We all know the happy ending, the costumes, the graggers (noisemakers), and the hamantaschen (three-cornered pastries). But let’s pull back the curtain for a moment and look at the terror that gripped the Jewish world.
The Book of Esther tells us the basic plot: Haman, the wicked advisor to King Ahasuerus, plots to destroy all the Jews in the Persian empire. But the midrashim, the ancient rabbinic commentaries, fill in the gaps, painting a truly terrifying picture.
Imagine this: Haman, gloating over his soon-to-be-victorious plan, makes sure the gallows he's building for Mordecai are just right. He’s so confident. Then, he goes to the Bet ha-Midrash, the house of study, where he finds Mordecai surrounded by twenty-two thousand Jewish schoolchildren, all weeping in despair. Twenty-two thousand! Can you picture that scene?
According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, Haman orders them all chained up. His plan? To kill the children first, then hang Mordecai. A truly despicable act.
Mothers, desperate, rush to the Bet ha-Midrash with bread and water, begging their children to eat, to have some sustenance before their impending doom. But these children, these innocent souls, refuse. "As our teacher Mordecai liveth," they say, "we will neither eat nor drink… but we will perish exhausted with fasting."
Imagine the scene: These children, clutching their sacred scrolls, hand them back to their teachers. "For our devotion to the study of the Torah," they lament, "we had hoped to be rewarded with long life, according to the promised held out in the Holy Scriptures. As we are not worthy thereof, remove the books!"
The cries of the children, the weeping of the mothers outside, the silent supplications of the fathers—it all rises to heaven. The Talmud (Megillah 16a) emphasizes the power of children's prayers, especially in times of distress. In the third hour of the night, God hears their collective voice. It’s a sound that cuts through the heavens.
According to the midrash in Esther Rabbah (7:6), God exclaims, "I hear the voice of tender lambs and sheep!" But Moses, our great leader, intercedes. He rises before God and says, "Thou knowest well that the voices are not of lambs and sheep, but of the young of Israel, who for three days have been fasting and languishing in fetters, only to be slaughtered on the morrow to the delight of the arch-enemy."
What does it mean that Moses, who lived so long ago, is still advocating for us? What does it tell us about the power of collective prayer, especially the pure, unfiltered prayers of children? What responsibility do we have to remember not just the victory of Purim, but the near-destruction, the terror, and the unwavering faith of those who came before us?