The Midrash Tanchuma explains the concept of Beheima Temei’ah through a mashal: A doctor visits two patients. To the first he says, “you may eat whatever you like,” and to the second he says, “such and such should you eat, and such and such should you not eat.” When they later ask the doctor why he gave such different orders, he explains, “I saw the first patient was going to die anyhow, so I figured he might as well eat what he likes. I saw the second patient had the opportunity to live, so I gave him a diet that would increase his chances of survival.”
The Midrash implies that there is a distinct difference between the properties of Beheimos Temei’os and Beheimos Taharos, more than just the fact that Hashem commanded us not to eat them; non-Kosher animals are harmful to us, and therefore we should stick to Kosher animals. However, a question arises in the next few pasukim when the Torah lists the four animals that bear only one Siman Tahara, the Gamal Shafan Arnevet and Chazir, and offers a peculiar reason for the prohibition of their consumption. “Do not eat [this animal], for it chews its cud, and it does not have split hooves, it is Tamei to you.” (except for the pig, which has split hooves but does not chew its cud) If the pasuk wants to tell us not to eat these animals, it should just inform us which Siman it lacks. Why mention both Simanim? Perhaps the pasuk is detailing our need to check for both Simanim, so it writes the prohibition in an investigative manner. “Let’s see… it chews its cud… oh, but it doesn’t have split hooves. So don’t eat it.” But then the pasuk should say “Ki Ma’aleh Geira Hu, Aval Parsah Lo Hifris;” by connecting the two Simanim through a Vav, the pasuk implies that the Kosher Siman is as important as the missing Siman regarding the animal’s Tumah.
The Kli Yakar explains: We can explain on this matter that the Tahor Siman adds to its Tumah, for these animals portray themselves to be Tahor, but after we look closer, we discover that they are really Tamei. This is why the gemara compares these four animals to the four oppressive kingdoms, Bavel Madai Yavan and Edom. These nations sometimes seemed to help the Jews, aid their learning of Torah or help them build the Beis HaMikdash, but in reality, each of them was evil. (See Rashi Beraishis 26:34).
The Kli Yakar therefore concludes that these animals are more Tamei than animals without any Kosher sign, than animals that at least don’t pretend to be Kosher. So these four animals still fall under the overall prohibition, they are still considered repulsive; in fact, the reason we go out of our way to list the Siman each possesses is to show how it is more repulsive to us. One would therefore speculate that these four animals carry a Tzad Chamur over all the other Beheimos Tamei’os of the world. The Sifra teaches us exactly the opposite.
“MiBisaram Lo Tocheilu. This refers to the violation of eating the Gamal Shafan Arnevet or Chazir, the only four animals with only one Siman Tahara. Hence, I would only think these are forbidden, but other animals with no Siman would not fall under this violation (this violation, as opposed to the one in pasuk 3, is a Lo Ta’aseih, and if only these four animals fall within the Lav, then one would only get Malkos for eating these four animals). But if these four animals that at least have one Siman Tahara are forbidden, then Kal ViChomeir animals that don’t even have one Siman are forbidden [by this pasuk, and so they are Malkos-worthy offenses as well].”
Rashi, VaYikra (11:8)
The Sifra somehow uses this Kal ViChomeir to include all animals in the violation of this Lo Ta’asei, thus meting out lashes for even the consumption of horse or dog. But didn’t we just show from these pasukim themselves that the Lav was specifically only meant for the most Tamei of animals, the one’s that pretend to be Tahor?! From where does the Sifra come up with this Kal ViChomeir?! We will surely need to reconsider our understanding of these pasukim and these statements from the Sifra and Tanchuma, but this time, we shall do so through the control of Rabbi Elazar Ben Azaria’s lesson:
Rabbi Elazar Ben Azaria said: From where do we know that a person should not say [to himself], ‘I am disgusted by pork,’ or ‘it’s simply impossible to wear Kila’im,’ that he should rather declare ‘I wish I could eat pork or wear Kila’im, but what can I do? My father in Heaven has commanded me not to.’? It states in the pasuk, VaAvdil Eschem Min Ha’Amim LeHiyos Li, that He has separated us for the sake of His name, and that we should stay away from sin with intention to be to be Mikabeil Ol Malchus Shamayim.”
Rashi, VaYikra (20:26)
Rabbi Elazar seems to stress the idea that a Mitzvah should be difficult, that the effort we put into their fulfillment is factored into our ultimate reward. But we wonder, is it truly so terrible to be repulsed by pork? Is it really necessary for one to wish he could eat it? When one recognizes the reasons he shouldn’t eat Beheimos Temei’os, like the Midrash Tanchuma explained, he will surely become repulsed by them and their damaging effects, and that will lessen the Schar he receives for fulfilling the Mitzvah?! At the heart of Rabbi Elazar’s lesson, it seems, is the order to like pork. It’s a strange encouragement; really, what if a person truly dislikes the smell of bacon? Should he try to like it, try to wish he could eat it, somehow irrationally convince himself that he loves the taste of bacon? What a strange lesson Rabbi Elazar would be teaching us then. Perhaps there is motivation to like pork, and perhaps it’s based on our parasha. Perhaps this whole concept of repulsion towards Beheimos Tamei’os wasn’t really the Midrash Tanchuma’s intended lesson.
There are two ways to approach the prohibition of Beheimos Tamei’os. Either all animals are considered Kosher except for those which lack the proper Simanim, and these lackings make them harmful for our well being, whether physical or spiritual. Or all animals are considered not-Kosher, except for those with beneficial aspects, those with the proper Simanim, and those Simanim are what are healthy for us to eat. In other words, we can either view the horse to have spiritual cholesterol and fats, or we can view the cow to have spiritual vitamins. And the Sifra’s Kal ViChomeir tells us exactly which of these two approaches is true. The Kal ViChomeir isn’t drawn from animals with one Siman Tuma to animals with two Simanei Tuma; there’s no such thing as a Siman Tuma! Rather, animals with one Siman Tahara provide a Kal ViComeir for animals with no Simanei Tahara; the prohibition of eating animals with some spiritual vitamins provide a Kal ViChomeir for animals with no spiritual vitamins.
The Midrash Tanchuma is therefore not comparing our case to a patient who wants to know why the doctor has restricted his diet and a doctor who answers it’s for the sake of the patient’s health that he stay away from harmful foods. Rather, the doctor is forcing the patient to take his vitamins, and to not waste his time on foods that do not contain the proper sustenance, and he explains to the patient why he didn’t bother making the other patient’s life miserable too. If we approach Simanei Tahara this way, then we can understand why Gamal or Shafan is not nearly as abominable as horse or dog; at least they contain some spiritual vitamins.
The Torah therefore goes out of its way to tell us that only one Siman Tahara is not enough to justify the consumption of pig or camel etc. While one Siman is better than none, we recognize that these animals actually have an added level of Tumah to them that counteracts their positive aspects, for they are like the most despicable nations of the world in that they embody the notion of being only half good, to permit the existence of a Jewish nation but deny our ability to learn Torah, like Malchus Edom did.
We eat Kosher animals because of the positive aspects to their consumption, so one might think he may eat pork for his personal well being; after all, it does have a Siman Tahara. Rabbi Elazar Ben Azaria therefore teaches us that one may not simply because Hashem commanded him not to. One may make a similar mistake by Sha’atneiz. One reason given for the prohibition of Levishas Kila’im is that the Egyptian priests used to wear Sha’atneiz clothing when doing their Avoda. One would perhaps think that for this very reason we should wear Kila’im, for the Mitzrim’s practice is a testament to the quality and value of the clothing. Hashem, however, tells us not to wear them, for they too embody the practice of another nation. The first step for us to be a nation of Hashem’s is to dissociate ourselves from these forbidden objects, these things that are only forbidden because of their uses in other cultures. And if we look closely at that Rashi in (20:26), we realize that Rabbi Elazar Ben Azaria’s lesson was in fact the continuation of this very point. The Rashi begins…
“VaAvdil Eschem... LiHiyos Li. If you stay separate from other [nations], then you will be My [nation]. But if not, then you will be Nevuchadnetzar’s. [And] Rabbi Elazar Ben Azaria said…”
1.4.05
27.3.05
Parashat Tzav
Vi’Im Hei’achol Yei’acheil MiBissar Zevach Shlamav BaYom HaShilishi Lo Yeiratzeh HaMakriv Oso Lo Yeichasheiv Lo Pigul Yihiyeh VaHanefesh HaOcheles Mimenu Avonah Tisa. VaYikra 7:18
Among many things, this pasuk details the violation of eating pigul, a sacrifice that has been left over past its allotted window of time to be eaten. The pasuk appears within the context of the Neder-based Shlamim, which has an allotted window of two days and one night to be eaten; therefore, after the second day, one violates this commandment by eating the leftover meat. The pasuk also seems to detail the effects of this violation. If the owner were to eat from the meat after the second day, then Lo Yeiratzeh, it would no longer count as a proper atonement (retroactively, like by a Zav or Zavah). Additionally, HaMakriv Oso Lo Yeichasheiv, the act of bringing the Korban will not be considered to have accomplished anything.
Rashi, however, has a different take on the meaning of this pasuk.
“Vi’Im Hei’achol Yei’acheil…” The pasuk refers to [a Kohein] who thinks at the time of Shchita to eat [the Korban] on the third day. One may think that the pasuk teaches us that the violation retroactively nullifies [the owner’s] atomement; therefore, the pasuk states “HaMakriv Oso Lo Yeichasheiv,” the [pasuk refers to a] Korban [that] is invalidated at the time of offering, not on the third day. So did [Chazal] explain [this pasuk], ‘don’t think such a thought [during the offering of the Korban,] and if one does think such, the Korban is indeed invalidated.’
Not only does Rashi reinterpret the pasuk based on the teachings of Chazal, he even rejects the pasuk’s simple understanding! And on what grounds?! HaMakriv Oso Lo Yeichasheiv is clearly able to be interpreted in multiple ways, so why should Chazal come along, interpret it one way, and say that their understanding comes to exclude anyone else’s?! Even Rashi’s grandson, the Rashbam, was very bothered by his grandfather’s approach to this pasuk:
“HaMakriv Oso Lo Yeichasheiv” The Sages uproot the simple meaning of this pasuk and reinterpret it as such: [the pasuk refers to a Kohein] who thinks – during any one of the four actions of sacrifice: Shchita, Kabalah, Hiluch, and Zerikah – to eat the Korban on the third day.
It seems that both Rashi and the Rashbam have their backs up against a wall. On one hand, the pasuk makes clear mention of eating and only perhaps makes mention of thinking at the very end, depending on how you interpret the word Yeichasheiv. Yet on the other hand, if the lashon of Yeichasheiv did not refer to Machshava but rather to Chashivus, the pasuk’s retroactive invalidation would be redundant. More to the point, the Rashbam faces heat for arguing with the Chazal. Yet the Drasha as explained by Rashi does nothing to explain the first half of the pasuk; at the very least, in no way does it justify the choppy nature of the pasuk for Rashi to consider this the pasuk’s simple understnading (note how instead of opening with the words “Kach Pershu Rabboseinu, Rashi first explains pshat, and then continues that Chazal were Doreish the pasuk similarly).
There is one difficulty, however, that neither understanding of this pasuk can seem to resolve. The pasuk opens Vi’Im Hei’achol Yei’acheil MiBissar Zevach Shlamav, and if some of the meat from his Shlamim is eaten. Who’s Shlamim? The Korban belongs to the owner, so one would expect the pasuk to be referring to the owner. But why would the pasuk limit its law to the scenario where the owner eats from it? Anybody is allowed to eat from the Korban (provided he is Tahor). In fact, in pasukim 20 and 21, the Korban is referred to as Zevach HaShlamim. In pasuk 15, by the owner’s personal obligation to eat from his Korban, the pasuk writes Zevach Shlamav. So why refer to this as “his Korban” by the general law of Pigul?
Perhaps the pasuk is written similarly to pasuk 13, which also uses the lashon of Shlamav when looking from the perspective of the Kohein towards the owner. In fact, perhaps we can totally reinterpret the perspective of the first half of this pasuk; instead of it refering to a general rule, lets analyze its meaning as if it narrates the thoughts of the Kohein. And as we’ll soon see, all our difficulties with the pasuk’s syntax and redundancy and overall ambiguity melt away:
“[the thought] ‘and what if some of the meat from his Shlamim offereing were to be eaten on the third day…’ results in the future inability for the Korban to bring atonement; therefore, don’t think such thoughts; it will turn his Korban into Pigul, and then anyone who eats from it at any time, [even before the third day,] will carry this sin.”
What a wonderful understanding of the pasuk! It’s a wonder the Rashbam had such problem’s with Rashi’s and Chazal’s interpretation. But perhaps even the Rashbam understood this pasuk this way; perhaps something else about his grandfather’s peirush inspired his startling comments. And indeed there is a very simple problem with Rashi’s take on the pasuk, for if the simple understanding of the pasuk is as Rashi explains, then why does the gemara need to be Doreish from the word “HaMakriv” that the present tense of the word Makriv comes to exclude one’s ability to retroactively invalidate Korbanos?
The Rashbam therefore explains that this difficulty with Rashi is no problem at all, that Chazal do in fact uproot the pasuk from its simple meaning. We have no logical reason to think that the pasuk would exclude the retroactive ineffectiveness of the Korban if the owner were to eat from it after it proper time; as aforementioned, Korbanos can be effected retroactively, so why shouldn’t this one? Therefore, Rabbi Eliezer insists in his drasha (Meseches Zevachim 29a) “Kaf Oznechah Lishmo’ah. This pasuk is phrased very strangely since it should have just written “Lo Yeichasheiv” at the beginning. Therefore, it is possible for one to consider that the pasuk refers to retroactive invalidation though the violation of Pigul. Talmud Lomar, Hamakriv Oso Lo Yeiratzeh, it is only invalidated at the time of Hakravah and not on the third day.” And so Chazal exclude the scenario of “Nefesh HaOcheles” from the effects of “Lo Yeiratzeh.” Ultimately we see that neither Rashi nor the Rashbam, nor Chazal, argue over anything at all regarding this pasuk’s understanding. We instead should just read the pasuk exactly as we would expect Sefer VaYikra to read, as Hashem’s direct instructions to the Kohanim regarding their Avoda.
Among many things, this pasuk details the violation of eating pigul, a sacrifice that has been left over past its allotted window of time to be eaten. The pasuk appears within the context of the Neder-based Shlamim, which has an allotted window of two days and one night to be eaten; therefore, after the second day, one violates this commandment by eating the leftover meat. The pasuk also seems to detail the effects of this violation. If the owner were to eat from the meat after the second day, then Lo Yeiratzeh, it would no longer count as a proper atonement (retroactively, like by a Zav or Zavah). Additionally, HaMakriv Oso Lo Yeichasheiv, the act of bringing the Korban will not be considered to have accomplished anything.
Rashi, however, has a different take on the meaning of this pasuk.
“Vi’Im Hei’achol Yei’acheil…” The pasuk refers to [a Kohein] who thinks at the time of Shchita to eat [the Korban] on the third day. One may think that the pasuk teaches us that the violation retroactively nullifies [the owner’s] atomement; therefore, the pasuk states “HaMakriv Oso Lo Yeichasheiv,” the [pasuk refers to a] Korban [that] is invalidated at the time of offering, not on the third day. So did [Chazal] explain [this pasuk], ‘don’t think such a thought [during the offering of the Korban,] and if one does think such, the Korban is indeed invalidated.’
Not only does Rashi reinterpret the pasuk based on the teachings of Chazal, he even rejects the pasuk’s simple understanding! And on what grounds?! HaMakriv Oso Lo Yeichasheiv is clearly able to be interpreted in multiple ways, so why should Chazal come along, interpret it one way, and say that their understanding comes to exclude anyone else’s?! Even Rashi’s grandson, the Rashbam, was very bothered by his grandfather’s approach to this pasuk:
“HaMakriv Oso Lo Yeichasheiv” The Sages uproot the simple meaning of this pasuk and reinterpret it as such: [the pasuk refers to a Kohein] who thinks – during any one of the four actions of sacrifice: Shchita, Kabalah, Hiluch, and Zerikah – to eat the Korban on the third day.
It seems that both Rashi and the Rashbam have their backs up against a wall. On one hand, the pasuk makes clear mention of eating and only perhaps makes mention of thinking at the very end, depending on how you interpret the word Yeichasheiv. Yet on the other hand, if the lashon of Yeichasheiv did not refer to Machshava but rather to Chashivus, the pasuk’s retroactive invalidation would be redundant. More to the point, the Rashbam faces heat for arguing with the Chazal. Yet the Drasha as explained by Rashi does nothing to explain the first half of the pasuk; at the very least, in no way does it justify the choppy nature of the pasuk for Rashi to consider this the pasuk’s simple understnading (note how instead of opening with the words “Kach Pershu Rabboseinu, Rashi first explains pshat, and then continues that Chazal were Doreish the pasuk similarly).
There is one difficulty, however, that neither understanding of this pasuk can seem to resolve. The pasuk opens Vi’Im Hei’achol Yei’acheil MiBissar Zevach Shlamav, and if some of the meat from his Shlamim is eaten. Who’s Shlamim? The Korban belongs to the owner, so one would expect the pasuk to be referring to the owner. But why would the pasuk limit its law to the scenario where the owner eats from it? Anybody is allowed to eat from the Korban (provided he is Tahor). In fact, in pasukim 20 and 21, the Korban is referred to as Zevach HaShlamim. In pasuk 15, by the owner’s personal obligation to eat from his Korban, the pasuk writes Zevach Shlamav. So why refer to this as “his Korban” by the general law of Pigul?
Perhaps the pasuk is written similarly to pasuk 13, which also uses the lashon of Shlamav when looking from the perspective of the Kohein towards the owner. In fact, perhaps we can totally reinterpret the perspective of the first half of this pasuk; instead of it refering to a general rule, lets analyze its meaning as if it narrates the thoughts of the Kohein. And as we’ll soon see, all our difficulties with the pasuk’s syntax and redundancy and overall ambiguity melt away:
“[the thought] ‘and what if some of the meat from his Shlamim offereing were to be eaten on the third day…’ results in the future inability for the Korban to bring atonement; therefore, don’t think such thoughts; it will turn his Korban into Pigul, and then anyone who eats from it at any time, [even before the third day,] will carry this sin.”
What a wonderful understanding of the pasuk! It’s a wonder the Rashbam had such problem’s with Rashi’s and Chazal’s interpretation. But perhaps even the Rashbam understood this pasuk this way; perhaps something else about his grandfather’s peirush inspired his startling comments. And indeed there is a very simple problem with Rashi’s take on the pasuk, for if the simple understanding of the pasuk is as Rashi explains, then why does the gemara need to be Doreish from the word “HaMakriv” that the present tense of the word Makriv comes to exclude one’s ability to retroactively invalidate Korbanos?
The Rashbam therefore explains that this difficulty with Rashi is no problem at all, that Chazal do in fact uproot the pasuk from its simple meaning. We have no logical reason to think that the pasuk would exclude the retroactive ineffectiveness of the Korban if the owner were to eat from it after it proper time; as aforementioned, Korbanos can be effected retroactively, so why shouldn’t this one? Therefore, Rabbi Eliezer insists in his drasha (Meseches Zevachim 29a) “Kaf Oznechah Lishmo’ah. This pasuk is phrased very strangely since it should have just written “Lo Yeichasheiv” at the beginning. Therefore, it is possible for one to consider that the pasuk refers to retroactive invalidation though the violation of Pigul. Talmud Lomar, Hamakriv Oso Lo Yeiratzeh, it is only invalidated at the time of Hakravah and not on the third day.” And so Chazal exclude the scenario of “Nefesh HaOcheles” from the effects of “Lo Yeiratzeh.” Ultimately we see that neither Rashi nor the Rashbam, nor Chazal, argue over anything at all regarding this pasuk’s understanding. We instead should just read the pasuk exactly as we would expect Sefer VaYikra to read, as Hashem’s direct instructions to the Kohanim regarding their Avoda.
22.3.05
Purim 5765
The gemara in Mesechet Megilah remarks how the Hasaras HaTaba’at did more for Klal Yisrael than 48 Nevi’im ever could, for whenever the Navi would tell the nation to do Teshuva, hardly anyone would listen. The story of Purim truly was a pivotal moment in our history; a special place in time and space where the randomness and chance of the nation’s fate was never more openly evident. And while Mordechai, Esteir, and Haman may have played the primary roles in this historic episode, it is still King Achashveirosh who highlights both the opening and closing parashiot of the Megilah. A king who once killed his wife by the advice of his friend and then killed that friend by the advice of his wife, who could be bribed into overlooking genocide, who could hold neither his sobriety nor his temper, Achashveirosh was perhaps the most dangerously unpredictable king in the history of the world, perhaps the only capable of ever facilitating such a dramatic reversal of fortune.
And yet, Achashveirosh doesn’t really seem to fill the lead role. Haman is the Rashah because he tries to kill the Jews and Mordechai and Esteir are the Tzadik and Tzadekes, but Achashveirosh doesn’t seem to fit into our orderly categorization. Neither hero nor villain, friend nor foe, is Achashveirosh to be labeled an anomaly? Is he to be remembered as HaMelech, nothing more than the tool through which Hashem staged the hidden miracle of Purim? Chazal suggest otherwise, as is indicated by the numerous times they refer to him as Oso HaRashah. The gemara goes so far as to explain the repetition of his name in the opening pasuk of the Megilah to indicate “”he was a Rashah throughout, from beginning to end.” But how can it be? How can a king who saves the entire Jewish nation, whose actions seem no more than the product of his insobriety, be held on a platform no higher than Haman’s or Nevuchadnetzar’s?
For all the certainty Chazal seem to have regarding his Rishus, they cannot seem to reach an agreement regarding his intelligence. Was Achashveirosh a Shoteh or a Pikeiach, stupid or smart, the gemara wonders. His decision to make a party for the faraway states before inviting Shushan becomes the crux of this debate. Normally, a king would be wise to appease the farther nations in order to suppress their contemplations of rebellion, but Achashveirosh’s case may have been different. Rav and Shmuel argue over the meaning of the opening pasuk’s words “Hodu ViAd Kush.” One amora explains the pasuk to describe the vast stretch of Achashveirosh’s kingdom; therefore, Hodu and Kush were countries far away from the capital, Shushan. The other explains that we already know how vast Achashveirosh’s kingdom was since the pasuk says “127 Midinah;” instead, Hodu and Kush were close to Shushan and signify how Achashveirosh had an equally strong control over the faraway states as he did over the neighboring Hodu and Kush. In such a case, Achashveirosh’s greatest concern should have been to appease his capital, for if they ever rebel, he would be left with nothing, and a rebellion was as likely there as it was 127 countries away. Over the duration of the Megilah’s ten-perek tale, one would expect to discover the truth behind Achashveirosh’s intelligence, or lack thereof, yet these amoraim’s ability to argue even in retrospect suggests otherwise! How can Chazal even think to call this man a Rashah if they can’t even decide whether his actions bear any semblance of rationale?!
It seems King Achashveirosh is so hopelessly unpredictable, we can’t tell whether he’s smart or dumb! Nor can we tell whether he loves or hates the Jews. One minute he’s buying them a party with Kosher food, the next minute he’s buying into their genocide. Many mefarshim resolve these self-contradictory actions by taking note of Haman’s 10,000 shekel bribe; perhaps it was worth a little Kosher food to Achashveirosh to make the Jews like him, but it was also worth 10,000 shekalim to give up on them. The problem with this understanding, however, is that it assumes Achashveirosh accepted Haman’s bribe, yet Achashveirosh says quite clearly “HaKesef Nasun Lach ViHa’Am La’Asos Bo KaTov BiEinecha,” keep your money, just get rid of the nation. The gemara explains: What compares to this [dialogue]? Haman and Achashveirosh are like two men, one with a mound of dirt and one with a ditch. The man with the ditch wonders who would sell him a mound, and the one with the mound wonders who would sell him a ditch. In time, they meet, and the ditch owner says, “Sell me your mound of dirt,” to which the mound owner replies, “Please! Take it for free!”
The gemara makes good sense of this pasuk, but before we hastily conclude Achashveirosh must have hated the Jews, let’s consider the story’s progression. Mordechai urgently asks Esteir to entreat the king, “LiHischanein Lo U’Livakeish MiLifanav Al Amah,” but if Achashveirosh hated the Jews as much as Haman, why would Mordechai have any luck appealing to him? Three days later, Achashveirosh is invited to Esteir’s second party, and when she informs him that she and her nation face extermination, he becomes enraged and erupts “Mi Hu Zeh ViEizeh Hu!!!” Was Esteir’s love really worth 10,000 shekalim to Achashveirosh? Perhaps it was, considering that he expresses how much he loves her by lifting the taxes. However, the plot suggests otherwise, for if Achashveirosh’s love for Esteir would have simply outweighed Haman’s money and influence, she could have asked for what she wanted in a very plain manner; instead, the she focuses her plea on the evil of Haman, “Ein HaTzar Shoveh BiNeizek HaMelech.”
The questions thus complete their circle, for if Achashveirosh conspired with Haman to exterminate the Jews, why would Esteir try to spring this fact on the King as if it was news to him? Apparently it was news to him! Why else would he ask “Mi Hu Zeh ViEizeh Hu?” Was Achashveirosh so stupid that he forgot having given up 10,000 shekalim just three days earlier to permit the annihilation of the Jews?
The Megilas Starrim speculates that perhaps Achashveirosh wasn’t entirely informed of Haman’s plans after all. The Megilah uses three different lishonos to describe the annihilation of the Jews: LiHashmid, LaHarog, and LiAbeid. When the Pas’shegen is dispatched, the orders contain all three lishonos, yet when Haman first approaches Achashveirosh, he only uses the word “LiAbidam.” The Megilas Starrim therefore asks why Haman didn’t use the other two lashonos as well within his proposition to the King? Could Haman have possibly been plotting behind Achashveirosh’s back?
If we look at the lashon used when Haman’s rage first inspires him to destroy the nation, the only lashon used is “LiHashmid;” both LaHarog and LiAbeid are curiously absent. If Haman wrote all three lashonos in the Pas’shegen, why did he only think of one from the outset? The Migilas Starrim answers that the Vav in the phrase “LiHashmid, LaHarog U’LiAbeid Es Kol HaYehudim” is a “Vav HaMachlekes” (in other words, it means “or,” not “and”) and that the last two terms of destruction, “LaHarog” and “LiAbeid,” are a description of the two ways of performing “LiHashmid.” Therefore, when Haman thinks “LiHashmid” the Jews, he’s really thinking of all three terms.
The Megilah describes all three words within the Pas’shegen in order to emphasize the kingdom’s option of dealing with the Jews either through Hariga or Aveida. This clarifies Haman’s misinformation of his plan to the King, for the King only knew of the option “LiAbeid.” But what exactly is this option “LiAbeid?” Let’s take another look at Haman’s speech to Achashveirosh, and this time we’ll keep in mind that Haman hides his plans “LaHarog” the Jews: “There is a nation that is spread out among all the other nations, yet they are not assimilating! Why? They are following their own rules and not the King’s. There is no reason or value for the King to tolerate this behavior, so for 10,000 shekalim, I suggest that we establish an expensive campaign with parties and pleasures to ensure that every Jew assimilates into our modern Persian culture. I’ll sponsor the campaign, I have the money.” So Aveida is conversion or assimilation, and when Achashveirosh hears this plan, he is elated. The gemara says that all the Jews attended Achashveirosh’s first party despite Mordechai’s warnings, so Achashveirosh surely believed Haman’s plan would be a complete success, worth every shekel of its cost.
Haman, however, did not have plans for a suggestive campaign. His proposal of a 10,000 shekel sponsorship was only a diversion to convince the King of his good-natured intentions. Instead Haman was planning a much more forceful operation, one that left each Jew with only two choices. “LaHarog,” to die, or “LiAbeid,” to convert; those were the only options.
Thus does the Megilas Starrim explain Mordechai’s urgent message to Esteir. Mordechai tells Hasach about both the Pas’Shegen and the Parashat HaKesef. One would expect him to only talk about the Pas’Shegen, but it was Haman’s proposal of a hefty sponsorship that effectively proved the king was not fully on Haman’s side. Mordechai knew that Achashveirosh was simply misinformed of what was truly written in the Pas’Shegen, and therefore the easiest way to defeat Haman would be to expose his insubordination. That’s why Esteir confronts the King with talks of “Ein HaTzar Shoveh BiNeizek HaMelech,” and that’s why the astonished King responds “Mi Hu Zeh ViEizeh Hu.”
Achashveirosh may have disliked the Jews, but he never actually intended to murder them. Such behavior was beneath him; he was much more interested in making everyone happy, in treating everyone fairly and not forcing his mandate upon anyone. That’s why every letter was sent out “El Midinah U’Midinah KiChsava ViEl Am VaAm KiLshono.” That’s why no person was forced to drink at his party, and why wine and foods from every country were supplied so everyone could find something he liked. In fact, everything Achashveirosh did was “KiRtzon Eesh VaEesh.”
We can now begin to see some consistency within Achashveirosh’s behavior; every action he takes is for the sake of fulfilling each man’s Ratzon. When Vashti doesn’t perform his Ratzon, he becomes enraged, but he certainly doesn’t consider killing her; such action would be incomprehensible to the King. However, Memuchan provides a strong argument. “If Vashti is spared,” he reasons, “then each officer’s wife will stop fulfilling her husband’s Ratzon, which will make each officer displeased, thus creating much more BiZayon and Katzef than already exists.” Memuchan’s larger scale perspective called for Vashti’s immediate execution and a decree “LeHios Kol Eesh Soreir BiVeiso;” naturally, Achashveirosh wasn’t very comfortable with this decision – what greater encroachment on his kingdom could there be than a potential death penalty – so he ends his decree with the instructions “U’Midabeir KiLshon Amo,” as if to say “you still have your freedom.”
The rest of the story progresses quite smoothly, as the King agrees to the expensive assimilation of the Jews, whom “Es Dasei HaMelech Einam Osim,” they don’t fulfill the King’s Ratzon. Ironically, he later discovers that Haman is plotting behind his back and not doing his Ratzon to a far worse degree than the Jews. Like Vashti, the people who promote these Ratzon-endangering edicts are to be put to death. Unlike Vashti, though, Haman consulted his friends instead of acting on his own, and so many people were held responsible for this offense.
Achashveirosh makes significant progress in the Megilah’s story, at first only willing to kill his rebellious wife and two scheming servants, Bigsan and Seresh, but later willing to slay five hundred men in his own capital! It seems his non-violent mentality somehow backfires to the point that he approves of genocide (of Amaleik) in order to maintain peace! It is not necessarily a foolish mentality; Achashveirosh consistently makes the appropriate immediate decision, but he never looks far enough into the future to wonder if he can truly maintain his utopian kingdom. And within a year of the story of Purim, his reign comes to an abrupt end, and the second King Koresh takes over. We come to recognize that Achashveirosh was not that unpredictable after all, nor was he incredibly stupid, nor was he incredibly smart. He just wanted to do “KiRtzon Eesh VaEesh.”
“KiRtzon Eesh VaEesh” requires the fulfillment of two distinct desires. Everyone wants equal treatment, to be no worse than the next person, to be held no lower. Yet everyone wants choice as well, the desire for his own voice to be heard above others’. And as hard as Achashveirosh tried to grant his subjects these two distinct desires, ultimately, he could not. From the very start of his reign, Achashveirosh had to decide how to divvy his control over his kingdom; he could either attempt to rule alone, or he could assign his most loyal officers to each of his 127 countries to maintain order. The former approach, however, encroached upon the equality of his nation, leaving the farther countries more distant from their ruler, more out of touch, more likely to rebel. All of a sudden, parties would be necessary to keep them happy. The latter approach was just as problematic, for the most loyal officers would be selected not by the people, but by the King, thus limiting his subjects’ freedom, the kingdom’s democracy.
Like Rav and Shmuel teach us, it is indeterminable which approach Achashveirosh chose. Neither choice was a stupid choice, nor was either choice a smart choice. Perhaps the 180 day party was a careful calculation, in which case “BaChatzar Geenas Beesan HaMelech” would most likely mean that Achashveirsoh prepared several gardens, intending that every attendant feel comfortable in the environment of his choice. Perhaps the party was a stupid idea, thought up on a whim, in which case “Geenas Beesan HaMelech” reflects Achashveirosh’s poor planning, that he invited everyone into his Chatzeir, and when it overcrowded, he opened up the Geenah, and then the Beesan. Persistently, Achashveirosh tries as hard as he can to do KiRtzon Eesh VaEesh, to let each write and speak KiChsavah and KiLshono, to judge between KaDas and Lo KaDas, to treat his women KiDas HaNashim, and to deal with the Jews KaTov BiEinav; nonetheless, his actions cannot be perfect. They are only “like” perfect actions because as correct as his choices may have been at the immediate moment with the given information, his perspective of any matter was always severely limited.
KiRtzon Eesh VaEesh. (Why “Eesh VaEesh,” why not “KiRtzon Kulam”?) HaKadosh Baruch Hu said to [Achashveirosh], “I do not deviate from the nature of My creation, and you want to fulfill every man’s will?! If two men wish to marry the same woman, can she marry both of them? Alas, she can only marry one. Similarly, if two boats leave a dock, one hoping for a northern wind and one hoping for a southern wind, can the wind blow them both in their respective desired directions? Alas, it can only carry one. Tomorrow, two men will approach you, one man an Eesh Yihudi and one man an Eesh Tzar ViOyeiv, each with a request, and we shall see if you can fulfill both their desires. Alas, you will elevate one but hang the other.”
Midrash Esteir Rabbah, 2:14
The Midrash doesn’t call Achashveirosh a Chacham or a Tipeish, but it suggests that he infuriated Hakadosh Baruch Hu with his party. Achashveirosh’s pursuit for equality and freedom wasn’t only a futile waste of energy; it undermined the very notion that the world could operate on a more objective Ratzon than his own. And what Ratzon, one might ask, is more objective than man’s? Hashem’s Ratzon, of course. It is His Ratzon that we pursue, and His Das that we follow, and we perform that which is Tov BiEinav. All the while, we recognize that while we are granted free choice, we must still operate within the context of our Torah’s restrictions. We recognize that we are not treated equally but rather tested differently, that each individual is created to fulfill a unique piece of Hashem’s ultimate plan, and that one’s unique experiences and unique challenges are to be viewed as the reflection of Hashem’s Ratzon to provide us with opportunities to achieve our Geulah.
There is one “Kaf” in the Megilah that perhaps stands out as the strangest of all the seemingly out of place “Kaf”s. Mordechai, in a moment of dire urgency, persuades Esteir to take action and approach Achashveirosh. He says to her, “U’Mi Yodei’ah Im LaEis KaZos Hi’Ga’at LaMalchus,” who knows if a moment like this is why you have ascended to royalty. If Mordechai is so certain that Esteir should risk her life to speak with the King, he should pronounce “Im LaEis HaZos!” Yet Morchai very carefully chooses his words; had he said “HaZos,” his instructions would imply that he knew Esteir’s purpose as queen was to approach the King at this time. But Mordechai can’t know what Hashem’s true intentions are; he can only speculate with his relatively limited perspective. Instead, Mordechai teaches Esteir a much deeper lesson. “There is no one moment that the Jews can be saved,” Mordechai explains, “there are many moments. But if you do not recognize how this moment might be your opportunity to save the Jews, then you are not searching for Hashem’s Ratzon; you’re only selfishly searching for your own Ratzon, and you will surely not be given another opportunity.”
Purim is all too often remembered as the holiday of Gilui Panim, the time in history when extraordinary coincidences like Esteir’s ascension to royalty, Achashveirosh’s short temper, and other various timely miracles, were just enough to reverse the Jews’ fortune. But how apparent were all these miracles? In reality, they only stood as clear indicators of Hashem’s presence after the nation’s salvation. Perhaps the story of Purim only furthers us into Hesteir Panim, the concealment of Hashem’s presence within every mundane activity, as opposed to the vastly uncommon one-in-a-million coincidences.
Nonetheless, we must struggle to recognize that the lessons of Purim are not only true in times of miraculous coincidence, but even in our modern times. We must strain to accept that the Ratzon of Hashem isn’t always highlighted by incredible circumstance, but rather must be sought after. And if we realize this potential for fulfilling the Ratzon Hashem, then BiMiheirah BiYameinu we will be Zocheh to experience that which is described in the continuation of the same Midrash:
Rav Huna said in the name of Rav Binyamin Bar Levi: In this world, when the northern winds blow, the southern winds cannot. And when the southern winds blow, the northern winds cannot. But in the World To Come, when Hashem gathers His nation from exile, He will bring a supernatural wind that blows in both directions, as the pasuk states “Omeir LiTzafon T’ni, U’LiTeiman Al Tachla’ee. Hevi’i Banai MeiRachok U’B’nosai MiKitzei HaAretz.”
Who can perform the will of all those who fear Him? It is HaKadosh Baruch Hu, as the pasuk says “Ritzon Yirei’av Ya’aseh ViEs Sha’avasam Yishma ViYoshi’eim.”
Midrash Esteir Rabbah, 2:14
And yet, Achashveirosh doesn’t really seem to fill the lead role. Haman is the Rashah because he tries to kill the Jews and Mordechai and Esteir are the Tzadik and Tzadekes, but Achashveirosh doesn’t seem to fit into our orderly categorization. Neither hero nor villain, friend nor foe, is Achashveirosh to be labeled an anomaly? Is he to be remembered as HaMelech, nothing more than the tool through which Hashem staged the hidden miracle of Purim? Chazal suggest otherwise, as is indicated by the numerous times they refer to him as Oso HaRashah. The gemara goes so far as to explain the repetition of his name in the opening pasuk of the Megilah to indicate “”he was a Rashah throughout, from beginning to end.” But how can it be? How can a king who saves the entire Jewish nation, whose actions seem no more than the product of his insobriety, be held on a platform no higher than Haman’s or Nevuchadnetzar’s?
For all the certainty Chazal seem to have regarding his Rishus, they cannot seem to reach an agreement regarding his intelligence. Was Achashveirosh a Shoteh or a Pikeiach, stupid or smart, the gemara wonders. His decision to make a party for the faraway states before inviting Shushan becomes the crux of this debate. Normally, a king would be wise to appease the farther nations in order to suppress their contemplations of rebellion, but Achashveirosh’s case may have been different. Rav and Shmuel argue over the meaning of the opening pasuk’s words “Hodu ViAd Kush.” One amora explains the pasuk to describe the vast stretch of Achashveirosh’s kingdom; therefore, Hodu and Kush were countries far away from the capital, Shushan. The other explains that we already know how vast Achashveirosh’s kingdom was since the pasuk says “127 Midinah;” instead, Hodu and Kush were close to Shushan and signify how Achashveirosh had an equally strong control over the faraway states as he did over the neighboring Hodu and Kush. In such a case, Achashveirosh’s greatest concern should have been to appease his capital, for if they ever rebel, he would be left with nothing, and a rebellion was as likely there as it was 127 countries away. Over the duration of the Megilah’s ten-perek tale, one would expect to discover the truth behind Achashveirosh’s intelligence, or lack thereof, yet these amoraim’s ability to argue even in retrospect suggests otherwise! How can Chazal even think to call this man a Rashah if they can’t even decide whether his actions bear any semblance of rationale?!
It seems King Achashveirosh is so hopelessly unpredictable, we can’t tell whether he’s smart or dumb! Nor can we tell whether he loves or hates the Jews. One minute he’s buying them a party with Kosher food, the next minute he’s buying into their genocide. Many mefarshim resolve these self-contradictory actions by taking note of Haman’s 10,000 shekel bribe; perhaps it was worth a little Kosher food to Achashveirosh to make the Jews like him, but it was also worth 10,000 shekalim to give up on them. The problem with this understanding, however, is that it assumes Achashveirosh accepted Haman’s bribe, yet Achashveirosh says quite clearly “HaKesef Nasun Lach ViHa’Am La’Asos Bo KaTov BiEinecha,” keep your money, just get rid of the nation. The gemara explains: What compares to this [dialogue]? Haman and Achashveirosh are like two men, one with a mound of dirt and one with a ditch. The man with the ditch wonders who would sell him a mound, and the one with the mound wonders who would sell him a ditch. In time, they meet, and the ditch owner says, “Sell me your mound of dirt,” to which the mound owner replies, “Please! Take it for free!”
The gemara makes good sense of this pasuk, but before we hastily conclude Achashveirosh must have hated the Jews, let’s consider the story’s progression. Mordechai urgently asks Esteir to entreat the king, “LiHischanein Lo U’Livakeish MiLifanav Al Amah,” but if Achashveirosh hated the Jews as much as Haman, why would Mordechai have any luck appealing to him? Three days later, Achashveirosh is invited to Esteir’s second party, and when she informs him that she and her nation face extermination, he becomes enraged and erupts “Mi Hu Zeh ViEizeh Hu!!!” Was Esteir’s love really worth 10,000 shekalim to Achashveirosh? Perhaps it was, considering that he expresses how much he loves her by lifting the taxes. However, the plot suggests otherwise, for if Achashveirosh’s love for Esteir would have simply outweighed Haman’s money and influence, she could have asked for what she wanted in a very plain manner; instead, the she focuses her plea on the evil of Haman, “Ein HaTzar Shoveh BiNeizek HaMelech.”
The questions thus complete their circle, for if Achashveirosh conspired with Haman to exterminate the Jews, why would Esteir try to spring this fact on the King as if it was news to him? Apparently it was news to him! Why else would he ask “Mi Hu Zeh ViEizeh Hu?” Was Achashveirosh so stupid that he forgot having given up 10,000 shekalim just three days earlier to permit the annihilation of the Jews?
The Megilas Starrim speculates that perhaps Achashveirosh wasn’t entirely informed of Haman’s plans after all. The Megilah uses three different lishonos to describe the annihilation of the Jews: LiHashmid, LaHarog, and LiAbeid. When the Pas’shegen is dispatched, the orders contain all three lishonos, yet when Haman first approaches Achashveirosh, he only uses the word “LiAbidam.” The Megilas Starrim therefore asks why Haman didn’t use the other two lashonos as well within his proposition to the King? Could Haman have possibly been plotting behind Achashveirosh’s back?
If we look at the lashon used when Haman’s rage first inspires him to destroy the nation, the only lashon used is “LiHashmid;” both LaHarog and LiAbeid are curiously absent. If Haman wrote all three lashonos in the Pas’shegen, why did he only think of one from the outset? The Migilas Starrim answers that the Vav in the phrase “LiHashmid, LaHarog U’LiAbeid Es Kol HaYehudim” is a “Vav HaMachlekes” (in other words, it means “or,” not “and”) and that the last two terms of destruction, “LaHarog” and “LiAbeid,” are a description of the two ways of performing “LiHashmid.” Therefore, when Haman thinks “LiHashmid” the Jews, he’s really thinking of all three terms.
The Megilah describes all three words within the Pas’shegen in order to emphasize the kingdom’s option of dealing with the Jews either through Hariga or Aveida. This clarifies Haman’s misinformation of his plan to the King, for the King only knew of the option “LiAbeid.” But what exactly is this option “LiAbeid?” Let’s take another look at Haman’s speech to Achashveirosh, and this time we’ll keep in mind that Haman hides his plans “LaHarog” the Jews: “There is a nation that is spread out among all the other nations, yet they are not assimilating! Why? They are following their own rules and not the King’s. There is no reason or value for the King to tolerate this behavior, so for 10,000 shekalim, I suggest that we establish an expensive campaign with parties and pleasures to ensure that every Jew assimilates into our modern Persian culture. I’ll sponsor the campaign, I have the money.” So Aveida is conversion or assimilation, and when Achashveirosh hears this plan, he is elated. The gemara says that all the Jews attended Achashveirosh’s first party despite Mordechai’s warnings, so Achashveirosh surely believed Haman’s plan would be a complete success, worth every shekel of its cost.
Haman, however, did not have plans for a suggestive campaign. His proposal of a 10,000 shekel sponsorship was only a diversion to convince the King of his good-natured intentions. Instead Haman was planning a much more forceful operation, one that left each Jew with only two choices. “LaHarog,” to die, or “LiAbeid,” to convert; those were the only options.
Thus does the Megilas Starrim explain Mordechai’s urgent message to Esteir. Mordechai tells Hasach about both the Pas’Shegen and the Parashat HaKesef. One would expect him to only talk about the Pas’Shegen, but it was Haman’s proposal of a hefty sponsorship that effectively proved the king was not fully on Haman’s side. Mordechai knew that Achashveirosh was simply misinformed of what was truly written in the Pas’Shegen, and therefore the easiest way to defeat Haman would be to expose his insubordination. That’s why Esteir confronts the King with talks of “Ein HaTzar Shoveh BiNeizek HaMelech,” and that’s why the astonished King responds “Mi Hu Zeh ViEizeh Hu.”
Achashveirosh may have disliked the Jews, but he never actually intended to murder them. Such behavior was beneath him; he was much more interested in making everyone happy, in treating everyone fairly and not forcing his mandate upon anyone. That’s why every letter was sent out “El Midinah U’Midinah KiChsava ViEl Am VaAm KiLshono.” That’s why no person was forced to drink at his party, and why wine and foods from every country were supplied so everyone could find something he liked. In fact, everything Achashveirosh did was “KiRtzon Eesh VaEesh.”
We can now begin to see some consistency within Achashveirosh’s behavior; every action he takes is for the sake of fulfilling each man’s Ratzon. When Vashti doesn’t perform his Ratzon, he becomes enraged, but he certainly doesn’t consider killing her; such action would be incomprehensible to the King. However, Memuchan provides a strong argument. “If Vashti is spared,” he reasons, “then each officer’s wife will stop fulfilling her husband’s Ratzon, which will make each officer displeased, thus creating much more BiZayon and Katzef than already exists.” Memuchan’s larger scale perspective called for Vashti’s immediate execution and a decree “LeHios Kol Eesh Soreir BiVeiso;” naturally, Achashveirosh wasn’t very comfortable with this decision – what greater encroachment on his kingdom could there be than a potential death penalty – so he ends his decree with the instructions “U’Midabeir KiLshon Amo,” as if to say “you still have your freedom.”
The rest of the story progresses quite smoothly, as the King agrees to the expensive assimilation of the Jews, whom “Es Dasei HaMelech Einam Osim,” they don’t fulfill the King’s Ratzon. Ironically, he later discovers that Haman is plotting behind his back and not doing his Ratzon to a far worse degree than the Jews. Like Vashti, the people who promote these Ratzon-endangering edicts are to be put to death. Unlike Vashti, though, Haman consulted his friends instead of acting on his own, and so many people were held responsible for this offense.
Achashveirosh makes significant progress in the Megilah’s story, at first only willing to kill his rebellious wife and two scheming servants, Bigsan and Seresh, but later willing to slay five hundred men in his own capital! It seems his non-violent mentality somehow backfires to the point that he approves of genocide (of Amaleik) in order to maintain peace! It is not necessarily a foolish mentality; Achashveirosh consistently makes the appropriate immediate decision, but he never looks far enough into the future to wonder if he can truly maintain his utopian kingdom. And within a year of the story of Purim, his reign comes to an abrupt end, and the second King Koresh takes over. We come to recognize that Achashveirosh was not that unpredictable after all, nor was he incredibly stupid, nor was he incredibly smart. He just wanted to do “KiRtzon Eesh VaEesh.”
“KiRtzon Eesh VaEesh” requires the fulfillment of two distinct desires. Everyone wants equal treatment, to be no worse than the next person, to be held no lower. Yet everyone wants choice as well, the desire for his own voice to be heard above others’. And as hard as Achashveirosh tried to grant his subjects these two distinct desires, ultimately, he could not. From the very start of his reign, Achashveirosh had to decide how to divvy his control over his kingdom; he could either attempt to rule alone, or he could assign his most loyal officers to each of his 127 countries to maintain order. The former approach, however, encroached upon the equality of his nation, leaving the farther countries more distant from their ruler, more out of touch, more likely to rebel. All of a sudden, parties would be necessary to keep them happy. The latter approach was just as problematic, for the most loyal officers would be selected not by the people, but by the King, thus limiting his subjects’ freedom, the kingdom’s democracy.
Like Rav and Shmuel teach us, it is indeterminable which approach Achashveirosh chose. Neither choice was a stupid choice, nor was either choice a smart choice. Perhaps the 180 day party was a careful calculation, in which case “BaChatzar Geenas Beesan HaMelech” would most likely mean that Achashveirsoh prepared several gardens, intending that every attendant feel comfortable in the environment of his choice. Perhaps the party was a stupid idea, thought up on a whim, in which case “Geenas Beesan HaMelech” reflects Achashveirosh’s poor planning, that he invited everyone into his Chatzeir, and when it overcrowded, he opened up the Geenah, and then the Beesan. Persistently, Achashveirosh tries as hard as he can to do KiRtzon Eesh VaEesh, to let each write and speak KiChsavah and KiLshono, to judge between KaDas and Lo KaDas, to treat his women KiDas HaNashim, and to deal with the Jews KaTov BiEinav; nonetheless, his actions cannot be perfect. They are only “like” perfect actions because as correct as his choices may have been at the immediate moment with the given information, his perspective of any matter was always severely limited.
KiRtzon Eesh VaEesh. (Why “Eesh VaEesh,” why not “KiRtzon Kulam”?) HaKadosh Baruch Hu said to [Achashveirosh], “I do not deviate from the nature of My creation, and you want to fulfill every man’s will?! If two men wish to marry the same woman, can she marry both of them? Alas, she can only marry one. Similarly, if two boats leave a dock, one hoping for a northern wind and one hoping for a southern wind, can the wind blow them both in their respective desired directions? Alas, it can only carry one. Tomorrow, two men will approach you, one man an Eesh Yihudi and one man an Eesh Tzar ViOyeiv, each with a request, and we shall see if you can fulfill both their desires. Alas, you will elevate one but hang the other.”
Midrash Esteir Rabbah, 2:14
The Midrash doesn’t call Achashveirosh a Chacham or a Tipeish, but it suggests that he infuriated Hakadosh Baruch Hu with his party. Achashveirosh’s pursuit for equality and freedom wasn’t only a futile waste of energy; it undermined the very notion that the world could operate on a more objective Ratzon than his own. And what Ratzon, one might ask, is more objective than man’s? Hashem’s Ratzon, of course. It is His Ratzon that we pursue, and His Das that we follow, and we perform that which is Tov BiEinav. All the while, we recognize that while we are granted free choice, we must still operate within the context of our Torah’s restrictions. We recognize that we are not treated equally but rather tested differently, that each individual is created to fulfill a unique piece of Hashem’s ultimate plan, and that one’s unique experiences and unique challenges are to be viewed as the reflection of Hashem’s Ratzon to provide us with opportunities to achieve our Geulah.
There is one “Kaf” in the Megilah that perhaps stands out as the strangest of all the seemingly out of place “Kaf”s. Mordechai, in a moment of dire urgency, persuades Esteir to take action and approach Achashveirosh. He says to her, “U’Mi Yodei’ah Im LaEis KaZos Hi’Ga’at LaMalchus,” who knows if a moment like this is why you have ascended to royalty. If Mordechai is so certain that Esteir should risk her life to speak with the King, he should pronounce “Im LaEis HaZos!” Yet Morchai very carefully chooses his words; had he said “HaZos,” his instructions would imply that he knew Esteir’s purpose as queen was to approach the King at this time. But Mordechai can’t know what Hashem’s true intentions are; he can only speculate with his relatively limited perspective. Instead, Mordechai teaches Esteir a much deeper lesson. “There is no one moment that the Jews can be saved,” Mordechai explains, “there are many moments. But if you do not recognize how this moment might be your opportunity to save the Jews, then you are not searching for Hashem’s Ratzon; you’re only selfishly searching for your own Ratzon, and you will surely not be given another opportunity.”
Purim is all too often remembered as the holiday of Gilui Panim, the time in history when extraordinary coincidences like Esteir’s ascension to royalty, Achashveirosh’s short temper, and other various timely miracles, were just enough to reverse the Jews’ fortune. But how apparent were all these miracles? In reality, they only stood as clear indicators of Hashem’s presence after the nation’s salvation. Perhaps the story of Purim only furthers us into Hesteir Panim, the concealment of Hashem’s presence within every mundane activity, as opposed to the vastly uncommon one-in-a-million coincidences.
Nonetheless, we must struggle to recognize that the lessons of Purim are not only true in times of miraculous coincidence, but even in our modern times. We must strain to accept that the Ratzon of Hashem isn’t always highlighted by incredible circumstance, but rather must be sought after. And if we realize this potential for fulfilling the Ratzon Hashem, then BiMiheirah BiYameinu we will be Zocheh to experience that which is described in the continuation of the same Midrash:
Rav Huna said in the name of Rav Binyamin Bar Levi: In this world, when the northern winds blow, the southern winds cannot. And when the southern winds blow, the northern winds cannot. But in the World To Come, when Hashem gathers His nation from exile, He will bring a supernatural wind that blows in both directions, as the pasuk states “Omeir LiTzafon T’ni, U’LiTeiman Al Tachla’ee. Hevi’i Banai MeiRachok U’B’nosai MiKitzei HaAretz.”
Who can perform the will of all those who fear Him? It is HaKadosh Baruch Hu, as the pasuk says “Ritzon Yirei’av Ya’aseh ViEs Sha’avasam Yishma ViYoshi’eim.”
Midrash Esteir Rabbah, 2:14
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