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Mordecai Rode the Royal Horse and Sang Psalm 30

Three days before, Susa had wept in sackcloth. Now Mordecai rode on the royal horse in royal robes and burst into Psalm 30.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Three Days Before
  2. The Psalm He Chose
  3. Who Joined In
  4. The Music That Heaven Hears

Three Days Before

Three days earlier, the decree was still active. The gallows were standing. The death date was still fixed on the calendar, approaching like a wall. The Jews of Susa had been in sackcloth and ash, fasting, weeping, some of them blaming Mordecai for the entire catastrophe. The city had no singing in it.

Now Mordecai was on a royal horse in royal robes, and the city was watching.

He could have ridden in silence. A man just pulled back from the edge of execution, watching his enemy walk in front of his horse shouting words of honor, would be forgiven for a stunned silence. Instead Mordecai burst into song.

The Psalm He Chose

He sang Psalm 30. Not a new composition, not something written for the occasion. The old psalm of David, the ancestor whose opening cry Esther herself had borrowed when she froze in the fourth chamber three days earlier.

I will extol You, O Lord, for You have raised me up, and have not made my foes to rejoice over me. O Lord my God, I cried to You, and You have healed me. O Lord, You have brought up my soul from Sheol; You have kept me alive, that I should not go down to the pit.

The psalm was written from inside exactly this experience: being lowered toward death and lifted back out. David had composed it from a place of having been near the bottom and pulled back. Mordecai recognized it as the only available language for what had just happened to him, and he sang it publicly, on a horse, through the streets of the capital, while Haman walked ahead shouting honors he had designed for himself.

Who Joined In

His students joined immediately. Their voices rose to meet his, continuing where he left off: Sing praise unto the Lord, O righteous ones, and give thanks to His holy name. For His anger is but for a moment, His favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes in the morning.

And then something stranger happened. The Legends of the Jews records that Haman himself joined in the singing. Whether from a kind of broken acknowledgment that everything had inverted, or from the same compulsion that had made him confess the mechanics of his defeat when he first found Mordecai in study, he sang. The man leading the horse added his voice to the psalm of the man on it.

The Music That Heaven Hears

The Zohar preserves a parallel tradition about the music of the heavenly realm, the song generated by the movements of the cosmos, the harmony of the spheres that the tradition says humans would find irresistible if they could hear it directly. The connection to Mordecai's moment is not incidental. What happened on that street was of the kind that the Zohar says resonates upward, a song produced by a reversal so complete that it carries its own testimony about the structure of things. The weeping of the night and the joy of the morning, the Sheol from which the soul is brought back up, the foes who are not allowed to rejoice. These were not metaphors on this street. They were descriptions of what had just happened.

EstherPurimPrayerMusicSoulDivine Deliverance
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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.

Zohar 1:231bZohar

Heaven is often remembered as a visual paradise, shimmering light and breathtaking vistas. But what about the auditory experience? Jewish tradition paints a picture of a heaven constantly alive with music, a perfect, resonating harmony born from the very movements of the cosmos. As it says in (Psalms 19:2), "The heavens declare the glory of God."

Where does this celestial harmony come from? Some say it's an orchestra of angels, their voices blending in perfect unison. Others believe it’s the planets and stars themselves, their rhythmic dance around the heavens creating a melody all its own.

Here's the truly part: what if we could actually hear this music? What would happen? The tradition suggests it would awaken within us the most profound and intense longings imaginable. Irrepressible cravings, frenzied desires…we’d no longer be satisfied with earthly sustenance. We'd crave something more, something…divine. We'd be beings destined for immortality. It’s a powerful image, isn't it?

This idea isn't just some abstract concept, though. It's woven into the story of Moses himself. When Moses ascended Mount Sinai, he spent forty days and nights without food or water. How did he sustain himself? The tradition says that during this time, he heard the heavenly music, along with the very words of the Torah as God recited them. This otherworldly music nourished him in a way that earthly food never could. And it's said that for the rest of his life, Moses carried that music within him, just as the light that shone from his face after Sinai never faded.

Philo, the Jewish philosopher from Alexandria, also explored this idea, drawing on the Greek concept of the music of the spheres. Philo's immediate source was probably an ancient midrash, which is found in Sefer Hadar Zekenim Toratam shel Rishonim (as noted by Ginzberg in Legends of the Jews, 5:36, note 102). In Greek thought, music was seen as a reflection of divine harmony, the rhythm and melody of the heavenly bodies mirroring the moral order of the universe.

The closest parallel within Jewish tradition is the song of praise sung by the heavenly bodies, stemming from (Psalm 19:2). The Zohar (1:2316) even suggests that the sun, in its daily journey across the sky, produces a hymn of praise to God.

So, what are we to make of all this? Is there really music in the heavens? Perhaps not in the literal sense we might imagine. But the idea speaks to something deeper: the longing for connection, the yearning for something beyond our everyday experience, the possibility of encountering the divine through beauty and harmony. It invites us to listen more closely, not just with our ears, but with our hearts, for the whispers of the infinite that might be all around us. And who knows? Maybe, just maybe, if we listen carefully enough, we'll catch a faint echo of that celestial harmony.

Full source
Legends of the Jews 12:226Legends of the Jews

They’re celebrating a miraculous deliverance. The air is thick with gratitude, with disbelief, with pure, unadulterated joy.

As Mordecai, the hero of the hour, rode through the streets, his heart overflowed. He burst into song, praising God: "I will extol Thee, O Lord; for Thou hast raised me up, and hast not made my foes to rejoice over me. O Lord my God, I cried unto Thee, and Thou hast healed me. O Lord, Thou hast brought up my soul from Sheol (the underworld); Thou hast kept me alive, that I should not go down to the pit." (Psalm 30:1-3).

His students, his followers, caught the spirit immediately. They joined in, their voices rising in unison, echoing his thanks: "Sing praise unto the Lord, O ye righteous ones of His, and give thanks to His holy name. For His anger is but for a moment; in His favor is life; weeping may tarry for the night, but joy cometh in the morning." (Psalm 30:4-5). Can you hear it? The joyous harmony echoing through the city?

Even Haman, the villain, the architect of their near destruction, found himself compelled to add his voice. But his was a verse tinged with regret, with the bitter taste of defeat: "As for me, I said in my prosperity, I shall never be moved. Thou, Lord, of Thy favor hadst made my mountain to stand strong. Thou didst hide Thy face; I was troubled." (Psalm 30:6-7). A chilling reminder of how quickly fortunes can turn, how easily pride can crumble.

Then Queen Esther, the brave and resourceful woman who risked everything to save her people, added her own verse, a plaintive cry transformed into a triumphant declaration: "I cried to Thee, O Lord; and unto the Lord I made supplication. What profit is there in my blood, when I go down to the pit? Shall the dust praise Thee? Shall it declare Thy truth?" (Psalm 30:8-9). The essence of her desperate plea, now reborn as a evidence of God's unwavering faithfulness.

Finally, the entire crowd of Jews, every single one of them, erupted in a chorus of gratitude, a wave of sound that washed over the city: "Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing; Thou hast loosed my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness, to the end that my glory may sing praise to Thee, and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks unto Thee forever." (Psalm 30:11-12).

This scene, as described in Legends of the Jews (Ginzberg), paints a vivid picture of the raw, unbridled emotion that followed their salvation. It wasn't just relief; it was a profound recognition of divine intervention, a joyous acknowledgment of the power of faith. It's a reminder that even in the darkest of times, hope, like a melody, can rise and fill the air. And that sometimes, the only way to express the depths of our gratitude is through song.

Full source
Vayikra Rabbah 30:3Vayikra Rabbah

It all starts with the verse: "You shall take for you on the first day…" referring to the mitzvah (commandment) of taking the lulav (palm branch) and other species on Sukkot (the Festival of Tabernacles).

” This isn’t just about a single act of kindness, but about how the Jewish people, through trials and tribulations, ultimately prevailed. Vayikra Rabbah draws a fascinating parallel to I (Samuel 15:29), stating: “Moreover, the Eternity [netzaḥ] of Israel will not lie and will not regret.” The word netzaḥ, meaning "eternity," is cleverly linked to the idea of Israel's triumph. It suggests that fulfilling the mitzvah of the palm branch, which is described as "delightful" (ne’ima), assures us that we will prevail over the nations.

Who are the "destitute" whose prayers are heard? Rabbi Avin offers a beautiful, if somewhat perplexing, insight into King David’s complex character. Rabbi Avin says, "We are unable to ascertain David's nature; sometimes he calls himself poor, sometimes he calls himself king.” When David foresaw righteous descendants like Asa, Yehoshafat, Hezekiah, and Yoshiya, he identified as a king, as reflected in (Psalm 72:1): “Endow the king with Your justice, God.” Yet, when he foresaw wicked descendants like Ahaz, Menashe, and Amon, he considered himself poor, echoing (Psalm 102:1): “The prayer of a poor man, when he feels overwhelmed.” David embodies both the heights of royalty and the depths of human frailty.

Rabbi Alexandri offers another perspective, comparing the "poor man" to a laborer who takes short breaks during work but makes up for the lost time later. This image, drawing on (Genesis 30:42) ("The atufim will be for Lavan"), suggests that even when we are delayed or overwhelmed, our prayers are still heard. Rabbi Yitzḥak ben Rabbi Ḥilkiya explains that atufim refers to "the late ones," implying that prayers offered even after a delay are still effective.

The passage then takes an unexpected turn, focusing on King Menashe, one of Judah's most infamous rulers. He was "destitute of good deeds." Instead of saying, "He did not despise his prayer," the verse says, "He did not despise their prayer." Vayikra Rabbah explains that this refers to Menashe's prayer and the prayers of his ancestors. II (Chronicles 33:13) tells us: “He prayed to Him, and He acceded to his entreaty (vaye’ater lo).” Rabbi Elazar bar Rabbi Shimon offers a striking image: in Arabia, digging (hatirata) is called atirata. This alludes to the idea that God metaphorically "dug" a tunnel under His Throne of Glory so that Menashe's prayer could reach Him. God literally moved heaven and earth to hear Menashe’s plea!

Menashe is restored to his kingdom, and "knew that the Lord, He is God." He realized that there is justice and a Judge. This story of repentance and divine forgiveness is a powerful reminder that no one is beyond redemption.

The text continues, with Rabbi Yitzḥak noting that even generations without kings, prophets, or the Urim ve-Tumim (sacred objects used for divination) have the power of prayer. David implores God not to despise their prayers, ensuring that "a people which shall be created shall praise the Lord." This hints at the idea that God creates us anew through repentance.

The passage offers multiple interpretations of "the generation to come" mentioned in (Psalm 102:19). It could refer to the generation of Hezekiah, who were on the verge of death, or the generation of Mordechai, facing annihilation in the Purim story. In each case, God creates them anew. It could also refer to future generations, always on the verge of death, whom God will continually recreate.

So, what’s our takeaway? What action should we take? According to Vayikra Rabbah, it is to take the palm branch and the etrog (citron) and praise the Holy One. By performing this seemingly simple ritual, we connect ourselves to a legacy of redemption, forgiveness, and the enduring power of prayer.

Isn't it amazing how a single verse can unlock so many layers of meaning, connecting us to the sweep of Jewish history and the enduring promise of divine grace? The lulav isn't just a palm branch; it's a symbol of our resilience, our connection to the past, and our hope for a future filled with praise for the Holy One.

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