That’s exactly what happened on the night Haman built the gallows for MordecAI.
Think about it: it was the first night of Pesach, Passover. The Seder night. The very night we remember God’s miraculous deliverance of our ancestors from Egypt. A night brimming with hope, with freedom, with the promise of redemption. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, this particular Passover night morphed into something unspeakably dark.
Can you imagine the dread?
Instead of singing songs of liberation, Jews everywhere wept. They lamented, paralyzed by fear. The joyous anticipation of Passover was replaced by a chilling premonition of doom. It's hard to fathom the emotional whiplash.
But the terror was perhaps most acute for MordecAI himself. And here's where the story takes an even more painful turn. It wasn’t just external enemies he faced; his own people turned on him. They blamed him. Accused him of provoking Haman’s wrath with his "haughty behavior."
Imagine that burden. To not only face imminent death but to also bear the weight of your community's anger and despair. A leader, alone, facing not only the gallows but the scorn of those he sought to protect.
It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? About leadership, about blame, about the crushing weight of responsibility in the face of overwhelming adversity. And perhaps, most of all, it makes you wonder about the strength it takes to stand firm, even when your own people doubt you. Even when the very night meant for celebration becomes a night of profound mourning.