The Book of Esther, and the rich tapestry of stories woven around it in the Midrash (rabbinic commentary), is full of such moments. And perhaps none is so stark as the tale of Harbonah.
Who was Harbonah? Well, initially, he was one of Haman’s guys. According to the classic work, Legends of the Jews by Rabbi Louis Ginzberg, Harbonah was even an adversary of Mordecai at one point. Imagine being that guy, on the wrong side of history!
But then, everything changes. The king, Ahasuerus, is furious. Haman's plot to annihilate the Jews has been exposed by Esther, and the king is looking for someone to blame. It’s a dangerous moment. And Harbonah sees his opportunity.
"Nor is this the only crime committed by Haman against thee," Harbonah tells the king, as Ginzberg recounts. He spills the beans, revealing Haman's past involvement with the conspirators Bigthan and Teresh – the very plot that Mordecai had heroically uncovered! And, for good measure, Harbonah adds, "...out of revenge therefor, he has erected a cross for him." A gallows, specifically, meant for Mordecai himself!
Ouch.
The Midrash, specifically Esther Rabbah, draws a parallel to a proverb: "Once the ox has been cast to the ground, slaughtering knives can readily be found." In other words, when someone is down, everyone wants to kick them. Harbonah, seeing Haman's downfall, is eager to distance himself and, more importantly, to curry favor with the rising star, Mordecai. He knew Haman had fallen from his high estate and saw a chance to make friends with the new power in the kingdom.
And it works! Ahasuerus, incensed, immediately orders Haman to be hanged on the very gallows he built for Mordecai. Talk about poetic justice!
But here’s where the story takes another turn. Mordecai is placed in charge of the execution. Now, Haman is begging, pleading, probably crying… but Mordecai is unmoved. According to the tale in Legends of the Jews, Mordecai insists on hanging Haman like the commonest of criminals. Traditionally, a man of Haman's rank, guilty of serious offenses, would have been executed with a sword – a quicker, arguably more dignified death. But not for Haman.
Why? Was it simply revenge? Was it a demonstration of the complete and utter reversal of fortune? Or was it a warning to anyone else who might contemplate such a heinous act as genocide?
Whatever the reason, the story of Harbonah and Haman serves as a powerful reminder. It reminds us that allegiances can be fleeting, and that karma, in its own time, often has a way of catching up. And perhaps, it also reminds us to be wary of those who are too quick to betray their former friends, because who knows when they might turn on us next?