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Haman Built the Gallows for Himself and Did Not Know It

Haman built a fifty-cubit gallows for Mordechai. The Tikkunei Zohar reveals heaven had prepared it for Haman all along.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Night He Built the Tree
  2. What the Heavenly Court Had Been Watching
  3. The Trees Who Volunteered
  4. The Rivalry That Heaven Never Forgot

The Night He Built the Tree

Haman goes home from Mordecai's gate in a rage so refined it has become a project. He has wealth, he has the king's ring, he has a decree against the Jews sealed and distributed across 127 provinces. He has everything. Except that a Jew named Mordechai will not bow, and the one thing he lacks makes everything he has feel hollow. His wife Zeresh and his friends tell him what to do: build a gallows fifty cubits high, go to the king in the morning, ask permission to hang Mordechai on it, and then go to the banquet feeling like yourself again.

The gallows goes up that night. Fifty cubits, roughly thirty meters, high enough to be visible across the city, high enough that everyone will understand what kind of man erects it and what kind of power authorizes it. The wood is fresh. The construction is specific. Haman builds it for Mordechai with the certainty of someone who has already decided the outcome.

He has decided the wrong outcome.

What the Heavenly Court Had Been Watching

The Tikkunei Zohar, compiled in thirteenth-century Castile, opens its treatment of Haman's end with a verse from Esther 9:25: "And the blessed Holy One gave them up into her hand, and into the hand of her people." Most readers take this as a sudden reversal, the moment fortune turns and the villain receives what the righteous should have gotten. The Tikkunei Zohar reads it as a completion. The judgment against Haman was not sudden. It had been accumulating.

The heavenly court had been watching from Haman's first ascent in Ahasuerus's court, when he was elevated above all the other princes and everyone bowed. Every act of cruelty, every calculation against Israel, every use of his position to press his personal hatred into official policy had been entered into the account. The tree Haman erected in his courtyard was not a new instrument invented for a new crisis. It was the instrument that had been prepared for him, waiting for the moment the account was settled.

The Trees Who Volunteered

The tradition records that when it became known that a tree was needed to hang Haman, the trees of the world argued among themselves about which one would be honored with the task. Each tree made its case. The fig tree remembered that Israel sat under fig trees to study Torah. The vine remembered that Israel used wine in sacred service. The olive remembered the oil that lit the menorah. Each tree that had been part of Israel's holy life declined on those grounds, saying it had other purposes.

The thorn-tree had no such history. It had not served in the Temple. It had not shaded Torah scholars. It volunteered, and it was chosen. Haman built his fifty-cubit structure from wood that had been waiting specifically for this use, wood that had no sacred purpose to be diverted from, wood whose one distinction in the world would be that it held the man who had tried to destroy Israel.

The Rivalry That Heaven Never Forgot

The Tikkunei Zohar connects the rivalry between Mordechai and Haman to the rivalry between their ancestors, Saul and Agag, Mordechai of the tribe of Benjamin and Haman the Agagite, the same conflict replayed in a Persian court fifteen generations later. Saul's failure to fully execute the divine command against Amalek was the uncompleted business that Haman's existence represented. The decree against the Jews was not simply Haman's personal project. It was the last move of a war that had never properly ended, and the tree that heaven prepared was the instrument for finally ending it.

When Haman is led through the streets on the king's horse by Mordechai, when his daughter mistakes the scene and pours refuse on her own father's head, when he arrives at Esther's second banquet to find that everything has reversed in a single night, the Tikkunei Zohar sees not coincidence but the completion of a judgment that was always going to arrive. The only question had been timing, and the timing was set the night the gallows went up, when Haman chose the instrument of his own execution and did not know it.


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Legends of the Jews 12:19Legends of the Jews

After that, a grand feast for everyone in the capital city of Shushan. Now, according to the Megillah, the Scroll of Esther, the king wasn't trying to antagonize anyone with this party. But tensions were simmering.

When word of the upcoming festivities reached Mordecai, a wise and respected leader, he knew this was more than just a party. The Zohar, that foundational text of Jewish mysticism, often speaks of hidden intentions beneath outward appearances, and Mordecai sensed danger lurking beneath the surface. He urged the Jews of Shushan to stay away.

As Ginzberg tells us in Legends of the Jews, Mordecai’s warning wasn’t universally heeded. Many prominent Jews, along with others from the "lower classes," listened and fled the city. They chose exile over compromising their beliefs.

Not everyone could. Or would, leave. A large segment of the Jewish community remained in Shushan. They yielded to the pressure, participating in the celebrations. And this is where it gets tricky. We learn that King Ahasuerus, surprisingly, had been mindful of Jewish dietary laws, kashrut. He'd ensured there was no need to drink wine poured by idolaters, nor to eat explicitly forbidden foods, treif.

Why? Was he being benevolent? Or was he simply trying to remove any excuse for the Jews to abstain? The text implies the latter.

The really unsettling part? Haman and Mordecai were both in charge of the feast arrangements. This meant that neither Jew nor Gentile could excuse themselves for religious reasons. Talk about a conflict of interest! Haman, the architect of future persecution, and Mordecai, the unwavering defender of his people, were both entangled in this web of royal obligation. tension..the weight of it.

As we find in Midrash Rabbah, these seemingly small compromises can have enormous consequences. What starts as a "harmless" participation can quickly erode one's principles. It makes you wonder, doesn't it? How far would you go to fit in? What lines would you refuse to cross, even if it meant standing alone? And what happens when the very people you trust are forced to participate in something that feels inherently wrong? It's a question that echoes through the ages, as relevant today as it was in ancient Shushan.

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Legends of the Jews 12:108Legends of the Jews

It wasn't just a snap decision, that's for sure. According to the Megillah, the Book of Esther, Haman was very particular in his wicked plans. He didn't just pick a date out of thin air. He wanted the stars, or at least the lots, to align in his favor.

In Talmud, and retold beautifully in Ginzberg's Legends of the Jews, Haman sought to determine the most auspicious moment for his undertaking by casting lots. He consulted with his astrologers and advisors, seeking a day that would guarantee success. But The scribe, Shimshai, began to cast the lots, and each day of the week seemed to rebel against Haman's evil intentions.

It was deemed inappropriate, the lot refusing to comply, since it was the day God created heaven and earth. The very existence of creation, the story reminds us, depends on Israel's existence.! Without God's covenant with Israel, there would be neither day nor night.

Monday fared no better. The lot for Monday showed itself equally unpropitious for Haman's devices. Why? Because it was the day on which God separated the celestial and terrestrial waters. This separation, in the midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) imagination, symbolizes the separation between Israel and the heathen nations. Monday, therefore, refused to cooperate in bringing about the ruin of Israel.

Tuesday, the day on which the vegetable world was created, also refused to give its aid in bringing about the ruin of Israel, who worships God with branches of palm trees. We find this association, of course, during the holiday of Sukkot (the Festival of Tabernacles), where the lulav, the palm branch, is central.

Wednesday, too, protested against the annihilation of Israel, declaring, "On me the celestial luminaries were created, and like unto them Israel is appointed to illumine the whole world. First destroy me, and then Thou mayest destroy Israel." A powerful image. Israel, like the stars, are meant to bring light to the world.

Thursday chimed in, saying, "O Lord, on me the birds were created, which are used for sin offerings. When Israel shall be no more, who will bring offerings? First destroy me, and then Thou mayest destroy Israel." So even the potential lack of sacrifices weighed in against Haman's plan!

Friday was unfavorable to Haman's lots because it was the day of the creation of man. And, according to the midrash, the Lord God said to Israel, "Ye are men." This echoes the sentiment that Israel embodies humanity at its finest, a concept found throughout Jewish tradition.

Least of all was the Sabbath day inclined to make itself subservient to Haman's wicked plans. It said, "The Sabbath is a sign between Israel and God. First destroy me, and then Thou mayest destroy Israel!" The Shabbat, the ultimate symbol of the covenant between God and the Jewish people, stood firm in its opposition.

Every day of the week, each representing a different aspect of creation and the covenant between God and Israel, refused to cooperate with Haman's evil plot. It's a evidence of the enduring connection between the Jewish people and the divine, a bond that even the most sinister intentions could not break.

So, what are we to take from this? Perhaps it's a reminder that even in the face of overwhelming odds, the universe itself might just be conspiring in our favor. Or maybe it's a lesson that even the most meticulously planned schemes can be undone by the power of faith and the enduring strength of the covenant. Whatever your takeaway, it’s a story that makes you think twice about the forces at play, seen and unseen, in our lives.

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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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