not recite a bracha on Hallel on Rosh
Chodesh (Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chayim 422:2). Tosafos (Taanis 28b), however, rules that one
may recite a bracha on Hallel on Rosh Chodesh and the last days of Pesach, and this is the universal
practice among Ashkenazim (Rema).

DOES ONE RECITE “HALF-HALLEL” WHEN DAVENING IN PRIVATE?

The Gemara rules that an individual need not recite partial Hallel on Rosh Chodesh, but that once
he began reciting Hallel, he should complete the partial Hallel (Taanis 28b). The custom among
Ashkenazim is to recite partial Hallel with a bracha, even when davening alone. However, one
should try to recite the Hallel together with the tzibur, in order to avoid any shaylah. For this
reason, if someone arrives late in shul, he should recite Hallel with the tzibur and daven afterwards.
If he is in the middle of Pesukei Dezimra when the tzibur begins Hallel, he should recite the Hallel
with the tzibur, as if it is part of Pesukei Dezimra (Mishnah Berurah 422:16).

ORDERLY HALLEL

Hallel, like Shmoneh Esrei, is one of the prayers that must be recited in its proper order (Megillah
17a). If someone misses a word or sentence, he must return to the place he omitted (Rema, Orach
Chayim 422:6).

I was once in shul on Chanukah, and the chazan inadvertently skipped Lo Lanu and recited the
subsequent paragraph, Hashem Zecharanu. The chazan was a talmid chacham, and, upon realizing
his error, he recited Lo Lanu and then repeated Hashem Zecharanu. Although the lay people in the
shul did not understand why the chazan had repeated the paragraph, he had, indeed, followed the
correct procedure.

WOMEN AND HALLEL

Are women required to recite Hallel?

The mishnah implies that women are exempt from reciting Hallel (Sukkah 38a). This is because
Hallel is a time-bound mitzvah, from which women are absolved.

26
However, some poskim rule that women are obligated to recite Hallel on Chanukah and Pesach,
since it is recited in regard to miracles that benefited women. According to these poskim, women
are absolved from Hallel on Sukkos and Shavuos, since it is recited only because of Yom Tov and
not because of a miracle (see Tosafos, Sukkah 38a s.v. Mi; Toras Refael, Orach Chayim #75).

The logical basis for this distinction is that women are required to observe mitzvos established
because of miracles that benefited them. This is why they they are required to kindle Chanukah
lights, to hear Megillah on Purim and to drink the four cups of wine at the Seder (Megillah 4a,
Shabbos 23a; Pesachim 108b).

To the Jew who yearns to make Hashem’s presence an integral part of his life, nothing is more
distressing than when Hashem hides His presence. Yet, in today’s world, not only is Hashem’s
presence hidden, but much of modern society ignores His existence altogether. How can we
safeguard ourselves from this influence?

Reciting Hallel with tremendous emotion and reliving Hashem’s miracles rekindles the cognizance
of Hashem’s presence. The moments that we recite Hallel can encapsulate the most fervent
experience of His closeness.

In the merit of joyously reciting Hallel, may we see the return of the Divine Presence to
Yerushalayim and the rededication of the Beis HaMikdash, speedily in our days.

“Hallel or Megillah?”

27
Rav David Milston writes:11

"Rav Yochanan said in the name of Rav Shimon ben Yehotzadak: There are 18 days [in Eretz
Yisrael] on which we say the full Hallel: the eight days of Chag [Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret], the
eight days of Chanukah, the first day of Pesach and the day of Shavuot. In the Diaspora [where
two days of Yom Tov would be celebrated instead of one], we complete the Hallel on 21 days: the
nine days of Chag, the eight days of Chanukah, the first two days of Pesach and the two festive
days of Shavuot.

Why is it that we recite the entire Hallel throughout Sukkot whereas during Pesach we only recite
it on the first day(s)? Because the days of Sukkot are different from one another in terms of the
sacrifices brought, unlike the days of Pesach...

But what of Rosh Chodesh which is called a festival? Let the complete Hallel be said on it! No, for
on Rosh Chodesh one is allowed to work…

Then let Hallel be said on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Both are festivals and include the
prohibition to work.

It is irrelevant to recite Hallel on the Yamim Noraim, as Rabbi Abbahu said, “The ministering
angels said before the Holy One, Blessed be He, Why do Am Yisrael refrain from singing to You
on the New Year and the Day of Atonement?” He answered them, “Is it right that the King sits on
the Throne of Judgment, with the Books of Life and Death before Him, whilst Israel stands there
before Me singing a song?”

But what of Chanukah, on which neither of the conditions apply [Chanukah is not a festival and
work is permitted] yet the full Hallel is recited? That is because of the miracle of Chanukah.

Then let it be said on Purim when a miracle also occurred. Rabbi Yitzhak said, “Hallel is not said
on Purim because it occurred outside of Israel.” R. Nachman ben Yitzhak argued, “But the Exodus
from Egypt constitutes a miracle that happened outside the Land, and we still say Hallel!” There

11
https://harova.org/torah/view.asp?id=1442#_ftnref2

28
it is due to the fact that it occurred before Israel entered the Land. At that time, all the lands were
considered fit for song to be said [if a miracle had occurred in their boundaries]. Once Israel had
entered the Land, no other countries were considered fit for song.

Rabbi Nachman answered, “The reading [of the Megillah] is a Hallel…"[1]

This famous Talmudic discourse is a fundamental source for many halachic discussions. However,
for our purposes, we are particularly interested in Rabbi Nachman’s final statement – “The reading
[of the Megillah] is a Hallel.”

What exactly does he mean? Why can't we read both? Are we concerned about unnecessarily
prolonging the service or is there a deeper message?

The Talmud,[2] in a discussion relating to Rabbinic festive days cancelled as a result of the
destruction of the Beit Mikdash, notes that the two ‘surviving’ festivals are Chanukah and Purim.

By briefly comparing these two festivals, perhaps we can understand Rabbi Nachman’s statement
a little better. By doing so, we will also understand what Purim is all about.

When discussing the essence of Chanukah,[3] the Talmud places the emphasis on the miracle of
the oil, seemingly ignoring the miraculous military victory of the few against the many:

“What is the reason we celebrate Chanukah? Our Rabbis taught: On the 25th of Kislev, the days
of Chanukah commence… For when the Greeks entered the Temple, they defiled all the oils,
and when the Chashmonaim prevailed and defeated them, they searched and found only one
cruse of oil with the High Priest’s seal, which contained sufficient oil for only one day's lighting.
Yet a miracle occurred and that small amount of oil kept the Menorah alight for eight days. The
following year these days were appointed as a festival with the recital of Hallel and
thanksgiving.”

Chanukah is the celebration of a clear and distinct supernatural miracle. Wars are occasionally
won by the underdog and those victories can often be explained naturally, such as due to the
enemy’s inefficiency or complacency.

29
But when a small quantity of oil lasts for over a week, in the nation’s most central and holy site,
the revelation is indisputable. No natural explanation will suffice. Therefore, Chazal preferred to
emphasize the open miracle of the oil over the more ‘natural miracle’ of victory at war.

Purim is a different story altogether. If Chanukah salutes the overt miracle, Purim is the celebration
of God in Nature.

Let us take a brief look at the timescale of the events as described in the Megillah:

Stage 1, Chapter 1:3: "…In the third year of his reign, he made a feast for all his princes and
his servants, the army of Persia and Media, the nobles and princes of the provinces, being before
him…"

The story begins in the third year of Achashveirosh’s reign. He hosts a feast and incites a scandal
leading to the dethronement of Queen Vashti.

Stage 2, Chapter 2:16: "So Esther was taken to King Achashveirosh into his royal house in the
10th month, which is the month of Tevet, in the seventh year of his reign."

The events that occurred between the third and seventh years are not detailed in the Megillah.

Stage 3, Chapter 3:7: “In the first month, which is the month of Nissan, in King
Achashveirosh’s 12th year, they cast Pur, lots, before Haman from day to day, and from month
to month, to the 12th month, which is the month of Adar.”

Bigtan and Teresh’s foiled assassination attempt and Haman’s rise to power are not dated.
Haman’s decision to destroy the Jewish people is. It did not happen till the 12th year of the king’s
reign. Hence, another five years are unaccounted for in our story.

Stage 4, Chapter 3:12: “Then the king's scribes were called on the 13th day of the first
month, and it was written according to all that Haman commanded the king's ministers and
governors over every province, and to the princes of every people; to every province in their own
writing and to every people in their own language. It was written in the name of King
Achashveirosh and sealed with the king's ring.”

30
The bulk of the Megillah covers a three to four day period, beginning with the official publication
of Haman’s decree on the 13th of Nissan and culminating with his hanging on the second day of
Pesach just a few days later – all this occurred in the 12th year too.

Stage 5, Chapter 8:9: “Then the king's scribes were summoned, on the 23rd day of the third
month, the month of Sivan, and they wrote all that Mordechai commanded to the Jews and to
the ministers, governors and princes of the provinces from India unto Ethiopia, 127 provinces.
Each province according to its writing, and every people in its language and to the Jews
according to their writing and their language.”

Approximately two and a half months after Haman's demise, King Achashveirosh officially
changes sides and pledges strategic and military allegiance to Mordechai and Esther.

Stage 6, Chapter 9:1: “Now on the 13th day of the 12th month, the month of Adar, when the
king's commandment and decree were about to be implemented, on the day the enemies of the
Jews hoped to rule over them; it all turned to the contrary and the Jews ruled over those who
hated them…”

Finally, on the day originally marked by Haman for a national and international pogrom, the tables
are turned and, with the support of the king’s armies, Am Yisrael overcome their enemies.

As we review the story of Purim, we note it takes place over a nine-year period. In contrast to the
obvious miracle of Chanukah, it is fair to assume that people did not immediately identify the hand
of God in the political turmoil in Shushan. Even in the 21st century, when we have 24/7 global
communication, there are few who would connect events of a decade ago with the evolving reality
of the present.[4]

Perhaps Chazal decided to retain Chanukah and Purim in the Jewish calendar because they reflect
the different ways the Almighty acts in this world. We do see open revelation on occasion but He
is very much involved in all that is taking place even when His handiwork is not so plain to see,.

31
When we summarize events in a 45-minute reading of the Megillah, it is impossible to deny God's
involvement. This is exactly what Rav Nachman means,

“The reading [of the Megillah] is a Hallel…”

Hallel is recited on occasions when the miracle is obvious – the Exodus, Matan Torah, the Clouds
of Glory surrounding us in the desert (Sukkot) and on Chanukah. On these days there is no need
to praise God in any other way. The revelation is clear and we voice our thanks by reciting the
chosen chapters in Tehillim. The objective of Hallel is to acknowledge Hashem’s existence and
involvement on the specific occasion we are commemorating.

Thus, it is less relevant to recite Hallel on Purim because God is seemingly less obviously present.
There is no sea-splitting or awesome thunder and lightning.

The best way to celebrate the involvement of the Almighty is by reading the Megillah. Because
when we read the story of Purim, we clearly see God's controlling involvement in the natural,
constant flow of human history.[5]

And that is the message we are meant to internalize in our daily lives… naturally.

[1]
Erchin 10a-10b.
[2]
Rosh Hashanah 18a-19b.
[3]
Shabbat 21b.
[4]
A strong hint to the meaning of Purim is contained in the name, ‘Esther,’ which is a derivative of the Hebrew ‘seter’ –
‘hidden.’
[5]
Indeed, there is no Hebrew word for history. Rav Kook took the Hebrew transliteration of the English – “historia” and said it
referred to “hester yah,” the hidden hand of God.

32
 Is Hallel recited on Purim? Of course not; it’s that simple! Or is it?

Rabbi Avrohom Sebrow writes:12

The Gemara in Megillah (14a) tells us that the sages were motivated to institute the reading of
the Megillah from the laws of Pesach. So if we recite Hallel on Pesach to celebrate the fact that
we were freed from slavery, then there should certainly be a recital on Purim to commemorate the
fact that the Jewish nation was saved from wholesale death (see Turei Even). Therefore, the Sages
introduced the Megillah reading.

The Gemara wonders why the Sages didn’t introduce the recitation of Hallel on Purim as well,
just as it is recited on Pesach. The Gemara offers two possible answers.

12
http://www.5tjt.com/hallel-on-purim-the-whole-megillah/

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Rav Nachman explains that reading the Megillah is tantamount to reciting Hallel. Therefore, since
the Megillah is read on Purim, there is no need to recite Hallel. Rava says that the recitation
of Hallel is inappropriate on Purim. When the Jews left Egypt, they were truly free of Pharaoh’s
rule. Yet after the miraculous salvation of the Jewish nation during the times of Purim, they were
still Achashverosh’s subjects. Therefore, since the Jewish nation was not yet totally
independent, Hallel is inappropriate.

The Meiri notes that there is a practical difference between the two opinions. According to Rav
Nachman, Hallel should, in truth, be recited on Purim, but the reading of the Megillah takes its
place. If, for whatever reason, one was unable to read the Megillah, according to Rav Nachman he
should recite Hallel. Whereas according to Rava, the recitation of Hallel is inappropriate for the
miracles of Purim, and even someone who is unable to read the Megillah should nevertheless not
recite Hallel.

The Shulchan Aruch states simply that Hallel is not recited on Purim. He does not make any
exceptions for someone who did not read the Megillah. Likewise, many other poskim are silent on
this issue. The Birkei Yosef theorizes that the halachah is in accordance with Rava. As a general
rule, when two Amoraim disagree with each other, we rule in accord with the one who lived later.
The reasoning is that both sages meet the minimum qualification to be considered an Amora, and
that the later Amora witnessed all the give-and-take in the beis midrash about the issue. The
later Amora therefore benefited from comprehensive discussions about the issue. Moreover, he is
able to present what the consensus of Talmudic scholars was on this issue. Since Rava passed away
after Rav Nachman, the halachah follows Rava. Therefore, even if one does not have a megillah,
he should not recite Hallel.

The Shu’t Shivas Tzion points out that it is not so clear that we rule like Rava because he is the
later Amora. He points to a Rif in Bava Basra. The Gemara in Bava Basra (29b) notes that Rav
Nachman and Rav disagreed on two issues relating to real estate. The Rif ruled like Rav Nachman

34
in both circumstances. The Rif explains that even though we usually follow the later Amora, here
it is an exception because Rava was Rav Nachman’s student. Rava was having a discussion with
his own rebbe and disagreeing with him! Rav Nachman heard Rava’s arguments and was
unconvinced. In that case, we follow the rebbe, Rav Nachman, who is presumed to be a greater
scholar than the student, Rava.

The Nemukei Yosef notes that the application of the Rif’s rule depends on the exact text of
each Gemara in which Rava was disagreeing with Rav Nachman. If they were having a discussion,
then we rule like Rav Nachman. If, however, Rava stated his opinion independently, then we
follow him. As mazal would have it, there are variant texts in the Gemara in Megillah. In some
texts Rava is talking to Rav Nachman; in others he isn’t. Therefore, viewed from this angle,
the halachah is inconclusive.

However, the Rambam rules that we do not recite Hallel on Purim, and he offers the reason given
by Rav Nachman, that reading the Megillah is like reciting Hallel. Would the Rambam hold that
one should recite Hallel if he has no Megillah? Not necessarily, says the Chida. Perhaps the
Rambam holds that since the Sages instituted the reading of the Megillah, they never instituted the
recitation of Hallel. Even if someone finds himself in the rare situation without a Megillah on
Purim, he should nevertheless not recite Hallel because the Sages never decreed that Hallel should
be recited. They formulated the halachah for the majority of situations, where communities would
have a megillah.

The Shaarei Teshuvah concludes that, practically, if one does not have a megillah on Purim, he
should recite Hallel without the initial blessing or final blessing. Furthermore, he reasons that even
if one has a Chumash from which to read the Megillah, he should nevertheless
recite Hallel without the blessings. One only fulfills the mitzvah of reading the Megillah from a
kosher megillah. If one reads the Megillah from a Chumash, he has not fulfilled the mitzvah, and
such a subpar reading is not tantamount to reciting Hallel.

35
The Shu’t Shivas Tzion disagrees and says that even if one does not have a megillah, he should not
recite Hallel. Most poskim are silent on this issue. Therefore, we must conclude that they viewed
the rule that Hallel is not recited on Purim as absolute.

Why would these other Rishonim disagree with the Meiri?

Rabbi Yechezkel Roter (quoted in Alei Veradim on Megillah) explains that Hallel is recited for
open miracles. The miracles in the Purim story were hidden miracles. One could read the story of
Purim like a good book without realizing Hashem’s involvement. We read the Megillah to
proclaim that this is not just an ordinary story. We read it from the bima with blessings to declare
that we realize the Yad Hashem was present throughout the entire Megillah.

This is what the Gemara means when it says reading the Megillah is like reciting Hallel. Just
as Hallel declares our thanks for open miracles, reading the Megillah declares our thanks for
hidden miracles. But Hallel and the Megillah are not interchangeable. One declares his belief that
Hashem is behind every day, seemingly natural events by reading the Megillah. This is a different
focus from the recitation of Hallel.

Why Don't We Recite Hallel on Purim?

36
Rabbi Joshua Flug writes:13

13
https://www.yutorah.org/togo/purim/articles/Purim_To-Go_-_5771_Rabbi_Flug.pdf

37
38
39
40
An 18th-century manuscript of the prayer of Al HaNissim on the miracles of
Purim

41
Rav Itamar Eldar writes:14

Most of the holidays are mentioned for the first time in the Torah: the holiday of Pesach, the
holiday of Matzot, the counting of the Omer, Shavuot, Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur, Sukkot and
Shmini Atzeret. This is not true with respect to Chanuka and Purim.

In many respects, however, Chanuka shares characteristics of the holidays mentioned in

the Torah. Divine revelation through a great miracle, redemption of the Temple, priesthood, war
waged over the Jewish spirit, reestablishment of the kingdom of Israel – all these are directly
connected to the great miracles, the spiritual messages, and the striving for the kingdom and
redemption of Israel that characterize all of the Torah's holidays.

In this respect, Purim deviates from all of the holidays of Israel, including Chanuka. Purim
is a holiday of exile. It grows out of the reality of exile and subjugation to an old and foolish king.
Even when the holiday reaches its climax, the Jews remain in the same exile, as subjects of the
same king who just yesterday handed over his ring to the enemies of Israel, today gives it to the
Jews, and tomorrow – who knows who will receive it.

This point also follows from what is stated in the following talmudic passage:

According to Rava, Hallel cannot be recited on Purim as it is recited on the other holidays,
because the rescue of the Jewish people was a passing episode. The fact that we remained slaves
to Achashverosh does not allow our joy to be complete.

Rava's explanation can also be understood in another way. So writes the Lubavitcher Rebbe
in his explanation of Rava's reason for the absence of Hallel on Purim, "We are still servants of
Achashverosh":

14
https://etzion.org.il/en/holidays/purim/purim-%E2%80%93-holiday-exile

42
For the recitation of Hallel, we require a state of being servants of the Lord. (Likkutei Sichot 36, p.
167)

One who reads the Megilla is surprised every year anew by the fact that God's name is
nowhere mentioned in the book. In order to remove God and His providence from the stories
relating to the miracles associated with the exodus from Egypt, the parting of the Red Sea, the
giving of the Torah, and even the miracle of the cruse of oil, we would have to work exceedingly
hard to turn the unbelievable and unimaginable into something understandable and reasonable; we
would have to explain how the miracle is in fact nature. But as for the story of deliverance related
in the book of Esther, this can be done with no special effort. We can even say that
the Megilla itself does this on our behalf. Possible and logical coincidences, wisdom, daring, lust
for women, savvy against arrogant complacency - these are the human elements that shape the
story of Esther. This is a story that at first glance seems to share much with second-rate novels.

The problem with "We are still servants of Achashverosh," as it appears from the words of
the Lubavitcher Rebbe, is not only the political reality of the Jewish people, but their mental state
– "a state of the servants of Achashverosh." Ostensibly, contemplating reality through the
spectacles of nature, of law and even of chance, is the reality of servitude.

This distinction between Purim and the other Jewish holidays raises a great difficulty when
we read the following words of Chazal:

It is precisely this minor holiday, from which the name of God and His manifest miracles
are missing, and which did not bring about a significant change in the historical standing of the
people of Israel – that was selected from among all the holidays never to be cancelled in the
future.[1]

At first glance, this is difficult and incomprehensible. The difficulty is sharpened in light
of the standing of Purim, as it is understood by the Sefat Emet:

43
 While the Torah's holidays commemorate the Divine process of leading the people of Israel
from Egypt to the Promised Land and then to the establishment of the monarchy and the building
of the First Temple, Purim is a preparation for the building of the Second Temple.[3] This is true
not only because of Purim's historical location, but also because it expresses the nature of the
Second Temple, whereas the other holidays of Israel express by their nature the days of the First
Temple.[4]

This only intensifies the question regarding the importance of Purim and its remaining in
force even in the future. After all, how great is the difference between the period of the First
Temple and that of the Second Temple!

First, there is the matter of prophecy. The long period from the days of Moshe and the
exodus from Egypt to the beginning of the Second Temple period is accompanied by the word of
God given to the prophets, and the beginning of the Second Temple marks, among other things,
the end of this period, the period of prophecy.

The question immediately arises: Were not the prophets of the First Temple period at a
higher level than the Members of the Great Assembly? Despite their wisdom, and their
righteousness, and the holy spirit that rested upon them, the Members of the Great Assembly did
not merit Divine revelation through sounds and visions, as did the prophets of the First Temple –
Yirmeya, Yeshaya, Yechezkel, and the others.

Second, there is the matter of miracles. Well known are the words of Chazal about the ten
miracles in the First Temple,[5] that were sort of a continuation of the miracles performed for Israel
from the time of the exodus from Egypt, through their entry into and conquest of the land, and to
the establishment of the Temple. All of these were absent during the days of the Second Temple.
Once again it may be asked: Does this not widen the gap between the First and Second Temples,
in favor of the First Temple?

Third, there is the national, political situation. The First Temple was built when the
kingdom was well established in the hands of King Shlomo. Peace reigned in the land, and the
kingdom of Israel was large, strong and broad, and it was a light unto the nations.

The Second Temple was built in the context of exile. Its construction was made possible
by virtue of the permission and authority of the Persian kingdom, and the vast majority of Jews
did not respond to the challenge and return to land of Israel.

Let us once again ask: Was not the glory of the First Temple greater than that of the Second
Temple?

Fourth, there is the Written Law as opposed to the Oral Law. The Second Temple period
is the time of the flourishing of the Oral Law, from which the spirit of Israel was built, whereas
during the First Temple period the people drew still from the Written Law and the halakhot that
were related to Moshe at Sinai.

44
 These distinctions between the First Temple period and the Second Temple period sharpen
the distinction between Purim and the other holidays of Israel: miracles, prophecy, the Written
Law as opposed to the Oral Law. Why then is Purim an everlasting holiday? The Sefat
Emet continues:

It would appear that with these words the Sefat Emet wishes to define the principle that
distinguishes between the two Temples. We will try to deepen our understanding of what he is
saying by understanding the following marvelous passage, which concerns the dispute between
Rabbi Eliezer and the Sages regarding the purity of the “oven of Akhnai”:

These words can be understood as the Oral Law's "Declaration of Independence."

Rabbi Eliezer zealously tries to hold onto the ancient model of halakhic decision-making
and the nature of the revelation of the Torah since the days of Moshe. When Moshe is ignorant of
the law, he asks God. When the king wishes to clarify whether or not he should go out to war, he
asks by way of the Urim and Tumim. So too the prophets teach the path of God to their
contemporaries by way of their prophecies.

Rabbi Eliezer does not want to tell his disputants that his own reasoning is better than
theirs. He comes to demonstrate that his position accords with the Divine will. He adduces proofs
using the language of the Written Law: the walls of the schoolhouse incline to fall, in the same
way that God showed his greatness to all the peoples of the earth when He brought down the walls
of Jericho. A stream of water changes its direction in the same way that the Red Sea was split and

45
the Jordan retreated. A Heavenly Voice issues forth, similar to the word of God that was directed
to Moshe and Israel at Mount Sinai. What else must God say, so that the Sages will accept the
view of Rabbi Eliezer?

The Sages, in their stubbornness, wish to rescue the Oral Law. With their holy spirit, the
Sages internalized the dramatic change that took place during the Second Temple period. They
understood that reliance on signs and miracles voids the legitimacy of the entire Oral Law, which
fundamentally does not rely on such things. They therefore assert the daring principle which
contains a measure of provocation toward God – It is not in heaven!

And He planted Eternal life within us

It appears, however, that the Sefat Emet, with no less daring, and perhaps even more,
wishes to explain the Sages' ignoring the Heavenly Voice not only as a technical constraint, a lack
of prophecy and revelation of the Divine Presence. The Sefat Emet teaches us that the line from
the prayer: "Who gave us the Torah of truth and planted eternal life within us," describes two tracks
– two channels, by way of which the Torah was given to Israel.

The Sefat Emet writes elsewhere:

The reasoning of the Men of the Great Assembly, and afterwards the Pairs, the Tannaim,
the Amoraim, the Geonim, the Rishonim, and the Acharonim, does not stand in contradiction to
Divine revelation. Nor are they "human rationales" that attempt only to clarify, to analyze, and to
understand the Divine revelation at Mount Sinai. They give expression to another manner through
which God gives us the Torah and continues to give it to us throughout the generations – the
immanent giving of the Torah. The “positive traits that were implanted in the hearts of Israel” are
the eternal life that God planted within us, and they reflect the immanent Divine revelation.[6]

It may now be suggested that the decision of the Sages of the Mishna to ignore the
Heavenly Voice reflects their desire to listen to the voice of God speaking in their midst. This
desire stems from the profound understanding that Divine providence provided them with the
opportunity, at this point in history, to expose a new Divine revelation, directly connected to the
spiritual situation in which they were found, as follows from these words of the Sefat Emet:

46
 The Sefat Emet opens this section as well with the people of Israel's immanent connection
to the Torah. Therefore, there is no reason to be alarmed by falls and declines, which have the
nature of an "end," since "better (tov) is the end of a thing than the beginning of it." That is to say,
the end is good (tov) when it cleaves to the beginning, and the people of Israel's eternal connection
to the Torah turns all of their falls into something that is "tov." It seems, however, that the Sefat
Emet wishes to say something more than that, even if he does not do so explicitly.

The simpler understanding of "better is the end of something than the beginning of it" is
that the end is better than the beginning, according to which the letter mem in the word me-
acharito is not the mem that indicates a source – the end that comes from the beginning – but rather
the mem that indicates relationship – the end is better than the beginning.

The matter is alluded to by the famous talmudic passage that is cited by the Sefat Emet at
the beginning of the passage:

Rav Acha bar Yaakov asserts that the overturning of the mountain like a cask provides the
people of Israel with an excuse for all generations, allowing them to argue that they are not
obligated to keep the Torah, as they only accepted it under duress. This is the strong protest against
the Torah. Therefore Rava comes and teaches us that in the days of Achashverosh, they confirmed
and accepted – the Jews once again chose God and His Torah, this time by choice, and not through
coercion.

47
 From here the Sefat Emet arrives at an amazing distinction: Israel's receiving of the Torah
in the beginning on Mount Sinai was a public event, and therefore the evil eye rested upon it,
whereas their receiving of the Torah on Purim was done discretely, in a concealed manner, and
therefore it was never subject to the control of the evil eye.

The Sefat Emet teaches us that all content and value, every law and obligation that comes
to a person from the outside, has an aspect of "overturning a mountain like a cask." The people of
Israel were drawn into an agreement to accept the Torah when they said, "We will do and obey,"
in the wake of a sequence of events of Divine revelation which demonstrated His mighty hand and
outstretched arm, with signs and wonders, manifest miracles and great noise. Who would dare say
"no" after all this? Who would want to say "no" after all this?

However, the primary problem is not the courage to refuse. It is not the threat: "If you
accept the Torah, it is well; if not, there shall be your burial," that opens the door to the evil eye.
It is precisely the great light, the total revelation, the great noise, or as the Sefat Emet formulates
the matter, the public nature of the event, that divert a person's attention from himself, from his
inner desire, from his self-adjustment to the revelation, from introspection, and bring him to a state
of ecstasy and an out of body experience. His eyes are lifted to the top of the mountain, his mind
is set on the heavy cloud and on Moshe, God's representative, who approaches the thick darkness
where God is found.

Is he worthy? Does he want this? Is there any inner assent to the agreement which reached
expression in the words: "We will do and obey"? He does not ask any of these questions; he does
not even think about them. His mind, his consciousness, his feelings are not directed to any of this.

But in just another minute, the noise will be silenced, the cloud will disappear, and the fog
will dissipate. At that point the person will find himself in a relationship, in service into which he
was carried away. Now, after the storm, he panics. Really? Is this my place? Is this my choice? Is
this my level? The evil eye rules.

When the public dimension disappears, the individual remains in his private domain and
asks himself time and time again: Am I in a place that is appropriate for me?

The Torah which comes from the top down, from the mountaintop to the people of Israel,
both in terms of the initiative and drama and in terms of the movement, is indeed a "beginning,"
but it leaves a wide breach for the argument whose halakhic expression is: "This furnishes a strong
protest against the Torah." In existential terms this refers to great uncertainty, extensive
undermining, terrible detachment, all of which led to the golden calf and the lawlessness that
surrounded it.

The repair of this giving of the Torah is "And I will hide My face." The Sefat Emet teaches
us that the "I" is the "I" of the Ten Commandments, and the idea of Purim is the hiding of this "I"
– "Verily You are a God who hides Yourself; You are the God of Israel who saves them"
(Yeshaya 45:15).

48
 Perhaps it is here that the Sefat Emet teaches us the most important principle of all. The
only way to reach a receiving of the Torah that is "from the bottom up," an inner receiving of the
Torah, one that stems from inner desire, passes through "And I will hide My face."

Only through silencing of the public dimension is this possible. Without thunder and
lightning, without ten manifest miracles, without prophecy, and even without the Urim and
the Tumim. A deafening silence of God. The campaign is left, as it were, in the hands of an old
and foolish king, who determines the fate of the people of Israel. The power of the Written Law
dwindles – exile!

And in this darkness, in this great silence, and only in them, can an inner voice suddenly
be heard. A voice that had always called out, but owing to the great noise of the public aspects of
the event, the great miracles, the voice of God that cuts through heaven and earth from the top
down, this inner voice could never be heard.

And the light increasingly grows from the bottom up, the Divine revelation becomes
increasingly exposed from the inside out. This time we are dealing with personal, multifaceted
revelation that arises in each one of us, in accordance with one’s ability and devotion. There is no
public dimension that will obscure the differences, that will sweep away the deficiencies – all in
accordance with the truth of "and He planted eternal life within us."

This is cleaving, this is acceptance of the Torah over which the evil eye has no control,
because there are no gaps. What there is there is, and what is missing is missing. This is the "end"
that is higher, surprisingly, than the "beginning," precisely because it arose in the exile, precisely
because it grew from darkness, precisely because it is much less dramatic, much less ecstatic, but
it comes from the root of the soul that cleaves to the infinite.

The Sefat Emet teaches us that this is the power of the Oral Law that has a higher dimension
than the Written Law. "It is not in Heaven," in this sense, is not a compromise, but rather a striving
for a new revelation.

The Written Law was given at Sinai by way of Moshe – from the top down. The Oral Law
is given and grows by way of tens of thousands of students, from the Men of the Great Assembly,
through the Pairs, the Tannaim, the Amoraim, the Saboraim, the Geonim, the Rishonim, to the
latest Acharonim, who will never be the last – from the bottom up. And this Torah is multifaceted,
diverse, full of disagreements that reflect the different ways in which God reveals Himself through
His Sages. God is pleased by this revelation:

God remained silent and stepped aside in order to allow this revelation. He removed
Himself and contracted, in order to appear and to reveal Himself anew. The amazing talmudic
passage dealing with the oven of Akhnai ends as follows:

49
 We might say, with love and trepidation, when our hearts are happy with wine, that those
stubborn Sages who refused to listen to the Heavenly Voice rescued God from missing the
opportunity to appear in a new, inner and repaired light.

For a moment, God wanted to retreat. The darkness of exile and the detachment of the Torah
Sages from the direct words of God, terrified, as it were, even Him. Therefore God once again
appeared in an uprooted carob-tree, in a water stream that flowed backwards, and even in a
Heavenly Voice – as the Torah was given at Mount Sinai.

Let us forget about the exile, He suggests. Perhaps it is better that I continue to reveal Myself
and appear before You, so that I may speak My word. He almost pleads, as it were. But the Sages,
in their greatness, refuse to give in. They long to reveal the Divine light, the light of eternal life.
God smiles and says: Thank you, My dear wise men, My sons have defeated Me.

"And these days of Purim should not fail from Among the Jews"

This principle, according to the Sefat Emet, is also the reason why the days of Purim will
not pass, even after the rest of the holidays on the Jewish calendar will be cancelled:

The acquisition of the Torah from the bottom up is an acquisition that is not subject to the
evil eye. This acquisition authentically reflects the seeking of God on the part of the individual and
of the people of Israel. It is an eternal acquisition, and therefore it is accompanied by great joy.
The Sefat Emet cites the words of the Jerusalem Talmud (Orla 1:3, 6a):

This discussion relates to what is stated in the Mishna (Orla 1:5) regarding the branch of a
mature grape-vine that was grafted onto a different grape-vine and also in the earth. We must
consider whether the mature grape-vine provides for all the needs of the vine that surrounds it.
There is a practical difference with respect to the prohibition of orla.

Rabbi Bivi in the name of Rabbi Chanina in the Jerusalem Talmud proposes a criterion to
serve as an indication: When the leaves face the old grape-vine, this means that they do not draw

50
their nutrition from it; and when the leaves do not face it, this means that they draw their nutrition
from it. Rabbi Yuden bar Chanin wishes to establish a sign for this matter which he derives from
the normal way of the world: "One who eats that which is not his is embarrassed to look at [the
giver]."

The exodus from Egypt, the splitting of the Red Sea, the giving of the Torah, the clouds of
glory under which Israel found a haven, were all acts of absolute lovingkindness, great charity for
a nation of slaves that had just been liberated from their servitude. The Sefat Emet teaches us that
this lovingkindness, with all its marvels, casts a slight shadow on the perfection, the joy, and the
devotion. We are certainly dealing with a connection between Israel and God, but it may be said
that this connection is "back-to-back." There is embarrassment and discomfort. It is accompanied
by the feeling of unwarranted grace – "O Lord, righteousness belongs to You, but to us
embarrassment" (Daniel 9:7).

This is not the case with respect to Israel's receiving the Torah on Purim: from the bottom
up, out of inner awakening, by choice. This receiving of the Torah is filled with joy and the delight
of mutual face-to-face devotion. Inner and profound truth had just been exposed; truth had waited
for the exile, for the darkness, for concealment, in order to be exposed.

Sight as opposed to Logic that is heard

The Sefat Emet teaches us that not only is such a connection not subject to the rule of the
evil eye; it is also characterized by the fact that it contains an element of eternity. The Pachad
Yitzchak writes as follows:

Here Rabbi Yitzchak Hutner teaches us about inner hearing that is exposed specifically in
the darkness, specifically in concealment. At first glance, a candle illuminates with great light, and

51
it is precisely in listening that light is missing. It has darkness, absence, and concealment. In the
end, however, inner listening creates an encounter with eternity, with the unchanging. It brings us
into contact with dimensions that vision cannot see, and even interferes with seeing them.

The Nazir, R. David Cohen, writes as follows:

The Nazir distinguishes between light that is seen and vitality that is listened to and heard.
Elsewhere he calls this second phenomenon "auditory logic." According to the Nazir, hearing is
not absorbing information, but rather inner listening that does not pass through the world of
definitions and concepts, but instead it is absorbed by other means that are not from the world of

52
being. Auditory logic allows for penetration to the roots of existence and an inner meeting with
vitality itself, which comes from a supernal source – the infinite, the crown.

The great miracles of the exodus from Egypt, the splitting of the Red Sea, the assembly at
Mount Sinai – were seen with the eyes, and this seeing is a sign that cannot be denied.[7] The
miracle of Purim that is hidden in the Megilla, which is entirely devoid of God's name, cannot be
seen; one must listen for it.

This is the secret of Purim masks. When a person enters a room filled with his
acquaintances, as soon as they see his face, they know who he is. But were he to enter with a mask,
they would have to listen to his voice in order to know who he is. If he distorts his voice, they will
have to listen to the substance of his words in order to identify him. The more that he conceals, the
more that he disguises himself, the more he forces his acquaintances to contemplate him in a more
profound and inner manner.

This is the secret of Purim, and the Sefat Emet teaches us that this is also the secret of the
exile in general, concealment that necessitates deeper and more inner exposure.

The historical significance of the events of Purim is negligible. As stated, "We are still
servants of Achashverosh." However, Purim teaches us, as does the entire exile, to identify the
light of God in concealment, in darkness. This trait, which we acquire on Purim and which we
continue to acquire against our will in the days of our personal and national exile, is an eternal
acquisition, inner listening that touches upon the infinite.

According to the Pachad Yitzchak, this is also the basis of the obligation to drink wine on
Purim "until he does not know," for here too we choose to touch the light not through cognition,
not through reason or distinctions, but rather through a more inner intuition. The Sefat
Emet continues:

53
 The Sefat Emet takes note of the historical and annual cycles regarding the timing of
Amalek's arrival. The First Temple period began with Israel's exodus from Egypt, immediately
after which Amalek appeared, and the First Temple period ended and the Second Temple period
began at the time of Purim, when Haman of the seed of Amalek was defeated by the nation of
Mordechai.

So too in the story of Purim itself, the beginning of the buildup of Haman's strength was
on the thirteenth of Nissan, at the beginning of the year, Nissan being the first month of the year.
Amalek's defeat was on the thirteenth of Adar, that is, at the end of the year, Adar being the twelfth
month. Therefore, every year, the month of Adar is a time suited for the destruction of Amalek
and the beginning of a new era.

We have already noted that Amalek came at the beginning in order to cool down, to destroy
the enthusiasm of the great light, the great lovingkindness that man merited. Perhaps the Sefat
Emet means to teach us that the process of cooling down, of darkening, is essential. Amalek creates
an empty space, an abyss of doubt. He cools down the enthusiasm, subdues the ecstasy, and thereby
he commits a grave sin and becomes the most dangerous of Israel's enemies. However, the result
of this cooling down and darkening, we now learn, is a search for a more inner light, one that is
more real and more refined.

We can now say that Amalek's role at the beginning of the process was to create a kind of
"exile" in which there would arise renewed, inner, and deeper yearning for the light of God that is
revealed inside.

The exile is similar to a teenage boy's running away from home after becoming filled with
doubts about everything that he received from his parents. Now he wants to know who he really
is, to know himself, to reveal his powers. He must examine what is really his and what he was
coerced to receive (in the sense of overturning a mountain like a cask). The doubt destroyed the
boy's capability of receiving anything from his parents, but it invites him to engage in deep

54
introspection and uncover the inner truth, which is also his legacy by virtue of his parents, not by
way of words, lessons and classes, but in the sense of "And He planted within us eternal life."

Using the terminology of Rabbi Nachman, we can say that Amalek is the doubt that creates
the space that is empty of God, and therefore it offers a real opportunity for the world to be created
in that space. Rabbi Nachman teaches us that without that space God would not be able to reveal
Himself and appear before us.

Exile taught Israel to expose the dimension of "filling all the worlds," which might be
hidden, but it is infinite and illuminates with a much greater light than the dimension of "causing
all the worlds."

According to the Sefat Emet, it was in exile that we learned to pray, to be alone, to speak
to God, to feel, to sense, to listen to the voice of God that speaks inside of us. To know that even
in the absence of a great light, God illuminates the darkness of the innermost parts of the body.

Pesach, the exodus from Egypt, the giving of the Torah, the foundational events of the First
Temple period, taught us to see with our eyes the light of God that appears in a great noise before
the eyes of all living creatures in thunder and lightning, and echoes from one end of the world to
the other – "I am the Lord."

Purim, the foundational event of the Second Temple period, teaches us to listen with our
spiritual tools to the pulse that beats in routine life. Through inner and deep listening, we will find
that it too proclaims with that same great voice – "I am the Lord."

To accomplish this end, God hides Himself from us and puts on a disguise. In order that
we should listen, and be more sensitive and spiritual.

To do this we dress up, get drunk and for a moment lose our minds, our sight, and dedicate
ourselves to listening, to the dimension of "they confirmed and they accepted" from the bottom
up.

The Third Temple period, which with God's help will arrive shortly, will teach us how to
join heaven and earth, "Who gave us the Torah of truth" to "and planted eternal life within us."
Thus the Prophet promises:

55
 Giving that involves a covenant, in which there is a dialogue, not from the outside, but from
the inside. There will be no more lessons, no more studies, no more distinctions, no more sound
and light shows[8] – but rather inner emanation, the inner light of God, knowledge of God out of
devotion and connection, knowledge that involves receiving from the bottom up. However, in an
amazing, magical and incomprehensible manner, as can only be in the Third Temple period, at the
same time there will be giving from top to bottom. There will be a combination of transcendence
and immanence, of inside and outside, of lovingkindness and truth, of revelation and concealment.

[1]
The addition of Yom Kippur according to Rabbi Elazar only intensifies the question, for there is a huge difference between
Purim and Yom Kippur.
[2]
This teaching is long and we will be citing it in sections.
[3]
The Ramban in his novellae to Megilla maintains that the significant background to all of the events described in the book of
Esther is Israel's return to Zion during that period.
[4]
It should be noted that this distinction puts Chanuka and Purim on the same side as holidays of the Second Temple period, but
we will relate to Purim by itself, as does the Sefat Emet.
[5]
"Ten wonders were performed for our fathers in the Temple: No woman miscarried from the odor of the sacrificial flesh; the
sacrificial flesh never became putrid; no fly was seen in the slaughterhouse; no personal uncleanness occurred to the High Priest
on Yom Kippur; the rains did not extinguish the fire of the wood of the pile; the wind did not prevail against the column of smoke;
no disqualification was found in the omer or in the two loaves or in the shewbread; they stood pressed, yet prostrated themselves
with wide spaces between them; never did a serpent or a scorpion do injury in Jerusalem; and no man said to his fellow: The place
is too strait for me to lodge overnight in Jerusalem." (Avot 5:5)
[6]
Of course, attention should be paid to the mention of "cleaving" (devekut). The Divine light that reveals itself in each individual
requires clarification, refinement and exposure, and for that purpose one must cleave to God. One cannot be God's faithful agent
without cleaving to Him. In order to expose the dimension of "And He planted within us eternal life," one must refine oneself and
cling to God.
[7]
Rabbi Yehuda Halevi tries to base the Jewish faith on these events, as they are proven and undeniable.
[8]
This question is not only a question of faith regarding God’s revelations in this world, but also an existential question connected
to the act of educating and teaching. The tension between the desire to educate, instruct, convey messages, provide information,
establish norms, etc., and the desire to enable inner exposure, to learn to listen to yourself, to allow a comfortable climate for
creating and revelation, is a constant tension.
Inevitably we know that the more we teach, the more we pass on, the more we educate, the less room we allow for inner
listening, and the person being "educated" is liable to lose himself along with the Divine revelation beating within him. We must
learn to be like God and walk in His ways. To go out into exile. To be silent. To leave our students alone. To diminish our power.
To be less demagogic, not to be tempted by mind-blowing classes full of drama and attractions. We must learn to make room, to
allow ourselves and our students to listen to our inner voices.
On the other hand, God not only fills the world, but also causes it, and it is our foremost obligation to ourselves and to
our students to learn to see, to observe, to be prepared for "the overturning of the mountain like a cask."
How sweet is the vision of the prophet Yirmeya who succeeds in leaping between the two poles and uniting them in
complete unity. The giving of the Torah, on the one hand, and the receiving of the Torah, on the other. Listening inward which is
essentially also looking outward – that is the covenant!

56
 Unorthodox? How Megillat Esther Justifies the Holiday of Purim

Tzvi Sinensky writes:15

Purim is widely viewed as the ultimate rule-breaker. Many universal halakhic categories, including
cross-dressing, rabbinic violations of wearing wool and linen, and the laws of damages, are very-
nearly abrogated. Purim’s observance on two distinct dates – 14 Adar for unwalled cities and 15
Adar for walled ones – and the ancient practice of some communities to read the Megillah as early
as 11 Adar (see Megillah 2a), suggest that Purim departs radically from the holiday norm. More
generally, its levity and drunkenness lend the day a carnivalesque character. These anomalies alone
raise questions about Purim’s credibility as a Jewish holiday. But even more fundamentally, as
discussed extensively in the halakhic literature, the unprecedented innovation of a post-Mosaic
holiday is highly questionable in its own right,[1] and there are hints in the Megillah itself that the
people were slow to accept Purim as a permanent holiday.[2] Taken as a whole, these irregularities
seem to suggest, Purim’s very legitimacy seems precarious.

Quite possibly seeking to address these idiosyncrasies, Esther chapter nine goes out of its way to
explain the process of Purim’s ratification. The Megillah is painstaking in its depiction of Esther
and Mordekhai’s letters urging the holiday’s establishment, as well as the community’s gradual

15 https://thelehrhaus.com/scholarship/unorthodox-how-megillat-esther-justifies-the-holiday-of-purim/

57
acceptance. It also accounts for the distinction between walled and unwalled cities by depicting
the Jews of Shushan as having rested from their battle a day later than those in other locations.

Yet even after we finish reading the Megillah, questions remain. Does communal acceptance
suffice to establish a new holiday? Don’t Purim’s unusual mitzvot mark it as peculiar? After all,
the commandments referenced in the Megillah seem unusual, especially mishloah manot, which
seems to have no precedent in any biblical holiday. Possibly seeking to address these outstanding
difficulties, the Megillah invokes analogues to other books in Tanakh, both in terms of
its mitzvot and the storyline. Consequently, a close comparison between Esther and other biblical
works suggests that the Megillah forwards a cluster of interrelated arguments: that there is solid
precedent to see communal acceptance as binding in establishing an annual observance, and that
while they may appear unusual, the day’s mitzvot (and storyline) are actually quite familiar.
Ultimately, the Megillah suggests that its climax is even a partial actualization of the prophets’
messianic vision.

Esther explicitly appeals to biblical precedent on just one occasion. Curiously, the verse records
that “these days of Purim shall be observed at their proper time, as Mordekhai the Jew and Queen
Esther has obligated them to do, and just as they have assumed for themselves and their
descendants the obligation of the fasts with their lamentations [divrei ha-tzomot ve-za’akatam]”
(9:31). To what fasts and lamentations does this refer?

Many have seen in this verse an allusion to a historical fast day that served as the basis for Ta’anit
Esther. For instance, Rabbeinu Tam (cited by Rosh Megillah 1:1) holds that the
Talmud’s (Megillah 2a) term “a time of gathering for all” refers to the Jews having gathered to
fast on 13 Adar before going out to battle. According to other sources, such
as Masekhet Sofrim (21:1) and (probably) Maimonides’ Mishneh Torah (Hilkhot Ta’aniyot 5:5),
the Jews fasted in Nissan upon first hearing of Haman’s decree, and it is to this fast that the verse
refers.[3]

In fact, however, the face reading of the verse appears to have nothing to do with Ta’anit Esther,
which is not mentioned in the Megillah. Instead, as Ibn Ezra, Ralbag, and Malbim (9:31) contend,
the verse more likely refers to the Jews’ earlier acceptance of the four fast days associated with the
Temple’s destruction: those of Tammuz, Av, Tishrei, and Tevet. This itself can be understood in
one of two ways: either the Four Fasts were initially instituted through communal
consensus following the First Temple’s destruction (Ibn Ezra to Esther 9:31 and Zekhariah 8:19)
or, while they were initially enacted by force of rabbinic decree, they remained binding after the
construction of the Second Temple due to popular acceptance (see Rosh Hashanah 18b). Either
way, Esther claims the Four Fasts as precedent for the community’s ability to impose new days of
mourning or celebration.

Indeed, this reading of “the fasts and their lamentations” dovetails perfectly with an otherwise
elusive section of Zekhariah, who prophesied in roughly the same period as the events of
Purim.[4] Following the building of the Second Temple, which the community saw as a mere
shadow of the First, the navi is asked whether or not the community should continue to observe
the fasts associated with the Temple’s destruction. Instead of answering directly, Zekhariah

58
responds rhetorically, insisting that the Jews had never fasted for God’s sake but for their own. In
the continuation of chapters seven and eight, echoing a common prophetic motif, he goes on to
underscore the priority of ethical behavior over fasting, and concludes with a messianic vision that
foresees a time when the Four Fasts will be days of celebration.

While Zekhariah never directly answers the question posed to him – whether or not the Jews
continued to fast during the Second Temple period becomes a subject of debate among medieval
commentaries[5] – the larger implication is clear: Zekhariah’s scathing rebuke is rooted in the
assumption that it was legitimate for the community to accept the fasts upon itself in the first place
(and that, upon the Temple’s rebuilding, the community can therefore determine whether or not to
abrogate the fasts). The phrase “the obligation of the fasts with their lamentations,” then, seeks to
rebut a potential objection to the legitimacy of Purim: if the prophet Zekhariah held that the Four
Fasts had achieved binding status through communal acceptance, much the same may be said for
Purim.

Still other readers of the the Megillah may have been perturbed by the seeming unfamiliarity of
Purim’s mitzvot. To take the case of mishloah manot, it is widely assumed that this practice is
rooted in the unique events of the Purim narrative. Perhaps best-known in this vein is the view of
R. Shlomo Alkabetz who, in his Manot ha-Levi, explains that the purpose of mishloah manot is to
increase unity. This represents the opposite of Haman’s intention, which was to declare the Jews
a “scattered and dispersed” people (Esther 3:8).

Yet a close examination of the parallels between Esther chapter nine and Nehemiah chapter eight
suggests that, in fact, mishloah manot was viewed at the time as a quintessential holiday activity.
To review, Sefer Nehemiah depicts a stirring moment of mass repentance. On the first day of the
seventh month, the recent returnees from Babylon to the Land of Israel hear the Torah read
publicly. The community comprehends the radical extent of their ignorance, and they wish to
mourn. Yet Ezra and the Levites insist that Rosh Hashanah is no day for sadness. In doing so, they
echo not only the Megillah’s requirement of mishteh [feasting], but also mishloah manot:

[Ezra] further said to them, “Go, eat choice foods and drink sweet drinks and send portions [ve-
shilhu manot] to whoever has nothing prepared, for the day is holy to our Lord. Do not be sad, for
your rejoicing in the Lord is the source of your strength.” The Levites were quieting the people,
saying, “Hush, for the day is holy; do not be sad.” Then all the people went to eat and drink and
send portions and make great merriment, for they understood the things they were
told. (Nehemiah 8:10-12)

At first glance, the inclusion of mishloah manot in this passage seems curious. What association
is there between this mitzvah, generally associated with Purim, and Rosh Hashanah? The generic
language of the text – “for today is holy to the Lord” – suggests that there need not be a specific
connection between the first of Tishrei and sending portions. Instead,
as Malbim and Ralbag assert, sending portions is an integral part of typical Jewish holiday
observance. Returning to the Megillah, the implication of this intertextual parallel seems clear: at
least during that time period, mishloah manot was deemed an important part of any Jewish holiday.

59
In context, then, it is highly plausible that the Jews reading Esther might well have seen mishloah
manot as carrying a rather traditional flavor.

We can similarly account for the presence of gifts for the poor as part of the institution of Purim.
While not explicit in the passage in Nehemiah – we would hardly expect an obligation of charity
on a day that is subject to the biblical prohibition against labor – matanot la-evyonim are a basic
component of any biblical holiday. For while the terminology may be novel to Esther, the concept
is anything but: the Torah itself links the holidays with the imperative to “leave the [crops] for the
poor and the stranger” (Leviticus 23:22). In a similar spirit, the Torah urges one to celebrate the
holidays with “your male and female slave, the Levite in your communities, and the stranger, the
fatherless, and the widow in your midst” (Deuteronomy 16:11).

Further, the Megillah’s seemingly unusual emphasis on the celebration of the Jews “and all those
that joined them” [“ve’al kol ha-nilvim aleihem”] (9:27) may be understood in this light:
the Megillah merely mimics the theme set forward by the Torah, which charges that you “shall
rejoice in your festival, with your son and daughter, your male and female slave, the Levite, the
stranger, the fatherless, and the widow in your communities” (Deuteronomy 16:14; see
similarly 16:11). Accordingly, in formulating this requirement, Maimonides invokes the language
of Esther: “One is required to rejoice and be cheerful on those days, along with his wife, children,
grandchildren, and all his dependents” [“ve-khol ha-nilvim alav”] (Hilkhot Yom Tov 6:17).

By reading Esther in relation to Nehemiah and Humash, we gain new perspective on the holiday’s
seemingly unique observances, which would have been quite familiar to the reader. Even as they
may carry unique significance in relation to the Purim story, mishloah manot and matanot la-
evyonim simultaneously cloak Purim in the traditional garb of Jewish holiday observance.

Not only does the Megillah advocate the traditionalism of the holiday’s ritual observances, but it
even casts its storyline in a mode that immediately recalls familiar stories of Jewish heroism. The
parallels between Esther and the Yosef narratives are widely recognized and need not be
repeated. Esther also echoes many of the central elements of the book of Daniel: Mordekhai and
Esther’s influential roles in the Persian court are reminiscent of Daniel’s position in Babylon; wine
plays a pivotal role in both books; and Hananyah, Mishael, and Azaryah’s refusal to bow to
Nebuchadnezzar’s idol parallels Mordekhai’s refusal to prostrate before Haman. It is less clear
why the Megillah underscores these parallels. While numerous interpretations may be offered, in
light of our larger thesis, it appears that Esther means to suggests that the Purim story is not novel.
Quite the opposite: it follows the familiar narrative arc of other diasporic heroes that were widely-
known to its readership.

Yet the Megillah, beyond leaning on wide-ranging intertextual clues to stake its claim to
legitimacy, takes one final step. Returning to the parallels between Esther and Zekhariah, we may
appreciate a final textual oddity. Toward the book’s conclusion, Esther stresses that that Esther
and Mordekhai promulgated “words of peace and truth” (9:30). What could this possibly mean?
Similarly, the Megillah concludes by emphasizing that Mordekhai “sought good for his nation,
and spoke peace to all his progeny” (10:3). Why all the talk of peace and truth?

60
While the commentaries suggest many interpretations for both phrases, it is striking that in the
same chapters we previously cited, Zekhariah repeatedly calls for a return to precisely these values:

Later, he urges much the same:

Finally, this leads to the fulfillment of the messianic vision:

It is no coincidence that in the space of just a few verses, particularly at its conclusion,
the Megillah twice invokes this vision of peace and truth. The implication is that Esther and
Mordekhai’s leadership helps the Jews come closer to fulfilling the messianic vision of Zekhariah.
The protagonists bring peace to the Jewish people by fending off anti-Semites and advocating on
behalf of their brethren. What is more, by ensuring that their people are protected, and,
through mishloah manot and matanot la-evyonim, that all Jews and communities feel included,
Esther and Mordekhai advocate for justice and inclusion.

Taken altogether, the Megillah’s rhetoric suggests that precisely because Purim initially appears
unorthodox, the text labors to root the holiday in well-trodden biblical precedent. Taking a step
further, Esther’s conclusion implicitly transcends its defensive posture and goes on the offensive:
Mordekhai not only draws on the precedent of Zekhariah’s Four Fasts, but embodies the ethical
character that will usher in the messianic era. Properly appreciated, the Megillah suggests, not only
is Purim legitimate, but it is a harbinger of the very qualities that will transform the Fasts into
“occasions for joy and gladness.”

[1]
The Talmud (Megillah 14a) teaches: “The Sages taught in a beraita: Forty-eight prophets and seven prophetesses prophesied on
behalf of the Jewish people, and they neither subtracted from nor added onto what is written in the Torah, except for the reading of
the Megillah. What is the exposition? R. Hiyya bar Avin in the name of R. Yehoshua ben Korha: If, from [Egyptian] slavery to
freedom we recite songs, from death to life is it not all the more so?” The assumption seems to be that Purim is only legitimate if
rooted in biblical precedent. Even more explicitly, the Yerushalmi (Megillah 1:5) states that were it not rooted in the preexisting
obligation to destroy the nation of Amalek, the establishment of Purim would have constituted a violation of the prohibition against
a prophet establishing a new holiday. Along these lines, most authorities, such as Nahmanides (Commentary to Deuteronomy 4:2)
and Vilna Gaon (Aderet Eliyahu to Deut. 4:2), maintain that one who adds a holiday stands in violation of bal tosif. The position
of Minhat Hinukh (to Mitzvah 454), who asserts that bal tosif only applies to one who adds to an existing mitzvah, does not reflect
the predominant view.

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[2]
The second half of chapter nine lists at least three instances of the Jews having accepted Purim as a holiday: on the original
occasion of the military victory, following Mordekhai’s letter, and following the letter jointly composed by Esther and Mordekhai.
Possibly, there is a fourth additional reference that appears in between the Megillah’s reference to these two letters. This reiteration
suggests that Purim’s establishment required continual reinforcement. Indeed, Ibn Ezra (9:29 s.v. va-Tikhtov) notes the repetition
and goes so far as to suggest that the holiday was initially accepted yet subsequently dropped for a period of time. For a brief
presentation of this view, see Adele Berlin, The JPS Bible Commentary: Esther (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2001),
83.

[3]
For further discussion, see Rav Soloveitchik’s analysis, summarized here.

[4]
This depends on the controversy concerning whether the events of Purim transpired between the First and Second Temple, or
after the Second Temple had been rebuilt. For a summary, see here.

[5]
For a summary of the literature, see Dr. David Hanschke’s discussion. See also a summary of Rav Soloveitchik’s analysis here.

PESHAT AND DERASH IN MEGILLAT ESTHER[1]

Rabbi Hayyim Angel writes:16

INTRODUCTION

Megillat Esther is among the most difficult biblical books to study anew, precisely because
it is so familiar. Many assumptions accompany us through our study of the Megillah, occasionally
clouding our perceptions of what is in the text and what is not.

Any serious study of the peshat messages of the Megillah must begin with a clear sense of
what is explicitly in the text, what can be inferred legitimately from the text, and what belongs
primarily in a thematic exposition, using the text as a springboard for important religious concepts.
This chapter will consider some pertinent examples from Megillat Esther.

16 https://www.jewishideas.org/article/esther-peshat-and-derash-megillat-esther

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 PESHAT CONSIDERATIONS IN THE MEGILLAH

A. THE SAUL–AGAG REMATCH

On five occasions in the Megillah, Haman is called an “Agagite.”[2] Several early traditions
consider this appellation a reference to Haman’s descent from King Agag of Amalek, whom Saul
defeated (I Sam. 15).[3]

Similarly, several midrashic traditions identify the Kish of Mordecai’s pedigree (2:5) with
Saul’s father (I Sam. 9:1).[4] From this vantage point, Mordecai’s recorded pedigree spans some
five centuries in order to connect him and Esther to Saul. If indeed Haman is of royal Amalekite
stock, and Mordecai and Esther descend from King Saul, then the Purim story may be viewed as
a dramatic rematch of the battle between Saul and Agag.

However, neither assumption is rooted in the text of the Megillah. The etymology of
“Agagite” is uncertain; while it could mean “from King Agag of Amalek,” it may be a Persian or
Elamite name.[5] Had the author wanted to associate Haman with Amalek, he could have dubbed
him “the Amalekite.” The same holds true for Mordecai and Esther’s descent from King Saul. If
the Megillah wished to link them it could have named Saul instead of “Kish” (Ibn Ezra). It is
possible that the Kish mentioned in the Megillah is Mordecai’s great-grandfather rather than a
distant ancestor.[6]

Regardless of the historical factuality of the aforementioned identifications, a strong argument

can be made for a thematic rematch between the forces of good and evil which runs parallel to Saul’s
inadequate efforts to eradicate Amalek. In this case, the association can be inferred from the text of
the Megillah itself.[7] The conflict between Mordecai and Haman as symbolic of a greater battle
between Israel and Amalek is well taken conceptually, but it is tenuous to contend that the biological
connections are manifest in the text. However, if the midrashim had received oral traditions regarding
these historical links, we accept them—ve-im kabbalah hi, nekabbel.

B. ASSIMILATION

It is sometimes argued that the turning point in the Megillah is when the Jews fast (4:1–3,
16–17; 9:31), thereby repenting from earlier assimilationist tendencies demonstrated by their sinful
participation in Ahasuerus’ party. According to this reading, Haman’s decree was direct retribution
for their communal sin. However, the text contains no theological explanation of why the Jews
“deserved” genocide; on the contrary, the sole textual motivation behind Haman’s decree is
Mordecai’s refusal to show obeisance to Haman (3:2–8). By staunchly standing out, Mordecai
jeopardizes his own life and the lives of his people.[8]

Moreover, there is no indication in the Megillah that the Jews ever did anything wrong. On
the contrary, the references to the Jews acting as a community display them mourning and
fasting,[9] first spontaneously, and then at Mordecai’s directive (4:1–3, 16–17; 9:31). They
celebrate their victory by sending gifts to each other and giving charity to the poor (9:16–28).

63
 Also consider Haman’s formulation of his request to exterminate the Jews: “Their laws are
different from every nation” (3:8). Several midrashim find in Haman’s accusation testimony that
the Jews observed the commandments and stood distinctly apart from their pagan counterparts.[10]

Curiously, the only overt indications of foreign influence on the Jews in the Megillah are
the names Mordecai and Esther, which likely derive from the pagan deities Marduk[11] and
Ishtar.[12] However, the use of pagan names need not indicate assimilation of Mordecai and Esther,
nor of the community at large.[13]

Not only is there no textual evidence of Jewish assimilation—on the contrary, the Megillah
consistently portrays Jews positively—but there is no rabbinic consensus on this matter either. The
oft-quoted Gemara used to prove assimilation states:

R. Shimon b. Yohai’s students suggested that the Jews deserved to be destroyed because of their
willing participation in Ahasuerus’ party, but they did not state what was wrong with this
participation. Song of Songs Rabbah 7:8 posits that the Jews sinned at the party by eating
nonkosher food. Alternatively, Esther Rabbah 7:13 considers lewdness the primary sin at the
party.[14]

A contrary midrashic opinion is found in Midrash Panim Aherim 2, which relates that the
Jews specifically avoided the party. Related sources describe that the Jews cried and mourned over
Ahasuerus’ festivities.[15]

Within the aforementioned rabbinic opinions, we find controversy over what was wrong
with the party and the extent of the Jews’ participation (if any). But this entire discussion becomes
moot when we consider that R. Shimon b. Yohai rejects his students’ hypothesis on the grounds
that only Shushan’s Jewry participated; the Jews in other provinces never attended either of
Ahasuerus’ parties.[16]

R. Shimon b. Yohai then submits his own opinion: the Jews bowed to “the image.” Rashi
avers that the image refers to the statue of Nebuchadnezzar erected and worshipped generations
earlier (see Daniel chapter 3), while Meiri (Sanhedrin 74b) quotes an alternative reading of our
Gemara, which indicates that the “image” was an idol that Haman wore as people bowed to him.[17]
Both possibilities present difficulties: According to Rashi, the Jews were to be punished for
the transgression of their ancestors, though there is no evidence that they perpetuated this sinful
conduct. According to Meiri’s alternative reading, the question of R. Shimon b. Yohai to his
students simply becomes more acute: only the members of the king’s court in Shushan bowed to
Haman. Most Jews of Shushan, and all Jews from the outer provinces, never prostrated before
Haman.

64
 In any case, the Gemara concludes that the Jews bowed without conviction. God “externally”
threatened the Jews in return, that is, the threat was perceived, not real. The Gemara never resolves
the theological question of why the Jews deserved such a harsh decree. The text of the Megillah
consistently portrays the Jews in a favorable light, and the Gemara’s ambivalence over the
theological cause of the Purim story only supports this positive assessment. In light of these factors,
we must relegate discussions of assimilation to the realm of derekh ha-derash, that is, assimilation
is something to be criticized, but the Megillah is not engaged in this condemnation—rather, it is
concerned with other religious purposes.

C. RELIGIOUS OBSERVANCE

The Megillah makes no mention of the distinctly commandment-related behavior of the

heroes, nor of the nation. Other than the term Yehudi(m), there is nothing distinctly Jewish in the
Megillah. Most prominent is the absence of God’s Name. Also missing are any references to the
Torah or specific commandments. In this light, the holiday of Purim could be viewed as a
nationalistic celebration of victory. The only sign of religious ritual is fasting; but even that
conspicuously is not accompanied by prayer. The omission of God’s name and prayer is even more
striking when we contrast the Masoretic Text with the Septuagint additions to the Megillah—
where the Jews pray to God and God intervenes on several occasions. In the Septuagint version,
God’s Name appears over fifty times.[18] It appears unmistakable that the author of the Megillah
intended to stifle references to God and Jewish religious practice. The second section of this
chapter will address the question of why this is so.

D. MORDECAI’S DISOBEDIENCE

Mordecai’s rationale for not prostrating himself involves his Jewishness (3:4), but the
Megillah does not explain how. Many biblical figures bow to kings and nobles as a sign of respect,
not worship; notably Esther bows to Ahasuerus in 8:3.[19] The text suggests that Mordecai did not
want to honor the king and his command (see 3:2–4), but this explanation seems puzzling. Would
Mordecai endanger his own life and the lives of all Jews[20] for this reason? Esther
Rabbah 6:2 finds it unlikely:

Other rabbinic sources contend that rather than wearing an idol, Haman considered himself a
deity.[22]
Nevertheless, the text never alludes to idolatry in regard to Haman, nor anywhere else in
the Megillah.[23] It appears that technical idolatry did not figure into Mordecai’s refusal to bow to
Haman. In the second section of this chapter, we will consider alternative responses to this
question.

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 To conclude, certain midrashic assumptions are without clear support in the biblical text,
and there often is disagreement in rabbinic sources. Both Mordecai and Esther’s biological
connection to Saul and Haman’s descent from Agag of Amalek are debatable. There is no evidence
of Jewish assimilation, nor is there testimony to overtly Jewish religiosity. Finally, it is unclear
why Mordecai refused to bow to Haman, which is surprising given the centrality this episode has
in the narrative.

Although these ambiguities make an understanding of the Megillah more complicated, they
also free the interpreter to look beyond the original boundaries of explanation and to reconsider
the text and its messages anew.

THE CENTRAL MESSAGES OF THE MEGILLAH

A. AHASUERUS AS THE MAIN CHARACTER

In determining the literary framework of the Megillah, Rabbi David Henshke notes that,
viewed superficially, chapter 1 only contributes Vashti’s removal, making way for Esther. However,
the text elaborately describes the king’s wealth and far-reaching power. This lengthy description
highlights the fact that there is a different plot. The king’s power is described in detail because it is
central to the message of the Megillah. Moreover the Megillah does not end with the Jews’
celebration. It concludes with a description of Ahasuerus’ wealth and power, just as it begins. The
bookends of the story point to the fact that the Purim story is played out on Ahasuerus’ stage.[24]

The other major characters—Esther, Mordecai, and Haman—are completely dependent on the
good will of the king. For example, the political influence of Esther and Mordecai ostensibly
contributed significantly to the salvation of the Jews. However, their authority was subject to the
king’s moods. Esther knew that Vashti had been deposed in an instant. The king even held a second
beauty contest immediately after choosing Esther as queen (2:19). When the moment to use her
influence arrived, Esther was terrified to confront the king to plead on behalf of her people. The fact
that she had not been summoned for thirty days reminded her of her precarious position (4:11).

Mordecai, who rose to power at the end of the Megillah, likewise must have recognized the
king’s fickleness. Just as the previous vizier was hanged, Mordecai never could feel secure in his new
position.

Rabbi Henshke points out that after Haman parades Mordecai around Shushan (a tremendous
moral victory for Mordecai over his archenemy), Mordecai midrashically returns to his sackcloth and
ashes (see Megillah 16a). After Haman is hanged, which should have ended the conflict between
Mordecai and Haman, only the king is relieved, because the threat to his own wife is eliminated
(7:10). Even after Ahasuerus turns Haman’s post over to Mordecai, Esther still must grovel before
the king (8:1–6). The Jews remain in mortal fear because of the king’s decree, irrespective of Haman.

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 B. GOD AND AHASUERUS

Most of the main characters of the Megillah have counterparts: Mordecai opposes Haman;
Esther is contrasted to Vashti (and later Zeresh). On the surface, only Ahasuerus does not have a
match—but behind the scenes, he does: it is God.[25] While God’s Name never appears in the
Megillah, “the king” appears approximately 200 times. It would appear that Ahasuerus’ absolute
power is meant to occupy the role normally assigned to God elsewhere in Tanakh.[26]

Everyone must prostrate before the king’s vizier—how much more respect is therefore required
for the one who appointed him! And one who enters the throne room without the king’s permission
risks his or her life—reminiscent of the Jewish law of the gravity of entering the Holy of Holies,
God’s “throne room.” Even the lavish parties at the beginning of the Megillah fit this theme. Instead
of all the nations of the world coming to the Temple in Jerusalem to serve God (Isa. 2:2–4), all the
nations of the world come to the palace in Shushan to see Ahasuerus’ wealth and to get drunk.

C. THE MEGILLAH AS SATIRE[27]

Along with Ahasuerus’ authority and absolute power comes a person riddled with caprice and
foolishness. Ahasuerus rules the world, but his own wife does not listen to him. He makes decisions
while drunk and accepts everyone’s advice. Rabbi Henshke convincingly argues that the primary
point of the Megillah is to display the ostensible power of a human king while satirizing his
weaknesses.

The patterns established in chapter 1 continue throughout the Megillah. Haman is promoted
simply because the king wants to promote him. This promotion occurs right after Mordecai saves the
king’s life and is not rewarded at all. Despite the constant emphasis on the king’s laws, Ahasuerus
readily sells an innocent nation for destruction and drinks to that decision (3:11–15). Later he still has
the audacity to exclaim, “mi hu zeh ve-ei zeh hu!” (who is he and where is he, 7:5). Despite the king’s
indignant proclamation, the answer to his question is that it is the king himself who is the enemy of
the Jews![28]

The striking parallel between Haman’s decree (3:11–15) and Mordecai’s (8:7–14) further
illustrates the king’s inconstancy: both edicts follow the identical legal procedure and employ virtually
the same language, yet one allows the Jews to be exterminated while the other permits the Jews to
defend themselves. The decree of self-defense rather than a repeal of Haman’s decree of
extermination demonstrates that Ahasuerus is subservient to his own decrees to the point where he
cannot even retract them himself (1:19; 8:8, cf. Dan. 6:9, 13, 15-16). Finally, the Bigtan and Teresh
incident (2:21–23) serves as a reminder that the king’s power was precarious and that his downfall
could arise suddenly from within his Empire.[29]

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 D. MORDECAI’S DISOBEDIENCE

We may identify two layers of motivation for Mordecai’s not bowing to Haman: Rabbi Yaakov
Medan asserts that Mordecai does not bow because he needs to send a strong message to Israel:
passivity in the face of evil can cause even more harm in the future.[30]

In light of Rabbi Henshke’s analysis, another answer emerges: Mordecai wishes to oppose the
king’s command (3:2, 4). Once the king promotes Haman (especially right after Mordecai had saved
the king’s life yet received no reward), Mordecai recognizes the fickle character of the king. Even
further, Mordecai perceives that Ahasuerus had “replaced” God as the major visible power in
Shushan. Thus Mordecai finds himself battling on two fronts. While superficially he opposes Haman,
his defiance actually is also a spiritual rebellion against Ahasuerus. Therefore the text stresses that
Mordecai was violating the king’s decree by refusing to prostrate before Haman.

The Gemara lends conceptual support for this dual battle of Mordecai. After Mordecai learns
of the decree of annihilation, he begins to mourn:

According to Rav, Haman was the primary threat to Mordecai and the Jews. Mordecai bewails
Haman’s manipulation of the weaker Ahasuerus. According to Samuel, Mordecai perceives that
Ahasuerus was too powerful. That Ahasuerus allowed such a wicked individual to rise to power
weakened the very manifestation of God in this world. Rav’s response addresses the surface plot,
the conflict between Haman and Mordecai. Samuel reaches to the struggle behind the scenes—
God’s conflict with Ahasuerus.

E. AN ALTERNATIVE TO THE WORLD OF AHASUERUS

Instead of stopping at its satire of the king, the Megillah offers an alternative lifestyle to the
world of Ahasuerus. As was mentioned earlier, the Megillah consistently portrays the Jews’ character
in a positive light. In 3:8, Haman contrasts the laws of the Jews with the laws of the king. Thus Jewish
laws and practices are an admirable alternative to the decrepit values represented by Ahasuerus’
personality and society.

Ahasuerus is a melekh hafakhpakh, a whimsical ruler. His counterpart, God, works behind the
scenes to influence the Purim story through the process of ve-nahafokh hu (9:1).[31] In the world of
the hafakhpakh everything is arbitrary, self-serving, and immoral. There is no justice: a Haman can
be promoted, as can a Mordecai. In contrast, God’s world of ve-nahafokh hu is purposeful and
just.[32] Although the reader is left wondering why the Jews were threatened in the first place, God
had justice prevail in the end.

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 Even in their victory, however, the Jews remain entirely under the power of Ahasuerus. As a
result, Purim is crippled as opposed to most other holidays:

CONCLUSION

The showdown between Haman and Mordecai is central to the surface plot, whereas the
more cosmic battle that pits God and Mordecai against the world of Ahasuerus permeates the frame
of the Megillah from beginning to end.

The reader is left helpless in the face of the question of why the Jews deserved this decree.
The Jews appear completely righteous, and it specifically is the heroic integrity of Mordecai which
endangers them in the first place. Yet the reader is led to confront God honestly, confident by the
end that there is justice in the world, even when it is not always apparent to the human eye. This
piercingly honest religiosity has been a source of spiritual inspiration throughout the Jewish world
since the writing of the Megillah. The Megillah challenges us and brings us ever closer to God—
who is concealed right beneath the surface.

[1]
This chapter is adapted from Hayyim Angel, “Peshat and Derash in Megillat Esther,” Purim Reader (New York: Tebah, 2009),
pp. 59-76; reprinted in Angel, Creating Space between Peshat and Derash: A Collection of Studies on Tanakh (Jersey City, NJ:
Ktav-Sephardic Publication Foundation, 2011), pp. 186-201.
[2]
See 3:1, 10; 8:3, 5; 9:24.
[3]
Mishnah Megillah 3:4 requires that Parashat Zakhor (Deut. 25:17–19) be read the Shabbat preceding Purim. Mishnah 3:6
mandates that the narrative of Amalek’s attack on the Israelites in the wilderness (Exod. 17:9–17) be read as the Torah portion of
Purim. Josephus (Antiquities XI:209) asserts that Haman was an Amalekite.
[4]
See, for example, Megillah 13b.
[5]
Yaakov Klein, Mikhael Heltzer, and Yitzhak Avishur et al. (Olam HaTanakh: Megillot [Tel Aviv: Dodson-Iti, 1996, p. 217])
write that the names Haman, Hamedata, and Agag all have Elamite and Persian roots.
[6]
Cf. Amos Hakham’s comments to 2:5 in Da’at Mikra: Esther, in Five Megillot (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Mossad HaRav Kook,
1973); Aaron Koller, “The Exile of Kish,” JSOT 37:1 (2012), pp. 45-56.
[7]
Hakham suggests that “Agagite” may be a typological name, intended to associate Haman conceptually with “Amalek,” i.e., he
acts as one from Amalek (the same way many contemporary Jews refer to anti-Semites as “Amalek” regardless of their genetic
origins). Jon D. Levenson (Old Testament Library: Esther [Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1997], pp. 56–57) adds
that Saul lost his kingdom to David as a result of not killing Agag; now Mordecai will reclaim some of Saul’s glory by defeating
Haman the Agagite—although the Davidic kingdom stopped ten years after Jeconiah was exiled (2:6).
[8]
See discussion in R. Haim David Halevi, Mekor Hayyim ha-Shalem (Hebrew), vol. 4, pp. 347–351.
[9]
Although the Jews’ mourning and fasting may indicate that they were repenting from sins, the text avoids any reference to what
these sins might have been. These religious acts just as easily could indicate a petition to God in times of distress.

69
[10]
See Esther Rabbah 7:12; cf. Megillah 13b; Abba Gorion 26; 2 Panim Aherim 68; Aggadat Esther 30–31; Esther
Rabbah and Targum Esther 3:8. Carey Moore (Anchor Bible 7B: Esther [New York: Doubleday, 1971], p. 39) translates mefuzzar
u-meforad as “scattered, yet unassimilated.” Hakham (on 3:8) suggests this possibility as well.
[11]
Mordecai is a variant of “Merodakh” (= Marduk). See Jer. 50:2; cf. II Kings 25:27 (~Jer. 52:31); Isa. 39:1.
See Megillah 12b; Esther Rabbah 6:3; 2 Panim Aherim 62; Pirkei D’Rabbi Eliezer 50; 1 and 2 Targum Esther 2:5, for midrashic
explications of Mordecai’s name.
[12]
See Megillah 13a (several alternative midrashic etymologies of the name Esther are given there as well). Yaakov Klein, Mikhael
Heltzer, and Yitzhak Avishur et al. (Olam HaTanakh: Megillot [pp. 238–239]) maintain that the name Esther derives from the
Persian word “star” (meaning “star” in English as well). They reject the derivation from Ishtar since a shin in a Babylonian word
(Ishtar) would not be transformed into a samekh in the Hebrew (Esther).
[13]
Even if pagan names suggest assimilation, it is possible that their host rulers gave them these names, as with Daniel and his
friends (Dan. 1:7). Cf. Megillah 13a: “The nations of the world called Esther this after Ishtar.” At any rate, it is clear that Esther
needed to conceal her Jewish identity, so her using the name Hadassah would have been unreasonable.
[14]
Cf. Esther Rabbah 2:11; Pirkei D’Rabbi Eliezer 48. Other midrashim look to other eras for theological causes of the Purim
decree. Esther Rabbah 1:10 turns to the Jews’ violation of Shabbat in the time of Nehemiah. Esther Rabbah 7:25 considers the
threat in the Purim story retribution for the brothers’ sale of Joseph. Esther Rabbah 8:1 blames Jacob’s deception of Isaac.
[15]
See midrashim cited in Torah Shelemah I:52, 60, 61.
[16]
Song of Songs Rabbah 7:8 concludes that even if only a few Jews participated in the party, all of Israel still could be held
responsible because of the principle of arevut, corporate national responsibility.
[17]
See, e.g., Esther Rabbah 6:2.
[18]
For further discussion of the Septuagint additions, see Carey Moore, Anchor Bible 44: Daniel, Esther and Jeremiah: The
Additions (New York: Doubleday, 1977), pp. 3-16; 153-262.
[19]
See Gen. 23:7; 27:29; 33:3; 42:6; I Sam. 24:8; II Sam. 14:4; I Kings 1:23. Amos Hakham notes that the
terms keri’ah and hishtahavayah (in Est. 3:2, 5) are collocated exclusively in regard to God, or to pagan deities.
[20]
Mordecai is a hero, but it is less evident whether his actions always should be considered exemplary (majority opinion), or
whether he should be considered a hero for reacting properly to a problem that he had created in the first place. See Rava’s opinion
in Megillah 12b–13a; Panim Aherim 2:3. One also could argue that Mordecai was willing to assume personal risk but did not
anticipate a decree of genocide against his people.
[21]
See also Esther Rabbah 7:5; Pirkei D’Rabbi Eliezer 50; Abba Gorion 22; Panim Aherim 46; Esther Rabbah 2:5, 3:1–
2; Targum 3:2; Josephus, Antiquities, XI, 6.5 and 8; Ibn Ezra; Tosafot Sanhedrin 61b, s.v. Rava.
[22]
Megillah 10b, 19a; Esther Rabbah 7:8. Cf. Sanhedrin 61b, with Tosafot ad loc., s.v. Rava.
[23]
R. Yitzhak Arama was perhaps the first to argue that the reasoning of idolatry is derekh ha-derash. See Barry Dov
Walfish, Esther in Medieval Garb: Jewish Interpretation of the Book of Esther in the Middle Ages (Albany, NY: SUNY Press,
1993), p. 69. The closest implicit reference to pagan practices in the text is Haman’s lottery.
[24]
R. David Henshke, “Megillat Esther: Literary Disguise” (Hebrew), in Hadassah Hi Esther (Alon Shevut: Tevunot, 1999), pp.
93–106.
[25]
Cf. Esther Rabbah 3:10: “Everywhere in the Megillah where it says, ‘King Ahasuerus,’ the text refers to Ahasuerus; every
instance of ‘the king’ has a dual holy-secular meaning” (i.e., it refers both to God and to Ahasuerus).
[26]
Earlier commentators also address the issue of why God’s Name is not mentioned in the Megillah. Ibn Ezra opines that the
Megillah would be translated for distribution throughout the Persian Empire; since pagan translators may substitute the name of a
pagan deity for God’s Name, the author of the Megillah deliberately avoided referring to God. Rama (Yoreh De’ah 276) suggests
that there was doubt whether the Megillah would be canonized (cf. Megillah 7a); therefore, they omitted God’s Name anticipating
the possibility of rejection, which would lead to the mistreatment of the scrolls. For a more complete survey of medieval responses
to this issue, see Barry Dov Walfish, Esther in Medieval Garb, pp. 76–79.

70
[27]
For a thorough analysis of the use of irony in the Megillah, see Moshe D. Simon, “‘Many Thoughts in the Heart of Man...’:
Irony and Theology in the Book of Esther,” Tradition 31:4 (Summer 1997), pp. 5–27.
[28]
Megillah 16a: “And Esther said, ‘the adversary and enemy is this wicked Haman’ (7:6)—R. Eliezer says: this teaches that Esther
began to face Ahasuerus, and an angel came and forced her hand to point to Haman.”
One should not overlook Esther’s remark to the king (7:4): were she and her people to be sold into slavery, she wouldn’t
have protested, indicating that the king and his interests are too important to trouble for anything short of genocide! Cf. 8:1–4,
where Ahasuerus turns Haman’s wealth over to Mordecai and Esther but does nothing to address his diabolical decree. The king’s
priorities are depicted as incredibly perverse in these episodes. Compare Megillah 11a: “‘He was Ahasuerus’ (1:1)—he was wicked
from beginning until his end.” This Gemara penetrates beneath the king’s ostensible benevolence toward the Jews at the end of the
Megillah, remarking that he was no better than before.
[29]
Although Bigtan and Teresh failed in their efforts, King Xerxes—who often is understood by scholars to be Ahasuerus—was
assassinated by other court officials within ten years of the Purim story (465). See Moore (Esther), p. 32. For analysis of the biblical
and extra-biblical evidence to identify Ahasuerus with Xerxes and Esther with his wife Amestris, see Mitchell First, “Achashverosh
and Esther: Their Identities Unmasked,” in ??????.
[30]
R. Yaakov Medan, “Mordecai Would Not Kneel or Bow Low—Why?” (Hebrew), in Hadassah Hi Esther, pp. 151–170.
[31]
R. Yonatan Grossman demonstrates how the entire Megillah is structured chiastically around the principle of ve-nahafokh
hu (Yeshivat Har Etzion, Virtual Bet Midrash 2007 [http://vbm-torah.org/archive/ester/01ester.htm]).
[32]
See R. Avraham Walfish, “An Ordinance of Equity and Honesty” (Hebrew), in Hadassah Hi Esther, pp. 107–140.

From Prophets to Process: Purim Ponderings

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Rabbi Daniel Lehmann writes:17

Rabbi Zadok Hakohen of Lublin (1823-1900) traces the development of the Oral Law to the time
of Purim.

Machshevet Charutz18

The Midrash Tanhuma (Noah, 3) states that it was necessary for God to coerce the Israelites to
accept the oral law at Sinai by holding the mountain over their heads. The oral law, with its details
and complexities, was more difficult to observe, more demanding of the human intellect, and
therefore the Israelites were more reluctant to take on the responsibility of developing the oral law
while prophecy still existed. It was during the time of Purim, according to the Babylonian Talmud,
tractate Shabbat, 88a, that the Jews voluntarily reaccepted the Torah. “Rava said, Nevertheless,
they accepted the Torah again in the days of Achashverosh, as it says The Jews established and
accepted (Esther 9:27).” They established that which they had already accepted.” According to
R. Zadok, connecting these two rabbinic sources, it was specifically the oral Torah that was
coerced at Sinai and reaccepted during the time of Esther.

Esther played a pivotal role in the transition from the written to the oral law. Esther was the last of
the prophetesses according to the Babylonian Talmud in tractate Megilah, 14a “Who were the
seven prophetesses? Sarah, Miriam, Devorah, Chana, Avigail, Chuldah and Esther.” She was
also the person who initiated the process of human legislation that established Purim as a
permanent holiday and the book of Esther as sacred scripture.

17
https://hebrewcollege.edu/blog/from-prophets-to-process/
18
See Yaakov Elman’s essay, “R. Zadok Hakohen on the History of Halacha,” for a comprehensive explication of this idea in
R. Zadok Hakohen: https://18forty.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/R.-Zadok-History-of-Halkha-Elman.pdf

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Esther, according to the Talmud, appealed to the sages, perhaps the Men of the Great Assembly,
to legislate a new holiday for all generations, Purim, and to include the narrative describing the
historical events that led to the holiday among the holy writings of the Jewish people. Esther did
not appeal to her prophetic powers or to a revelatory experience. Instead, she initiated a human
process of legislation and interpretation, a process that called upon the sages to take responsibility
for enacting new forms of religious law, ritual and even sacred scripture.

Purim is the first holiday that was established by human legislation, and not Divine decree. Esther,
with a deep understanding of the transition that was required of the Jewish people, a transition
from divine prophecy to human process, can be considered the catalyst for the unfolding of a new
era in Jewish history, a new chapter in the ongoing revelation of divine wisdom in which the human
intellect and human agency takes center stage.

Esther, the heroine who saves the Jewish people from the physical threat of annihilation at the
hands of Haman, is also the heroine who pulls the Jewish people out of the darkness caused by the
demise of prophecy. She is willing to sacrifice her life, approaching the king on her own, as she
reveals her Jewish identity and orchestrates the reversal of her people’s fortune. Similarly, she
sheds her prophetic privilege in order to instigate a process that expands human participation in
the development of religious law and forces human leaders to take responsibility for religious
legislation and innovation.

It is not incidental that Esther, a woman and a Jew of the Diaspora, embodies this critical
transformation and expansion of revelation through the blossoming of human forms of “halacha,”
Jewish law. The participation of all Jews, including women, and the drawing from the inherent
complexities of living in the multicultural environments of the Diaspora, are critical components
in the development of our interpretive community.

Esther is more than a pretty face and a clever political powerhouse. She is the mother of one of
Judaism’s most distinctive contributions to religious progress, the sacred process of legislation and
innovation through human hermeneutics.

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Purim with Holocaust survivors at the Landsberg DP camp in Germany, with
a mock-tombstone for Haman and Hitler (Yad Vashem)

Purim and the challenge of the Holocaust

How one can -- nay, must -- rejoice in the salvation of ancient Jews despite the shadow of the
more recent calamity

Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardozo writes:19

In a remarkable midrash on Mishlei, we read the following:

“All of the festivals will be nullified in the future [the messianic age], but Purim will never be
nullified.” (Midrash Mishlei 9:2)

19
https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/purim-and-the-challenge-of-the-holocaust/

74
This assertion seems to fly in the face of Jewish tradition, which states categorically that the Jewish
festivals mentioned in the Torah, such as Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot will never cease to be
celebrated. This is mentioned by Maimonides in the Mishneh Torah:

Hilchot Megillah 2:18. 20

Rabbi Baruch Halevi Epstein, in his famous commentary Torah

Temimah on Megillat Esther (9:28), explains this contradiction – in the name of his father, Rabbi
Yechiel Michel Halevi Epstein – in the following most original manner:

Covert miracles will never cease to exist, explains the Torah Temimah. In fact, they take place
every day. But overt miracles such as the splitting of the Red Sea have come to an end. In light of
this, the midrash on Mishlei is not suggesting that the actual festivals mentioned in the Torah will

20
For a completely different interpretation, see my booklet The Torah as God’s Mind: A Kabbalistic look into the
Pentateuch Jerusalem: Bep-Ron Publications, 1988

75
be nullified in future days, since this would contradict Jewish belief. Rather, it is stating that the
original reasons for celebrating the festivals, namely overt miracles, have ceased.

So, one should read the midrash as follows: Overt miracles, which we celebrate on festivals
mentioned in the Torah, no longer occur. But covert miracles such as those celebrated on Purim
will never end; they continue to occur every day of the year. In other words, all the other festivals
will still be celebrated to commemorate great historical events in Jewish history, events to be
remembered and relived in the imagination of man so as to make them relevant and teach us many
lessons for our own lives. Purim, on the other hand, although rooted in a historical event of many
years ago, functions as a constant reminder that the Purim story never ended. We are still living it.
The Megillah is open-ended; it was not and will never be completed! Covert miracles still happen.

Rabbi Yitzchak Hutner z”l, in his celebrated work Pachad Yitzchak (volume on Purim, chapter
33), uses this idea to explain a highly unusual halachic stipulation related to Purim. During all
Torah festivals, the congregation sings Hallel, the well-known, classic compilation of specific
Psalms. These Psalms praise God for all the great miracles He performed for Israel in biblical
times, on occasions for which these festivals were later established. Why, then, asks the Talmud,
do we not sing Hallel on Purim? Is there not even more reason to sing these Psalms on the day
when God performed the great miracle of rescuing Israel from the hands of Haman?

The Talmud (Masechet Megillah 14a) answers “kriyata zu hallila” – the reading of Megillat
Esther is in itself praise. When one reads the story of Esther, one actually fulfills the obligation of
singing Hallel, because telling this story is the greatest praise to God for having saved the Jews.
Reading the story awakens in us a feeling of deep gratitude and appreciation for the miracle of
Jewish survival against all odds.

Interestingly, one of the most celebrated commentators on the Talmud, Rabbi Menachem Meiri
(1249-1315), ponders the need to say Hallel on Purim when one is unable to read or hear

76
the Megillah. In this case, according to his opinion, one should indeed sing Hallel, since one must
thank God for what happened. Rabbi Hutner, however, points out that no other authority agrees
with this opinion. They all rule that even if a person is unable to read the Megillah, they should
still not sing Hallel.

Rabbi Hutner explains this ruling in a most remarkable way, based on our earlier explanation. The
psalms in Hallel speak about overt miracles and praise God for His revealed wonders such as those
related in the Torah. Hallel intentionally does not include praise to God for covert miracles, since
those must be praised in a hidden way so as to remind the worshipper that such miracles occur on
a daily basis.

This is the reason why on Purim one reads Megillat Esther and does not recite Hallel. Megillat
Esther is the story of a hidden miracle, and through the reading of this story in front of a
congregation, God receives praise in the appropriate way – in a subtle and hidden manner. After
all, it is not God who needs praise, but people who need to praise; they must therefore do it in a
way that corresponds to the actual miracle. They have to realize what kind of miracle took or takes
place. Singing Hallel, instead, would be missing the point.

77
Moreover, one often wonders why the story of Purim is still relevant at all after the Holocaust. Not
even a hidden miracle was performed to save the Jews from the hands of Hitler, a greater enemy
than Haman. Why continue to praise God for a hidden miracle when it seems that even hidden
miracles came to an end with the Holocaust? This question should be on the mind of every Jew
who celebrates Purim. And it is not only the Holocaust that should raise this issue. The Spanish
Inquisition; the many pogroms; and the various forms of exterminating complete Jewish
communities throughout all of Jewish history, in which God’s saving hand was absent; all of these
beg that very question. Shouldn’t these events convince Jews to abolish Purim altogether? History
has proven Purim to be irrelevant and even offensive. How can we continue celebrating Purim
when six million Jews, collectively, did not see the hidden hand of God and were left with no
divine intervention? Is celebrating Purim not an affront to all those millions who were tortured and
died under the most hideous circumstances?

78
It was indeed the famous, slightly anti-Semitic historian Arnold Toynbee who, with great
annoyance, alluded to what history has taught us: any nation that will stand up against the Jews
will ultimately disappear. Such was the fate of the ancient Egyptians, the Babylonians, the Persians
and the Greeks, and such may yet be the fate of the Germans.21

Jews have been an ever-dying people that never died. They have experienced a continuous
resurrection, like the dry bones that Yechezkel saw in the valley. (Yechezkel 37:1-14) This has
become the sine qua non of every Jew. It is the mystery of the hidden miracle of survival in the
face of overwhelming destruction. True, Führer was Amalek, and Haman prevailed, but ultimately
they were defeated. We live in spite of peril. Our refusal to surrender has turned our story into one
long, unending Purim tale. To this day, a large part of the world does not know what to do with
us. We make them feel uneasy because we represent something they can’t put their finger on. Jews
are sui generis. More than anything else, it is the existence and survival of the State of Israel that
irritates many. The rules of history predicted that the Jews would die a definite and final death;
instead we have become the greatest success story in all of modern history. Perplexity morphed

21
Arnold Toynbee, A Study of History, 10 volumes, 1934-61

79
into aversion. Where does this small nation, which does not comprise even one percent of the
world population, have the chutzpah to play such a crucial role in science, technology, and many
other areas of human knowledge?

What would the world do without Jews, who are responsible for so many inventions that are vital
to the survival of the modern world? Great progress and major breakthroughs in the world of
medicine, such as the treatment of paralysis, depression, Alzheimer’s disease and DNA
breakdown, are Israeli accomplishments. What about Windows, voice mail, and the most advanced
anti-terror systems? Israel produces more scientific papers per capita than any other nation, and in
proportion to its population has the largest number of start-up companies in the world. It is ranked
second in the world for venture capital funds. And the list goes on.

Even if, God forbid, the State of Israel would not survive Iran – the Haman of our day – every Jew
instinctively knows that the Jewish people will endure, even without their homeland, and will
climb the ladder and surprise the world once again. Purim will never cease.

Which Jew, even secular, or atheist, dares to betray these young people by not celebrating Purim?
Which Jew dares to ignore Judaism, thereby being guilty of spiritual bankruptcy in the face of

80
these fearless Chassidim? This is the ultimate question that all Jews must ask themselves. Not to
do so would be a tragic dereliction of duty.

On the Joke of the Megillah

Rav Shimon Gershon Rosenberg (Shagar) writes:22

A Sharpened Critique[1]

The megillah is unquestionably a parody. The author shoots the sharp arrows of his irony in every
direction.[2] They are aimed, first and foremost, not at Haman but at Aḥashverosh. There are many
examples of this, such as the exaggerated description of Aḥashverosh’s feast that opens the
megillah:

At the end of this period, the king gave a banquet for seven days in the court of the king’s palace
garden for all the people who lived in the fortress Shushan, high and low alike. [There were
hangings of] white cotton and blue wool, caught up by cords of fine linen and purple wool to silver
rods and alabaster columns; and there were couches of gold and silver on a pavement of marble,

22
https://shagar.co.il/?page_id=1679

81
alabaster, mother-of-pearl, and mosaics. Royal wine was served in abundance, as befits a king, in
golden beakers, beakers of varied design. And the rule for the drinking was, “No restrictions!” For
the king had given orders to every palace steward to comply with each man’s wishes. (Esther, 1:5-
8)

The mocking description of the feast reaches its crescendo when the king is not satisfied with
“displaying the vast riches of his kingdom and the splendid glory of his majesty for one hundred
and eighty days” (1:4), for half a year, no less, and his ostentatious urges lead him to command:
“bring Queen Vashti before the king wearing a royal diadem, to display her beauty to the peoples
and the officials; for she is beautiful” (1:11).

At the center of the megillah’s critique stands the law (‫)חוק‬, “the procedure (‫ )דת‬of Shushan the
capital”. This critique first arises in the narrative of Vashti. Drawing on the Purim-esque spirit of
the megillah, the event can be described thusly: An urgent cabinet meeting gathered in the palace
of Aḥashverosh with the highest legal forum of the seven officers of Persia and Medea, all well-
versed in the laws and procedures, in order to determine “what the correct procedure is for dealing
with Queen Vashti” (1:15). Aḥashverosh acts, of course, exclusively within the framework of the
law. The conclusion of the legal debate is almost too meaningful; “that every man should wield
authority in his home and speak the language of his own people” (1:22).

Such an important decision, made by such important people and of such great significance, of
course had to be distributed via all means of communication available to the empire. “Dispatches
were sent to all the provinces of the king, to every province in its own script and to every nation
in its own language” (ibid.). The dramatization here is ridiculous and makes fun of itself. They are
legislating something so trivial and self-evident. The Persian empire was multi-national, “a
hundred and twenty-seven provinces from India to Ethiopia” (1:1), such that linguistic pluralism
was a present reality, and the time was well before the feminist era.

The author of the megillah mocks and derides Aḥashverosh’s devotion to the law, devotion that
stands in total contrast to his caprice and hedonism that appear throughout the megillah. The
hedonism of the king, of course, is shown in the ridiculous description of the young women being
brought to Shushan and waiting in line, cleansing in “the twelve months’ treatment prescribed for
women. That was the period spent on beautifying them: six months with oil of myrrh and six
months with perfumes and women’s cosmetics” (2:12), and this in order to pleasure the king.[3]

82
In the Theater of the Absurd

Exacting in law and acting exclusively via legislation and government, Aḥashverosh enthrones
exaggeration, lack of proportion, and kitsch alongside caprice and unrestrained indulgence. The
book repeats this depiction throughout the book, this exactingness is combined with the famous
Persian bureaucracy, which itself does not escape the irony and joke of the megillah unscathed.
The runners and riders of the king’s steeds go to-and-fro, carrying messages from Haman one time
and from Mordechai the next; this state is a state of law and “an edict that has been written in the
king’s name and sealed with the king’s signet may not be revoked” (8:8).

Only this joke is not at all funny. A deep terror lies at its foundation. Aḥashverosh’s caprice,
anchored in law, is lethal to the point of absurdity. The scariest piece of it all is that the different
actors in the megillah – Mordechai and Esther, the youths and the gatekeepers – don’t seem to
notice how absurd it all is; they think that the law is as serious and as logical as it gets. The
megillah’s parodic depiction only ramps up the dread. A story about a feast, an exiled queen,
another crowned in her place, and a man who will not bow yields a cost so heavy and
disproportionate to the frivolity and mundanity of the story itself: the decree, enshrined in law, “to
destroy, massacre, and exterminate all the Jews, young and old, children and women” (3:13).

The joke of the megillah is a response to a deep, bitter, despair over an absurd situation: the author
of the megillah discovers that what ought to be serious (the law) is a parody, and the parody,
incredibly, makes it all the more funny and absurd. The cost of entry to the megillah’s theater of
the absurd is life and death. Where does this lead? To laughter, or perhaps despair.[4]

So Shall Be Done

On its own, the story that the megillah tells is not at all funny. On the contrary, the threat of
genocide inspires fear more than laughter, even if we were ultimately saved. So why does the
megillah make all of this into a joke? The danger is tangible and serious; Esther’s fear, Mordechai’s
cries, the mourning and the sackcloth, these aren’t nothing. Where did the author get the ability to
turn the frightening into the funny? To tear away the mask and reveal the ridiculous in the foolish?
The megillah seems to provide a clear answer.[5] The ability to laugh at all of this comes from the
knowledge that the actors are just puppets controlled by a hidden puppeteer, shaping the
performance according to his own intentions.
This knowledge does not override the awful human experience of chaotic happenstance and of the
total absence of any guiding hand behind events that arises from the megillah. In fact, the reverse
is true. Paradoxically, the Divine decree highlights the human happenstance rather than erasing it.

83
The story teaches about the incidental and unstable nature of Jewish existence in specific and of
human existence in general. For example, regarding Mordechai the Jew who sits at the gate of the
king: who is the “man whom the king desires to honor” (6:11), Haman or Mordechai? The clear
answer would seem to be Mordechai. He wears the king’s royal clothing, he is led around on a
horse, and he is ultimately chosen to be the king’s right hand. However, is he guaranteed a secure
and redeemed existence after he rises to greatness? Various verses indicate a parallel between
Haman’s position before his fall from grace and Mordechai’s position after his rise, suggesting
that he is anything but.

Furthermore, the phrase “So shall be done for the man whom the king desires to honor” (ibid.),
describing Mordechai as he rides on the king’s horse, shows up in only one other place in
Tanakh[6]: “his brother’s widow shall go up to him in the presence of the elders, pull the sandal
off his foot, spit in his face, and make this declaration: So shall be done to the man who will not
build up his brother’s house” (Devarim 25:9). In light of this, should we not read “This is what is
done for the man whom the king desires to honor” as spit in Mordechai’s face?… “Here today,
gone the next” as they say; yesterday Haman, today Mordechai, and tomorrow who knows?!

Indeed, Hasidic texts see the phrase “Just so” (‫ )ככה‬as standing at the center of the megillah. “‘So
shall be done for the man whom the king desires to honor’ – the use of “so” is not
accidental.”[7] They further expounded: “The word “so” (‫ )ככה‬should be read with ‘the holiness
of the crown’[8] in mind – “so” (‫ )ככ״ה‬is an acronym for “the crown of all crowns[9] ( ‫כתר כל‬
‫)הכתרים‬.

The fickle caprice of this world, the baseless and meaningless rises and falls, merge with the
absolute Divine decree. There is no attempt to explain the different steps of the narrative
individually, rather the entire story is shifted to a different plane. Human happenstance does not
reign in the story, nor a lofty meaning that is hidden from human eyes, but the decree of the king
of the universe: “a king’s command is authoritative, and none can say to him, ‘What are you
doing?” (Kohelet 8:4). Why does he do what he does? “Just so” (‫ )ככה‬because this is what he
wants. Citing their founder,[10] Habad hasidut says regarding Divine meaning of, and reason for,
creating the world: “Oyf a tayvah iz kain kashya nit” – you can’t interrogate a desire.[11]

Opposite the kingdom of Persia, ruled by the capricious Aḥashverosh, stands the kingdom of God.
As Rabbi Yoḥanan taught: “anywhere [the megillah] says “king” without clarifying, it is referring
to the king of kings.”[12] The writer of the megillah is not thinking of the happenstance that reigns
in the kingdom of Persia but the absolute “just so” of the king of kings.

How does this focus lead to the unrestrained joke about the terrifying situation of the megillah?
Isn’t the only laughter possible in this situation the laughter described in the verse, “He who is

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enthroned in heaven laughs; the Lord mocks at them” (Tehillim 2:4)? God sits and laughs, for from
heaven the events really are funny. However, “the heavens belong to the Lord, but the earth He
gave over to man” (Tehillim 115:16), and here on the earth the joke is not at all funny!

For the writer of the megillah, the events happen in a different plane, that of the absolute
Divine decree, and the joke also exists on that level. This is an ecstatic joke, in which our
awareness is opened to the possibility of its liberation, and the individual accepts the arbitrary “just
so” quality of his life. Deep pessimism leads a person to the ecstasy of liberation from the need for
proof, liberation from teleological support for reality. Pessimism can liberate us from dependency
because we have despaired of everything.

The pain in the megillah’s joke is not lessened, for the Divine decree does not comfort; it does not
explain or grant meaning to the events that happened or will happen, and it cannot guarantee
(‫ )להבטיח‬that in the future Haman’s plans will not come pass. The joke is fully aware of fate, leading
to an ecstasy in which negativity, bitter despair, and suffering are lived as they are. In the extreme
experiences of life, a person discovers that there’s no way to deal with the events of life. But there’s
also no need to deal with them, since life happens for itself, entirely for itself.

If I Am To Perish

The religious feeling of security (‫)בטחון‬, like the joke, bears within it arbitrariness and dread:
Hasidut teaches that this sense of security is the result of passionate commitment (‫ )מסירות נפש‬and
sacrifice. In other words, the sense of security comes after the terror and fear of the incidental and
the absurd, not before, it cannot be achieved without them. Moreover, the sense of security is not
a support that lends a person strength, turning the whole game into something predetermined; from
a certain perspective, this sense of security is the terror itself: “if I am to perish, I shall perish”
(4:16), says Esther. What she does not say is “I am certain (‫ )בטוחה‬of my success;” On the contrary,
she expects to die because of her sense of security in her passionate commitment. This sense of
security is not free of terror; it is present in the terror itself, since it is open to anything that might
happen.[13]

Mordechai also does not promise Esther anything. He does not say, “I am certain (‫ )בטוח‬that you
will succeed,” but “who knows, perhaps you have attained to royal position for just such a crisis?”
(4:14). He is certain (‫ )בטוח‬that salvation will come for the Jews from somewhere, but in his and
Esther’s personal attempt at salvation he is not at all secure. “Who knows?!” he says, and not, “I
know.”

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Mordechai and Esther’s responses inspire astonishment, and perhaps even a challenge: should they
not have believed fully based on the Divine providence that they could see before their eyes?
Esther, beyond surprisingly, was selected as queen at exactly this moment. Everything that was
happening pointed to the fact that God “gives the medicine before the disease” and enthroned her
in order for her to save the Jews, and despite this the doubt persists – “who knows?!” This is
because “who knows” is the flip side of “just so;” in a place where things happen “just so” persists
the “who knows.”

The human response to the Divine “just so,” the response that provides a sense of security, is the
human “just so.” This, in short, is the secret of Purim: passionate commitment without any security
that has nothing to rely on is in fact what creates the religious sense of security. The sense of
security in God does not come from tangible protection and goodness that he gives. On the
contrary, the lack of security that people flee from provides an individual with the opportunity to
commit and to feel secure in God in anything that he does.

The midrash says,

The lack of security that comes from the Divine “just so” is what creates the human ability for
passionate commitment, for a sense of security in God that does not give any security regarding
the future, nor any sense of meaning or ultimate purpose. This is because the Divine is beyond
human comprehension; not because a person has such a narrow perspective that it cannot
encompass the Divine , but because the Divine Will itself lacks meaning. Correspondingly,
security in and devotion to God are illogical processes.

The passionate commitment that life in its arbitrariness invites enables a person to escape the
human frameworks that bind him and to cling to the Divine essence. A person who accepts the
Divine “just so” overrides his conceptual, human, consciousness that demands explanation and
justification. He accepts his life as it is, in its arbitrariness. Why? Just so!

APPENDIX: THE LAW AND THE JEW

The author of the megillah emphasizes how Mordechai’s position within the space of the narrative
is in direction relationship with the law of the procedures of Persia and Medea. For example, the
scene that motivates Haman’s genocidal plot:

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All the king’s courtiers in the palace gate knelt and bowed low to Haman, for such was the king’s
order concerning him; but Mordecai would not kneel or bow low. Then the king’s courtiers who
were in the palace gate said to Mordecai, “Why do you disobey the king’s order?” When they
spoke to him day after day and he would not listen to them, they told Haman, in order to see
whether Mordecai’s resolve would prevail; for he had explained to them that he was a Jew. When
Haman saw that Mordecai would not kneel or bow low to him, Haman was filled with rage. (3:2-
5)

Why do the king’s servants get involved? If Haman himself did not notice Mordechai’s
disobedience, or if he just was not bothered so much by this behavior, why was it so important for
the king’s servants to direct his attention to this critical problem? Moreover, if they are motivated
by their commitment to the dignity of the king’s decree, then they should turn to the king himself.
The explanation for the servants’ process is explicit in the text: “they told Haman, in order to see
whether Mordecai’s resolve would prevail; for he had explained to them that he was a Jew.”
Mordechai disrupting the order of the kingdom is what bothers them. He says that that he is a Jew
and therefore does not obey and bow, and in this, the Jew functions as one who disrupts the law
and the proper order.

Not by accident is the term “Jew” is repeated throughout the megillah; this is the first development
of the place of the Jew, his identity and his role in relation to the world. Here we find the roots of
anti-semitism. The Jew is the remainder than cannot be accommodated, because by his very
appearance, he represents that which does not enter the symbolic order and in this, he destroys and
undermines it. Indeed, why did Mordechai endanger the Jews by refusing to bow? Why didn’t he
just leave the king’s gate? Did he have provocative aims? Either way, this is his identity as a Jew,
and in this Haman and the king’s servants are correct: Mordechai has a loyalty that precedes his
loyalty to the king.[15]

To be clear: Mordechai’s disloyalty is a complex disloyalty, and he thus appears as a pure

disruption of the order of the kingdom. On the one hand, Mordechai is loyal to the king and reports
on Bigtan and Teresh, the two servants of the king that attempted to assassinate Aḥashverosh. On
the other hand, Mordechai ultimately has a greater loyalty to his nation and his God, and in this he
shatters the law. This is a disloyal loyalty, something that disturbs more than anything else a law
and order that attempt to determine “Are you one of us or of our enemies?” (Yehoshua 5:13).

Esther also manifests this sort of existence, validating Haman’s claim to Aḥashverosh “There is a
certain people, scattered and dispersed among the other peoples in all the provinces of your realm,
whose laws are different from those of any other people and who do not obey the king’s laws; and
it is not in Your Majesty’s interest to tolerate them” (3:8). She enters the court of the king without

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receiving the king’s permission. Vashti refused to come, and Esther came uncalled; Vashti is
entirely outside, while Esther is simultaneously inside and out.

In general, the Jew who does not bow disrupts the orderly world of “servants of the king,” and
Haman chief among them – they are devoted to the law of the kingdom by virtue of it being law.
They cannot tolerate the anomaly of Jewish existence; this is actually Haman’s basic claim:
difference and lack of obedience threaten and reject the decree of the king.

Haman’s serenity is disturbed not because the Jew does not obey but because the Jew rejects the
entire principle upon which his happiness is based: the king’s decree. This is why it was not enough
to just get rid of Mordechai alone; the problem is the very presence of the Jew – “he disdained to
lay hands on Mordecai alone; having been told who Mordecai’s people were, Haman plotted to do
away with all the Jews, Mordecai’s people, throughout the kingdom of Ahasuerus” (3:6).

Further, the megillah notes that Haman “controlled himself.” As angry as he was with Mordechai,
he did not respond immediately. Why was it important to the writer of the megillah to note this?
Was Haman afraid that if he killed Mordechai in anger he would be punished? Seemingly,
Haman knew that if he did that, he would not succeed in freeing himself from the Jew, and
Mordechai’s death would chase after him.[16] Only if he arranges Mordechai’s destruction in the
framework of the law will he succeed in ridding himself of Mordechai and the disruption that he
embodies. Law fights by way of the law itself, via legislation. One cannot ignore the violence
inherent in legislation. The megillah reveals, in a painful and sarcastic form, the very basis of
sovereignty, the violence that founds its laws:

What manifests itself as the law’s inner decay is the fact that rule of law is, in the final analysis,
without ultimate justification or legitimation, […] At its foundation, the rule of law is sustained
not by reason alone but also by the force/violence of a tautological enunciation—‘The law is
the law![17]

As far as I am concerned, the mindset of the writer of the megillah lays bare the foundation that
underlies the events we will undergo this summer. The disengagement plan symbolizes for me,
more than anything else, the crime that is in legislation, the violence subsumed within it; the
recognition that the violence of transgressing the law is less than the crime of legislating the law.
The inner decay that exists in the rule of law comes to the fore in the claim heard constantly in the
mouths of the supporters of the law of the removal: this is the law, and the law is the law! – and

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therefore it must be respected. The tautology of the law is strengthened by the arbitrariness of its
legislation; the “judicial wisdom” that would be able to justify it is entirely lacking, and now its
justification is simply the legality of the process: the process is legal, it is confirmed and organized
in the Knesset. The law is justified not by ethics or judicial wisdom but by the simple fact of its
legislation at the hands of the majority. The violence required to enact this law, removing people
from their land, is not the extraneous remainder of the process but the very heart of law: the violent
claim that the law is law.

If he was with us today, how would the author of the megillah write the story that we are a part
of? Where would he aim the sharp arrows of his irony?23
g
g
[i]
[These words were written in 2005, against the background of the decision of the government, headed by Ariel Sharon, to enact
“The Disengagement Plan” from northern Samaria and the Gaza Strip. The plan brought the meaning of law and justice and their
validity to the fore of communal debate.]
[ii]
In light of this ironic character, the serious way in which halakhah relates to the megillah is basically a second-order joke. In
order to notice this joke, one simply has to look at people sitting in shul, with me among them, reading and listening to the megillah,
terrified of missing a single word and thereby failing to fulfill their obligation, for “it is a mitsvah to read all of it” (Rambam,
Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Megillah, 1:3).
[iii]
The irony is expressed in the comparison alluded to between the verses of the megillah and their parallels in the Torah. David
Henkesheh finds a playful example in the formulation “for that was the full period spent on beautifying them” (2:11), which shows
up only one other time in Scripture, in the story of the death of Yaakov in Egypt: “for that was the full period of embalming”
(Bereshit 50:3).; The women are embalmed in their perfumes. See David Henkesheh, “Megillat Esther: Literary Disguise”
(Hebrew), in Amnon Bazak (ed.), “Hadassah is Esther: Essays on Megillat Esther” (Hebrew), Alon Shevut: Tevunot, 1997, pp.93-
106.
[iv]
Here we must ask, is it possible to look at the Nazis with a parodic gaze? To turn them into the object of a joke? Is it possible
that, despite the terror that wells up within us when we remember them, they are simply ridiculous, and that this ridiculousness
heightens the absurd and the terror in their actions?
[v]
Particularly after its combination with the holy books that make up the Tanakh.
[vi]
This was also noted by Henkesheh.
[vii]
Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson (The Tzemach Tzedek), Yahel Ohr Al Tehillim (Hebrew), New York: Kehat, 1953,
ch.144, p.533.
[viii]
[The ‘holiness of the crown’ is a prayer said on Shabbat and holidays by the community as it prays and is considered one of
the peaks of prayer. “We will crown you, Lord our God; the angels, the hosts above, with your nation Israel, the masses below.”]
[ix]
Said in the name of the Baal Shem Tov. see “Things I Heard from my Teacher,” in “Rabbi Yaakov Yosef HaKohen of
Poland, Toldot Yaakov Yosef (Hebrew), Warsaw 1941, p.209.
[x]
Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi (1745-1812). Involved in halakhah and kabbalah, founder of Habad Hasidut.
[xi]
Quoted in Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson (The Lubavitcher Rebbe), Torat Menachem: Hitvaaduyot (Hebrew), 1953,
Brooklyn: Otzar HaHasidim, p.31.
[xii]
“Anywhere in Megillat Esther where it says “King Aḥashverosh,” the text is referring to Aḥashverosh; anywhere it simply says
“king,” the text is referring to the king of kings” (Midrash Aba Gurion [Buber edition], 1, on the verse “like the joy of a king after
wine”).
[xiii]
If we turn this discussion to the actual situation that crouches by our door, Esther would not have said “I am certain, the
“disengagement” definitely won’t come to pass”…
[xiv]
Midrash Shir HaShirim, 2:1.
[xv]
See also the sermon “On the Remainder and the Exile.”
[xvi]
Similarly, Esther remains loyal to Mordechai and follows his commands even after she marries Aḥashverosh.
[xvii]
Just like the oedipal killing of the father, that traps the son through guilt.

23
Translated by Levi Morrow. first published in the blog kavvanah.wordpress.com. The hebrew version was published in the book
‘the Remainder of Faith’. a sermon for Purim: on irony and parody in the megillah, living with absurd, and a trust in god that does
not guarantee anything.

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[xviii]
Eric Santner, “On the Psychotheology of Everyday Life: Reflections on Freud and Rosenzweig,” Chicago, University of
Chicago, 2001, pp.56-57. See also Walter Benjamin, “Critique of Violence” (Hebrew), trans. Danit Dotan, Tel Aviv: Resling, 2006.

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