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Why Mordecai Knew Seventy Languages and Prayed Like Myrrh

Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer unpacks Mordecai's name syllable by syllable and finds inside it myrrh, light, lineage, and the seventy tongues of nations.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Name Holds Everything
  2. The Ancestors Who Made Him
  3. Seventy Languages at the Gate
  4. The Dream Before the Crisis

The Name Holds Everything

Mordecai sits at the king's gate. That is all the text says about what he does there, day after day, watching for Esther, watching the eunuchs, watching who comes in and who goes out. The Scroll of Esther gives him this post and gives him a name, and the rabbis understood that the name was the real introduction. Everything about how Mordecai would act in the crisis could be read in the syllables of what he was called.

The name comes from myrrh. Mor is the Hebrew root, the costly resin burned as incense in the Temple, the fragrance that rose before God as an act of worship. From the first syllable the tradition establishes its claim about how this man communicated with Heaven. His prayers did not simply rise. They rose like pure myrrh, fragrant and specific and reaching the place they were aimed at. Prayer in the tradition is not merely speech. It is an offering. And if Mordecai's prayers were like myrrh, then even his most private petitions carried the weight of Temple service.

The Ancestors Who Made Him

The Book of Esther gives Mordecai a genealogy in a single verse: Mordecai son of Jair son of Shimei son of Kish, a Benjaminite. Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, the narrative midrash from eighth-century Palestine, reads each name as a key to a quality. Jair connects to the Hebrew for enlightening. Mordecai, the tradition says, enlightened Israel's eyes through his prayer and fasting during the crisis. The name of his father points to the function of the son.

Shimei connects to the word for God heard. It points to the Almighty who hears prayer, but it also names a specific ancestor, the man who cursed David during Absalom's rebellion. That Shimei threw stones and called down shame on the fleeing king. The tradition tracks this ancestor because it explains something about the Purim story's stakes. The enemies of the Davidic house had deep roots. So did the defenders.

Kish, the great-grandfather's name, connects to the word for knocking. Mordecai, the tradition says, knocked at the gates of mercy on Israel's behalf, stood at the threshold of Heaven's court and refused to leave until the answer came. The gate he sits beside in Shushan is not just the king's entrance. It is where a man who knocks at Heaven's gates happens to station himself.

Seventy Languages at the Gate

The eunuchs who plot against Ahasuerus choose their language carefully. They speak in a tongue they believe will protect their conspiracy from any ear at the king's gate. They are wrong. The tradition says Mordecai sat at that gate understanding all seventy languages, the full range of human speech as the rabbinic world counted the nations of the earth. Whatever tongue the plotters chose, he could follow it.

This is not a detail about linguistic talent. It is a detail about divine preparation. Mordecai was placed at that gate already equipped for the specific conspiracy that would be hatched there. The languages were a form of readiness, a capacity installed before the danger existed, so that when the moment arrived the right man would be in the right position with the right ears.

The Dream Before the Crisis

Before Haman rises, before the decree is issued, before Mordecai tears his garments in the street, he dreams. Two dragons fight in the dream, and the crying of the nations rises to heaven, and a small spring grows until it swallows the threatening river. When the crisis comes he recognizes it. The dream was not random anxiety. It was preparation of a different kind, a vision calibrated to a man who would need to see the shape of what was coming before it arrived, so that when the crying of the people reached him he would know what the crying meant.

Myrrh and prayer, lineage and language, gate-sitting and dream-reading: the tradition packs all of this into a name and a genealogy because it believes that people capable of saving nations do not appear unprepared. They are assembled carefully, over generations, given the right ancestors and the right gifts and the right post, and then the crisis arrives exactly where they are already standing.


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From the tradition

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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.

Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 50:3Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer

It’s a powerful idea, one that the ancient rabbis explored deeply. Take Mordecai, the hero of the Purim story. His name, seemingly simple, becomes a doorway into understanding his character and his role in saving the Jewish people.

Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, a fascinating early medieval Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), dives into the layers of meaning behind Mordecai's lineage. It all starts with the verse: "Whose name was Mordecai" (Esther 2:5). But the rabbis don’t stop there. They unpack each part of his name, revealing hidden depths.

His name, Mordecai, is linked to the Hebrew words "טר לכי" (ter lekhi), meaning "pure myrrh." Why? Because his prayers ascended before God like the sweet scent of this precious spice. prayer not just as words, but as a fragrant offering.

Then comes "the son of Jair" (Esther 2:5). Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer doesn’t let that pass by either! "Jair," it says, connects to the Hebrew word "Mair," meaning "to enlighten." Mordecai enlightened the faces of scholars with his wisdom in Halakhah – Jewish law. So, he wasn’t just a political figure, but a scholar, a beacon of light in the world of Jewish thought.

And what about "the son of Shimei" (Esther 2:5)? This Shimei is the one who cursed King David. A complicated ancestor, to say the least! It reminds us that even heroes have complex family trees, with ancestors who made mistakes. Nobody is perfect.

Finally, "the son of Kish" (Esther 2:5). Here, the text goes in an unexpected direction, linking Kish to the tribe of Ephraim, known for their ambidexterity – their ability to use both hands equally well, as it says in (Psalm 78:9), "The children of Ephraim, being armed and carrying bows." What does this have to do with Mordecai? Perhaps it symbolizes his many-sided abilities, his capacity to act decisively in different ways.

Rabbi Simeon adds another layer to this fascinating portrait. He says that Mordecai knew seventy languages! Where does this come from? The text connects it to the list of those who returned to Jerusalem with Zerubbabel, mentioned in (Ezra 2:2): "Which came with Zerubbabel, Jeshua… Mordecai, Bilshan." The implication is that someone moving in such circles would need to be fluent in many tongues. More than just a linguist, Mordecai used his knowledge to protect his community. He sat at the king's gate, ensuring Esther and her maidens weren't defiled by unclean food. He was vigilant, a guardian.

And then there's the pivotal moment: Mordecai overhears two eunuchs plotting to poison the king. They speak in Aramaic (referred to here as Chaldean), thinking they won't be understood. But Mordecai understands! He informs Esther, who then tells the king in Mordecai's name, as (Esther 2:22) tells us: "And Esther told the king in Mordecai's name."

This leads to a powerful teaching: "Whosoever tells a matter in the name of its author brings redemption into the world." By giving credit where it's due, by acknowledging the source of wisdom, we bring about healing and liberation. This isn't just about intellectual honesty; it’s about creating a world where truth and justice can flourish.

So, what do we take away from this deep dive into Mordecai's name and actions? Perhaps it’s a reminder that names have power, that lineage matters, and that even seemingly small acts of vigilance and honesty can have profound consequences. And maybe, just maybe, it’s an invitation to look more closely at the stories we tell, and to always remember to give credit where credit is due.

Full source
Chronicles of Jerahmeel LXXIXChronicles of Jerahmeel (Gaster, 1899)

The hatred between Haman the Amalekite and Mordecai the Jew had deep ancestral roots. According to the Chronicles of Jerahmeel, a 12th-century Hebrew chronicle translated by Moses Gaster in 1899, Mordecai was a descendant of Saul, who had destroyed the Amalekites from Havilah to Shur, slaying more than 500,000 men, women, and children. Haman descended from those same Amalekites and nursed that ancient grudge against all of Judah and the tribe of Benjamin.

While sitting at the king's gate, Mordecai overheard two Persian chamberlains, Bigthan and Teresh, plotting to behead Ahasuerus and deliver his head to the Macedonian king, whose empire was then at war with Persia. Mordecai told Esther, who told the king. The conspirators were hanged, but because they were Haman's counselors, their execution only deepened his rage.

Mordecai remembered a dream from the second year of Ahasuerus's reign. A great earthquake shook the earth. Two immense dragons fought each other with terrible noise while a small nation lived among the watching peoples. All the surrounding nations rose to destroy this small nation. Thick darkness fell. Then Mordecai saw a small brook of water flow between the two dragons, separating them. The brook grew into a flood like the Great Sea, covering the whole earth. The sun returned, the small nation was exalted, the proud were humbled, and peace was restored.

When Haman's plot took shape, Mordecai told Esther to remember that dream and go before the king. Then Mordecai himself prayed with extraordinary intensity: "It is well known to the throne of Thy glory, O Lord, that it was not from pride or haughtiness I refused to bow to this Amalekite. I would prostrate myself to no being except Thy holy presence. But for Israel's salvation I would lick the shoe upon his foot and the dust upon which he walks."

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