Haman Built the Gallows and Hanged on It Himself
Haman arrived at the palace before dawn to ask for Mordechai's death. He left with orders to lead Mordechai through the streets in the king's own robes.
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Haman went home from the king's gate holding everything a man could hold. The royal ring sat on his finger, a decree against the Jews had gone out sealed to a hundred and twenty-seven provinces, and princes bowed when he passed. One Jew at the gate would not bend his knee, and that single refusal hollowed out all the rest.
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The Night the Gallows Went Up
His wife Zeresh and his friends gave him the cure. Build a gallows fifty cubits high, they said, ask the king at first light for permission to hang Mordechai on it, and go to the queen's banquet with your appetite back. The structure went up that same night in Haman's courtyard, fresh wood, fifty cubits, tall enough to be seen across Shushan. He built the conclusion before the conversation had taken place, so certain of the outcome that the king's permission felt like a formality.
Heaven had been building longer. That same night, in the court above, the patriarchs bowed their heads to the decree of destruction hanging over Israel, and the moment God saw them accept the justice of it, He rose from the throne of justice and sat down on the throne of mercy. Then God asked the trees of creation which of them would carry the wicked man. The fig came forward, remembering that Israel had been compared to it. The vine claimed the honor for the wine of the offerings, and olive, pomegranate, walnut, citron, willow, apple, and cedar each stood on its own verse, each already bound to Israel's service. Then the thorn spoke. "The wicked were compared to me. I will serve." The thorn was chosen, wood with no sacred office to leave, wood whose one distinction in the world would be the man it held.
The King Who Could Not Sleep
Down in the palace, sleep had deserted Ahasuerus. He had his servants read the royal chronicles aloud through the dark hours, and the reading struck the record of an assassination plot once uncovered by a Jew named Mordechai, a man who had saved the king's life and received nothing for it. The king asked what had been done for him. Nothing, his servants said. He asked who was standing in the court.
Haman was standing in the court. He had arrived before dawn to ask for a hanging. The king called him in first and put a question to him: what should be done for the man the king delights to honor? Haman ran the sentence through the only mind he had, decided the man in question was himself, and began to build again, this time out of his own pride. Royal robes the king himself had worn. The king's own horse, with a royal crown on its head. A noble prince to lead the horse through the city square, crying out before it that this is what is done for the man the king delights to honor.
"Do exactly that for Mordechai the Jew who sits at the king's gate," the king said. "Leave out nothing you have said."
The Footstool
Mordechai had been fasting three days over the decree against his people, and he was too weak to climb onto the horse. Haman bent down and offered his back as a step. The man who had raised fifty cubits of gallows for this Jew now knelt in the street as his mounting block, then walked the length of Shushan leading the horse and shouting the king's formula over and over. The angels watched the procession from above, and they laughed.
At home, Zeresh read the morning for what it was. "If Mordechai, before whom you have begun to fall, is of the seed of the Jews, you shall not prevail against him." His own house recited his ending to him while the king's chamberlains stood at the door, hurrying him to the queen's second banquet.
The Second Banquet
Esther had refused to strike at the first banquet. She was measuring her moment against an old one, for Moses had taken a full day to prepare before facing Amalek in the wilderness, and Haman was Amalek's seed through Agag its king. A war that old deserved one more day. So she waited, let the wine go around, let the king repeat his offer of anything she desired, up to half the kingdom, anything but the Temple. Then she spoke on two levels at once, to the king on the couch and to the King of the world. "Let my life be given me at my petition, and my people at my request. We have been sold, I and my people, to be destroyed."
The king demanded a name. They were the first words he had ever spoken directly to her. She gave him the name. "An adversary and an enemy, this wicked Haman."
Ahasuerus stood up in his fury and went out into the palace garden, and there the angel Michael was cutting down the plants of the garden before his eyes. He came back inside to find Haman fallen across Esther's couch, begging for his life, and Michael made sure the king saw him there. The king read the scene as an assault on the queen in his own house. The servants covered Haman's face, the Persian sign of a man already condemned.
The Tree That Was Waiting
One of the chamberlains chose that moment to mention a piece of architecture. There was a gallows standing in Haman's courtyard, fifty cubits high, built for Mordechai, the man whose word had once saved the king's life.
"Hang him on it," the king said.
The gallows he had prepared, the sages taught, he had prepared for himself. The wicked man readies deadly weapons and sharpens arrows against his own heart. He digs a pit and deepens it and goes down into the trap he made (Psalms 7:16). Haman had chosen the wood, set the height, and driven the nails by night, and the thorn tree, the one volunteer with nothing sacred to lose, carried him fifty cubits above the city that had watched him lead the horse that morning. The instrument was exact. It had been waiting since before he asked for it.
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