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Haman Built a Gallows and the Trees Chose Sides

Haman raised a fifty-cubit scaffold for one man who would not bow, and creation itself lined up to carry him instead.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Carpenter's Decree
  2. The Trees Compete for the Work
  3. The Night the King Could Not Sleep
  4. Harbonah Names What Everyone Feared to Say

The Carpenter's Decree

Haman measured the timber himself. Fifty cubits, high enough for all of Shushan to see. He had picked the site, driven the stakes, and already rehearsed the conversation he would have with Ahasuerus at dawn. Mordecai the Jew sat in the king's gate and refused to bend his knee, and Haman had decided that refusal would be answered with the most visible death the capital had ever witnessed. The gallows was not only a means of execution. It was theater, designed to make Mordecai's defiance look small against the size of the wood.

What Haman did not account for was the wood itself.

The Trees Compete for the Work

The Chronicles of Jerahmeel, a medieval Hebrew chronicle drawing on older aggadic material, preserves the scene that Haman never saw. While the minister was sleeping in his house beside the tool chest and the fresh-cut timber, God called the trees together and asked which one would carry the wicked man. The trees did not hold back. The fig stepped forward first, noting that Israel brought its first fruits from fig to the Temple. The vine pressed its claim, offering the wine of Kiddush and blessing. The pomegranate, the palm, the olive, the cedar, and the apple each laid out a reason, each insisting on its place in Israel's story.

Then the thornbush spoke. Low, rough, and despised, without a single use that the nobler trees could claim, it named what Haman was. Not a cedar tall with dignity. Not a vine offering sweetness. A man who had climbed on borrowed height and let pride hollow him out. The thornbush was the honest timber. The gallows would be built from it.

The Night the King Could Not Sleep

Elsewhere in Shushan, the night turned. Ahasuerus lay awake with history restless in his chest. He called for the royal chronicles to be read aloud in the dark, and a court scribe happened upon the record of Mordecai exposing the assassination plot against the king's life. Ahasuerus asked what honor had been given to the man. Nothing, the scribe answered. Nothing at all. In Midrash Aggadah and the targum literature surrounding the Book of Esther, the rabbis understood that moment as God's hand moving the scroll to exactly that page at exactly that hour. The angels arranged the insomnia. Providence did not sleep even if the king could not wake up.

Haman arrived at the court before sunrise, eager to ask permission for the hanging. But the night had already changed the conversation. He was ushered in and asked what should be done for a man whom the king wishes to honor. Haman, certain the king meant him, designed a procession that the rabbis describe as elaborate, public, and deliberate. He gave Ahasuerus the script for Mordecai's elevation without knowing whose name he was writing above it.

Harbonah Names What Everyone Feared to Say

The Talmudic tradition identifies Harbonah, the chamberlain who stepped forward at the banquet and reminded Ahasuerus of the gallows Haman had prepared for Mordecai, as a righteous Gentile who timed his speech perfectly. Some sources call him Elijah in disguise. Others simply say he was a servant who knew when the moment had arrived and did not waste it. He spoke the one sentence that closed the trap: "the gallows stands at Haman's house, fifty cubits high, built for the man who saved the king's life." Ahasuerus said, "hang him on it."

The angels watching from the Chronicles tradition had ensured that Haman's scaffold waited in exactly the position that would seal the verdict. The minister built a monument to his own hatred, and the monument outlasted the hatred by the length of one short sentence from a servant at a feast.

HamanMordecaiEstherJudgmentWickedMidrash AggadahPurim
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From the tradition

Sources

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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Chronicles of Jerahmeel LXXXIIIChronicles of Jerahmeel (Gaster, 1899)

On the night King Ahasuerus could not sleep, something far stranger was happening in heaven. According to the Chronicles of Jerahmeel, a 12th-century Hebrew chronicle preserved by Moses Gaster in 1899, God turned to the patriarchs and told them Israel had been condemned to destruction. Their sin? During the time of Nebuchadnezzar, they had failed to sanctify God's name, making it seem as though God lacked the power to save them.

The patriarchs accepted the judgment. But the moment God saw them bow to justice, He rose from His throne of justice and sat upon the throne of mercy. The heavenly host intervened too, reminding God that the entire world was created for the sake of the Torah given to Israel. "If You destroy this nation, what becomes of us?" they asked. God relented.

Then came one of the most unusual scenes in all of Jewish legend. God called out to the trees of creation and asked which among them would serve as a gallows for the wicked Haman. The fig tree volunteered first, claiming Israel had been compared to it in Scripture. The vine stepped forward, then the pomegranate, walnut, citron, willow, olive, apple, and cedar, each citing a biblical verse linking it to Israel. Finally the thorn spoke up: "I will serve, for the wicked were compared to me." God silenced every other tree. The thorn was chosen.

Meanwhile, the angel Michael visited Ahasuerus in the night and knocked him off his bed 366 times. Unable to sleep, the king ordered the royal chronicles brought before him. Gabriel then appeared in a dream disguised as Haman, sword drawn to kill. When Haman arrived at court the next morning, the king, already terrified, asked him how to honor a loyal man. Haman, assuming the king meant him, described a lavish parade. The king's reply stunned him: "Go and do this for Mordecai the Jew." The gallows Haman had built from his own house would soon be used, on himself.

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Legends of the Jews 12:233Legends of the Jews

The Book of Esther, and the tradition of stories woven around it in the Midrash (rabbinic commentary), is full of such moments. And perhaps none is so stark as the tale of Harbonah.

Who was Harbonah? Well, initially, he was one of Haman’s guys. According to the classic work, Legends of the Jews by Rabbi Louis Ginzberg, Harbonah was even an adversary of Mordecai at one point.

Then, everything changes. The king, Ahasuerus, is furious. Haman's plot to annihilate the Jews has been exposed by Esther, and the king is looking for someone to blame. It’s a dangerous moment. And Harbonah sees his opportunity.

"Nor is this the only crime committed by Haman against thee," Harbonah tells the king, as Ginzberg recounts. He spills the beans, revealing Haman's past involvement with the conspirators Bigthan and Teresh – the very plot that Mordecai had heroically uncovered! And, for good measure, Harbonah adds, "..out of revenge therefor, he has erected a cross for him." A gallows, specifically, meant for Mordecai himself!

Ouch.

The Midrash, specifically Esther Rabbah, draws a parallel to a proverb: "Once the ox has been cast to the ground, slaughtering knives can readily be found." In other words, when someone is down, everyone wants to kick them. Harbonah, seeing Haman's downfall, is eager to distance himself and, more importantly, to curry favor with the rising star, Mordecai. He knew Haman had fallen from his high estate and saw a chance to make friends with the new power in the kingdom.

And it works! Ahasuerus, incensed, immediately orders Haman to be hanged on the very gallows he built for Mordecai. Talk about poetic justice!

But here’s where the story takes another turn. Mordecai is placed in charge of the execution. Now, Haman is begging, pleading, probably crying… but Mordecai is unmoved. According to the tale in Legends of the Jews, Mordecai insists on hanging Haman like the commonest of criminals. Traditionally, a man of Haman's rank, guilty of serious offenses, would have been executed with a sword – a quicker, arguably more dignified death. But not for Haman.

Why? Was it simply revenge? Was it a demonstration of the complete and utter reversal of fortune? Or was it a warning to anyone else who might contemplate such a heinous act as genocide?

Whatever the reason, the story of Harbonah and Haman serves as a powerful reminder. It reminds us that allegiances can be fleeting, and that karma, in its own time, often has a way of catching up. And perhaps, it also reminds us to be wary of those who are too quick to betray their former friends, because who knows when they might turn on us next?

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Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 50:10Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer

Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer turns to Esther, Haman and the Angels.

It all starts with Zeresh, Haman's wife, and his astrologers. They recognize a looming threat. "Haven't you heard what happened to Pharaoh?" she asks, according to the Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer. She even quotes the Book of Esther itself (Esther 6:13): "If Mordecai, before whom you have begun to fall, is of the seed of the Jews, you shall not prevail against him."

Then comes the fateful banquet. Esther reveals Haman's plot to the king. When she pleads for her life and the life of her people, explaining that they've been sold to be destroyed, the king is understandably furious. "Who is this man?" he demands. Esther's response is iconic: "An adversary and an enemy, even this wicked Haman!" (Esther 7:6).

This is where the Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer adds some real spice. "The king arose in his wrath" (Esther 7:7), and what does the angel Michael do? He starts cutting down the plants in the palace garden! Why? The text doesn't say explicitly, but we can imagine it's a symbolic act of divine fury, clearing the way for justice.

And it gets even more dramatic. When the king returns from the garden, Michael apparently lifts Haman up from Esther. The king, seeing this, cries out, accusing Haman of not just wanting to destroy her people but of assaulting the queen herself! The horror! Hearing this, Haman's face falls – literally. "They covered Haman's face" (Esther 7:8).

But wait, there's more! The Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer credits the prophet Elijah, may his memory be a blessing, with a crucial assist. Disguised as Harbonah, one of the king's chamberlains, Elijah informs the king about a massive tree in Haman's house, a tree originally taken from the Kodesh Hakodashim, the Holy of Holies! The text connects it to the "house of the forest of Lebanon" mentioned in (1 Kings 7:2). Talk about poetic justice!

The king, enraged, orders Haman to be hanged on that very tree, fulfilling the prophecy: "Let a beam be pulled out from his house, and let him be lifted up and fastened thereon; and let his house be made a dunghill for this" (Ezra 6:11). And so, "they hanged Haman on the gallows that he had prepared for Mordecai" (Esther 7:10).

Finally, the king gives all of Haman's possessions to Mordecai and Esther, empowering them to write new decrees in the king's name. These decrees, sent throughout the provinces, authorize the Jews to defend themselves against their enemies on the thirteenth of Adar, a date that falls "on the third day in the constellation of Leo." The text draws a powerful analogy: "Just as the lion is the king over all the beasts, and he turns his gaze towards any place as he wishes; likewise did he think fit, and he turned his face to destroy and to slay all the enemies of Israel." What a vivid image of divine retribution!

So, what does this all mean? The Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer gives us a richer, more textured understanding of the Purim story. It reminds us that even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, divine intervention, clever strategy, and unwavering faith can triumph over evil. And sometimes, a little help from the angel Michael and the prophet Elijah doesn't hurt either.

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Tikkunei Zohar 118:16Tikkunei Zohar

Here, in Tikkunei Zohar 118, we find ourselves contemplating the letter Vav (ו), and its connection to both punishment and redemption. It all starts with a rather…gruesome image.

The text references the verse in Esther (5:14) about the gallows Haman builds. This "tree gallows," the Tikkunei Zohar tells us, is "fifty cubits high." Now, why fifty? The number fifty is linked to the Hebrew letter Hei (ה), which has a numerical value of five. Add to it the letter Yod (י), with a value of ten, and through a process of mystical gematria, we arrive at… well, not fifty, but bear with me. The point is that these letters, these numbers, are all interwoven, hinting at deeper connections.

Then there's the term Zarqa (֘). In the context of cantillation marks (the notations that guide the chanting of scripture), Zarqa represents a specific melodic phrase. But the Tikkunei Zohar sees something more sinister: "a line that strangles with three letters." It's a potent image, linking the seemingly innocent act of chanting with the severity of divine judgment.

Why this connection to strangulation? Because, the text explains, the "Lower Shekhinah (the Divine Presence)" – that's the immanent, indwelling Divine Presence – judges the four capital punishments of the court: strangling, burning, slaying, and stoning. The Shekhinah, in this aspect, is the force that metes out justice, particularly strangling the wicked.

It's intense. But here's where it gets really interesting. The text then quotes Deuteronomy (32:39): "See now that I, I am He." This, the Tikkunei Zohar says, is connected to Leviticus (26:28): "...and I will chastise you, even I..." It's the same "I" – the same Divine Name – that brings both judgment and healing.

This is the crux of it: "And just as, with His Name, He kills one who transgresses… thus so He heals and revives through His Name, whoever observes them." The very same divine power that punishes transgression also has the power to heal and revive those who follow the path of righteousness.

It’s a profound and somewhat paradoxical idea. The force that can bring about destruction is also the source of ultimate healing. The key, as always, lies in our actions, in our choices. Do we choose a path that leads to separation from the Divine, or one that draws us closer?

Perhaps the Tikkunei Zohar is reminding us that the power is always there, within the Divine Name itself, waiting to be channeled for good, for healing, for revival. The choice, ultimately, is ours.

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