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Mordecai Held Up Nineveh as the Model for Repentance

When Mordecai called the fast, he skipped every Jewish precedent and quoted Jonah's Nineveh word for word. His people were stunned.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Speech at the Palace Gate
  2. The Words He Quoted
  3. Why the Enemy's Example
  4. The Fast He Called

The Speech at the Palace Gate

Mordecai stood at the gate of Shushan and told the gathered Jews of the city what repentance looked like. He did not invoke Moses prostrating himself on Sinai for forty days. He did not name Elijah fasting at Horeb, or David lying on bare earth, or any of the great Jewish moments of prayer in extremity. He quoted Nineveh.

The crowd would have felt the choice like a slap. Nineveh was Assyria's capital, the seat of the empire that had erased the Northern Kingdom of Israel in 722 BCE and swallowed ten tribes into a diaspora from which no one returned. There was no city in the ancient world more associated with Jewish catastrophe than Nineveh. And Mordecai was holding it up as the standard.

The Words He Quoted

He quoted the Book of Jonah almost word for word. The king of Nineveh arose from his throne, removed his crown, covered himself with sackcloth, and sat in ashes. He decreed that no person and no animal would eat or drink. He commanded that every soul cry out to God with full force. And then the essential phrase, the one Mordecai most needed his people to hear: let every person turn from their evil way and from the violence in their hands.

The Ninevites had done all of this. Their repentance was total, unperformative, and immediate. They had not calculated whether they deserved to be spared. They had not argued that their sins were minor or misunderstood. They had done the full thing, and God had relented.

Why the Enemy's Example

Mordecai's choice of Nineveh was not a theological accident. It was a precise diagnosis of what the moment required. Jewish precedents for fasting were available, but they carried the weight of covenant, of a special relationship with God that could slide into presumption. Nineveh had no covenant. Nineveh had no claim. Nineveh had repented from a standing start, with no prior relationship, no inherited promises, no grounds for confidence that the prayer would be heard. And it had worked.

That is what Mordecai was asking his community to do. Not to invoke their status as the chosen people, not to remind God of the patriarchs' merits, not to lean on inherited credit. To perform the kind of repentance that had no safety net under it. Total turn. Total cry. No hedging.

The Fast He Called

The fast Mordecai called was three days and three nights, without food or water, from the thirteenth of Nisan through the fifteenth. This timing was itself remarkable. The fifteenth of Nisan was the first night of Passover, the Seder night, the night when the Jewish people celebrate liberation from Egypt with wine and bread. Mordecai was asking the Jews of Shushan to spend the night they were supposed to eat the Passover meal fasting instead.

He was doing this deliberately. He was placing the Purim crisis in dialogue with the Exodus, allowing the comparison to speak for itself. The same people who had been saved from Egypt were now facing annihilation in Persia. The same God who had split the sea was being asked to intervene again. But this time, the people had to earn the intervention by performing the kind of repentance that made even Nineveh's God relent.


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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.

Legends of the Jews 12:160Legends of the Jews

We all face those moments, personally and collectively, where things feel impossibly dark. What then?

Well, let's dip into the story of Mordecai, from the Book of Esther. A truly terrifying decree has been issued: the annihilation of the Jewish people. Not a great situation, to put it mildly. What’s he going to do? Fight back? Scheme? Hide?

He does something else entirely. He calls for a fast.

It’s not just any fast. Mordecai doesn’t just say, "Hey, skip lunch, folks." According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, he gives a powerful, impassioned speech, invoking the story of Nineveh.

Remember Nineveh? The wicked city from the Book of Jonah? Jonah, you might recall, was sent to warn them of their impending doom. And what did they do? They repented. Completely.

Mordecai reminds the people of Israel of this story, saying, "O people of Israel, thou art dear and precious to thy Father in heaven." He urges them to follow Nineveh’s example. To really get what they did.

And what did Nineveh do, exactly? Mordecai spells it out, drawing directly from the biblical text (Jonah 3:6-9): "The king arose from his throne, laid his crown from him, covered himself with sackcloth, and sat in ashes…" It was a full-blown, top-to-bottom humbling. A complete and utter acknowledgement of wrongdoing.

It wasn’t just the humans, either! "Let neither man nor beast, herd nor flock, taste anything; let them not feed, nor drink water," Mordecai continues, quoting the decree of the King of Nineveh. Even the animals fasted. The whole city, from the most powerful to the most vulnerable, participated in this act of repentance. “Let them be covered with sackcloth, both man and beast, and let them cry mightily unto God.”

And the key, the absolutely essential ingredient? Turning away from their evil ways. Mordecai quotes the decree: "…yea, let them turn every one from his evil way, and from the violence that is in their hands."

The fast wasn't just about going hungry. It was about profound, internal change. It was about recognizing the darkness within and actively choosing to move towards the light.

And what happened in Nineveh? "Then God repented Him of the evil He had designed to bring upon them, and He did it not.” God saw their sincerity, their complete transformation, and relented.

So, Mordecai concludes with a plea: "Now, then, let us follow their example, let us hold a fast, mayhap God will have mercy upon us." Maybe, just maybe, if they follow the path of Nineveh, they too can avert disaster.

It's a powerful message, isn't it? A reminder that even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, true change, true repentance, can alter the course of history. It makes you wonder, doesn't it? What “Nineveh moment” are we in right now? And what would it truly take to turn things around? What inner work are we being called to do?

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Bereshit Rabbah 4:6Bereshit Rabbah

Pretty impressive. But unlike the other days, there's no resounding declaration of "that it was good." Why this omission? The rabbis of old certainly wrestled with this question, and their answers are, well, pretty.

The Bereshit Rabbah, that incredible collection of rabbinic interpretations of Genesis, delves right into this mystery. One interpretation highlights a potential problem: Did God truly make the firmament? Seems like a simple question but Ben Zoma, a sage known for his profound insights (and sometimes, as the text delicately puts it, stirring up "commotion in the world"), pointed out that the heavens were made by God's word, by the "breath of His mouth," as (Psalm 33:6) tells us. So why does the Torah use the verb “made” here? It implies a more involved process than just divine speech!

Then there's the missing "that it was good." Why is this refrain absent on the second day? Rabbi Yoḥanan, citing Rabbi Yosei ben Rabbi Ḥalafta, offers a rather bleak reason: Gehenna, or hell, was created on the second day. (Isaiah 30:33) even hints at this, saying "For the inferno is arranged from yesterday" – a day with a yesterday, but no day before yesterday. A chilling thought!

That's not all. Rabbi Ḥanina suggests that the problem wasn't hellfire, but division itself. "And let it divide between water and water," God commands. Rabbi Tavyomei takes this further, arguing that even division intended for the betterment of the world isn't deemed "good," so how much more so division that causes turmoil? Pretty deep. Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman offers a different angle, focusing on the element of water. He proposes that the creation of water wasn’t finished on the second day. It wasn't until the third day, when the waters gathered into seas and dry land appeared (Genesis 1:9), that the work was complete. That's why the phrase "that it was good" appears twice on the third day – once for finishing the waters, and once for the new creations of land and vegetation.

There's even a story about a noblewoman who challenged Rabbi Yosei on this very issue. She argued that omitting "that it was good" on the second day and then trying to compensate with a general statement later doesn't quite work. It's like giving everyone a maneh (a unit of currency) except one person, and then giving a small amount to everyone. Sure, they all have something, but one person is still shortchanged.

Rabbi Levi, in the name of Rabbi Tanḥum bar Ḥanilai, takes a more prophetic approach. He sees a connection between the creation narrative and the future. "He tells the outcome from the outset" (Isaiah 46:10), meaning that from the very beginning, God knew that Moses, who was described as "good" (Exodus 2:2), would later stumble at the waters of Meriva (Numbers 20:12–13) and be punished because of it. Therefore, the omission of "that it was good" on the day water was separated foreshadows this future event.

Finally, Rabbi Simon, citing Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi, presents a powerful analogy: a king with a ruthless legion. Because the legion is so destructive, the king doesn't want his name associated with it. Similarly, because water was the instrument of punishment for the generation of the Flood, the generation of Enosh, and the generation of the Dispersion, God chooses not to associate "that it was good" with its creation on the second day.

So, what does it all mean? Perhaps the omission serves as a reminder that creation is an ongoing process, not a one-time event. Maybe it highlights the inherent tension between order and chaos, separation and unity. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s a subtle hint that even in the most divine of creations, there's always room for improvement, for growth, and for a future where even the seemingly incomplete can ultimately be deemed "very good."

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