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Mordecai Told Israel No King, No Prophet, Nowhere to Run

Mordecai's speech before the fast named every protection that was gone. No king, no prophet, no escape route. Then he asked the people to pray anyway.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Speech That Did Not Comfort
  2. The Missing King
  3. The Missing Prophet
  4. Nowhere to Run
  5. What He Asked For Anyway

The Speech That Did Not Comfort

Mordecai stood before the Jewish community of Shushan and did not give them the speech they might have wanted. He did not invoke the Red Sea. He did not remind them of the defeat of Sihon or Og, or the miracles of the wilderness, or the divine fire that had protected the camp in the desert. He did not tell them that God had saved their ancestors in worse situations and would save them again. He told them exactly how bad their situation was.

He called them dear and precious in the sight of their Heavenly Father, and then he told them what their Heavenly Father had not yet provided. He addressed the assembly not with reassurance but with an inventory.

The Missing King

There was no king who would advocate for them in Ahasuerus's court. This was the specific and immediate problem. They had a queen inside the palace, but Esther had not yet acted and had not yet been told to act. They had Mordecai himself, who had saved the king's life and received no reward. They did not have a monarch of their own, a king of Judah or Israel, a ruler who could walk into the throne room as an equal and represent the interests of his people the way sovereign power represents sovereign power.

The last king of Judah had gone to Babylon in chains. His descendants were scattered. The Davidic dynasty had no throne. The people Mordecai was addressing were subjects of a foreign empire with no political standing of their own, dependent on the goodwill of a king whose ring had just sealed their death warrant.

The Missing Prophet

There was no prophet. The prophetic age had ended with Malachi, and the ending had been conclusive. The direct channel through which a word from heaven could arrive in historical time, through which a figure like Moses or Isaiah or Jeremiah could receive instruction and relay it to the people with divine authority, was closed. Mordecai could not say, as his ancestors had been able to say in crisis: thus says the Lord. He could not point to a man or a woman who had received a vision that described what was coming and what to do about it.

Prayer would reach heaven. But the answer would not come back as prophecy. It would come back as event, as the gradual turning of circumstances in a direction that required faith to recognize as divine, because no prophetic voice would announce it clearly before it arrived or explain it fully after it was complete.

Nowhere to Run

Then Mordecai named the geography. The Persian empire under Ahasuerus covered a hundred and twenty-seven provinces. There was no territory beyond its borders where a Jew in flight would find safety from a decree issued in the name of the king of Persia and Media. Every road led back into the empire. Every port, every caravan route, every direction available to a person trying to escape the decree, ended in a province where the edict had arrived and where the local authorities had been authorized to carry it out.

This was not hyperbole. It was geography. There was nowhere to go. The people Mordecai was addressing had no exit available to them and he told them so directly, because the prayer he was about to ask for required them to understand that they were not asking for divine assistance as a supplement to human alternatives they had not yet tried. They had no alternatives. They were asking because there was nothing else to do.

What He Asked For Anyway

Having named the missing king, the missing prophet, and the missing escape route, Mordecai asked them to pray. To fast for three days. To bend their petition toward the One who remained present even when the institutional channels for reaching him were closed, even when the conventional forms of rescue were unavailable, even when the situation presented no opening through which a human plan could operate.

The prayer he was requesting was not the prayer of a people with options. It was the prayer of a people with nothing. And the tradition teaches that this kind of prayer is the most powerful kind available, because it arrives at heaven stripped of every alternative, carrying only its own weight, making no argument except the argument that the people praying have no one else to ask.

EstherPurimMordecaiProphecyExilePrayer
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From the tradition

Sources

2 sources

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 12:158Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to There, Esther at the Dawn of Creation.

Purim is often remembered as a joyous holiday, full of costumes and noisemakers. But beneath the surface lies a story of incredible peril and resilience. And it begins with a moment of utter despair.

Mordecai, Esther's cousin and guardian, addresses the Jewish people. Can you hear the desperation in his voice? "O people of Israel, that art so dear and precious in the sight of thy Heavenly Father! Knowest thou not what has happened?" He lays it all bare. The king and Haman, that villain, have decided to wipe them out. To erase them from existence.

It's a terrifying prospect, and Mordecai doesn't sugarcoat it. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, Mordecai emphasizes their vulnerability. "We have no king on whom we can depend, and no prophet to intercede for us with prayers." They're completely exposed. No political power, no direct line to the Divine.

He continues, painting a bleak picture. "There is no place whither we can flee, no land wherein we can find safety." They're trapped. There's no escape. Mordecai uses powerful imagery to drive home the point. "We are like sheep without a shepherd, like a ship upon the sea without a pilot." Lost. Adrift. At the mercy of the storm.

And then comes the most heartbreaking comparison of all. "We are like an orphan born after the death of his father, and death robs him of his mother, too, when he has scarce begun to draw nourishment from her breast." Utterly helpless. Bereft of everything.

This isn't just a political crisis; it's an existential one. It's a moment where all hope seems lost. It’s a stark reminder of the fragility of life, and the ever-present threat of antisemitism. But it's also the moment that sets the stage for Esther's incredible bravery. It is from this point of hopelessness that the spark of courage will ignite, leading to a miraculous salvation. And perhaps, it's a reminder that even in our darkest moments, hope, however faint, can still endure.

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Devarim Rabbah 1:25Devarim Rabbah

In (Deuteronomy 3:2), God tells Moses, "Do not fear him, as I have delivered him and his entire people and his land into your hand; you shall do to him as you did to Siḥon, king of the Emorites." But it's the way this is phrased that really gets interesting.

The Devarim Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Book of Deuteronomy, picks up on a subtle nuance. It highlights that God doesn’t say, "because I will deliver him into your hand," but rather, "as I have delivered him into your hand." It's already done. So, the rabbis ask, when was this decree issued?

The text suggests that God had already sealed Og's fate way back in the time of Abraham. Remember the story of Lot's capture in Genesis 14? The verse says, "The fugitive [hapalit] came and told Abram the Hebrew" (Genesis 14:13). Reish Lakish, quoting Bar Kappara, identifies this fugitive, this palit, as none other than Og himself!

Why was he called Og? Because, the story goes, he found Abraham busy with the mitzvah of baking ugot – cakes or matzah – on Passover. But, according to the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), Og wasn't acting out of pure motives. He was captivated by Sarah's beauty and thought that if he brought news of Lot's capture, Abraham might be killed in the ensuing conflict, leaving Sarah available.

But God saw through Og's scheme. As the Devarim Rabbah says, God declared, "Oh wicked one, is that what you say? As you live, I will give you the reward for your legs, and extend your years... But for what you thought in your heart: I will have Abraham killed, and I will take Sarah; in the hand of her descendants, this man is destined to fall.” Talk about a long-term consequence! Og's life was extended as a reward for the effort he put into informing Abraham. But his ultimate downfall was sealed because of his wicked intentions.

The Devarim Rabbah doesn't stop there. It offers two more instances where Og's fate was seemingly sealed.

The second instance is at the feast Abraham throws after Isaac's circumcision (Genesis 21:8). It's a "great" feast, meaning all the bigwigs were there, including Og. The guests taunt Og, remembering how he used to mock Abraham's supposed infertility. But when Og sees Isaac, he scoffs, "This is nothing, I can kill him with my finger." God responds, "Is this what you say? I will extend your years so that you will see thousands and myriads emerging from him, and in their hand, this man is destined to fall."

Finally, the text points to the time Jacob blessed Pharaoh (Genesis 47:7). Og was present and, overhearing that Jacob was Abraham's grandson with seventy descendants, he cast an evil eye upon them. God rebukes him, declaring, "Oh, wicked one, why are you introducing the evil eye upon my children? May the eye of this man dissolve. This man is destined to fall into their hand."

What's the takeaway from all this?

The Devarim Rabbah concludes with a powerful message of hope and assurance. God tells Israel that just as the nations of the world were once in awe and fear of them, so too will it be in the future. As (Deuteronomy 28:10) states, "All the peoples of the earth will see that the name of the Lord is invoked upon you, and they will fear you.”

So, what are we to make of Og's story? Is it a tale of predestination, or a cautionary tale about the consequences of our thoughts and actions? Perhaps it's both. It reminds us that even seemingly small acts and intentions can have far-reaching consequences, and that God sees not just our deeds, but also the desires of our hearts. And, perhaps most importantly, it assures us that even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, God's promise of protection and ultimate victory remains.

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