Reading Esther as Heroine: Persian Banquets,Ethnic Cleansing,and Identity Crisis

Persian Banquets

To say Persians loved their wine would be a gross understatement. According to Herodotus, the Persians were “very fond of wine, and dr[a]nk it in large quantities” (Hist. I.133). Red or white, grape, date or barley mattered not (Xenophon, Anab. I.5; II.3; IV.4–5). In fact, wine was synonymous with Persian banquets. Cyrus traveled with “water, ready boiled for use, and stored in flagons of silver.” In one Persian expedition against the Greeks, some 400 ships wrecked off the coast of Magnesia with “many … gold and silver drinking cups” washing ashore days later (Hist. I.188; VII.190). Drinking cups featured as symbols of oriental luxury in Xenophon's Cyropaedia (V.2.7) and Anabasis (IV.2.27; 4.21). Moreover, the Apadana reliefs at Persepolis depict twelve of the twenty-three delegations carrying drinking vessels, primarily made of gold and silver but occasionally of lapis lazuli, glass, or stone, with clay used only to insult someone. Generally, only individuals of lesser means drank wine from clay vessels, thus implying “widespread aspiration to the metropolitan tastes of the Persian elite” (Simpson: 109).

Gold drinking vessels were one category of royal gift and prized possession (Cyr. I.3.7; VIII.2.3–4, 6, 8; 3.3, 33; 4.24, 27; 5.29). Herodotus notes that the king would send “rich gifts to the man who can show the largest number” of sons (Hist. I.136). This form of payment accounts for the circulation of Achaemenid metal plate and other luxury items throughout and beyond the extremities of the Persian Empire. Evidence also attests to Greek and Aramaic personal ownership marks scratched on the underside of drinking vessels. Such examples illumine Xenophon's statement that “if they possess a great number of cups, they are proud of possessing them” (Cyr. VIII.8.18).

Persian kings would also offer large sums of money as reward for any who invented a new pleasure. Cooks would contrive new dishes and sauces as part of the multiple courses served on a large number of dishes at Persian banquets (Cyr. VIII.8.16). Xenophon also noted that the Persian king had “vintners scouring every land to find some drink that will tickle his palate” (Ages. IX.3). Cooks, bakers, cup-bearers, servers, and bathers, all who attended Persian kings spent “nearly half the day on preparations for the dinner” (Athenaeus, Deipn. IV.145b).

Persian banquets were sumptuous affairs. After the Greeks had sacked the camp of the Persian general Mardonius upon victory at Plataea (479 bce), Pausanias attempted a reconstruction of a Persian banquet (Hist. IX.80):

Formal banquets in the palace generally consisted of the deipnon, the dinner party, and the symposion, the drinking party, complete with entertainment. The Hellenistic symposion paled in comparison, as did dining habits (Grecian kings dined with their guests, whereas Persian kings dined alone). Some guests dined outside in the palace garden viewable by all; others dined inside an adjacent room, separated by only a curtain through which the king could see (Deipn. IV.145b.e.f.). Elaborate etiquette, conspicuous consumption of wine, and an intense labor and preparation of food were all hallmarks of Persian banquets the Greeks regarded as decadent.

A Situation in Need of Correction

Such decadence manifests itself with the first banquet scene set in the royal gardens of the palace of Susa. Palace furnishings—tapestries and blue hangings fastened to silver rods, marble pillars, gold and silver couches on a mosaic pavement of porphyry, marble, mother of pearl, and colored stones—no doubt bespeak an intensity in preparations. Gold and silver tables held dishes and bowls of all sizes and designs with sundry foods, including but not limited to various meats (e.g. horse, camel, oxen, asses, deer, Arabian ostriches, geese, and cocks; 1,000 animals were slaughtered daily for the king's meal, Deipn. IV.145e), bread, sweet grape jelly, candied turnips and radishes, candied capers with salt, terebinth oil, saffron, nuts, and fruit (e.g. quince, pear, dates, pomegranates, figs, apples, raisins, and almonds; Briant: 286–92). Yet, the narrator glosses over these choice viands to spotlight what was central to Persian banquets, namely drinking. Banquet guests consumed wine from glass and metal drinking vessels, from gold and silver drinking vessels, and all of varied designs. And the only law decreed? “No restrictions!” Given the nature of Persian symposia, interpretive restrictions on the Persian decree seem, ironically, restrictive (Berlin: 10). Persian opulence and self-indulgence were clearly on full display. The first banquet scene signals a common motif of hero stories, namely a situation in need of correction.

The story actually begins with Esther's predecessor, Queen Vashti. The narrative says little of Vashti; hence some interpreters regard her as insignificant (Levenson: 48), much to the chagrin of feminists. Nicole Duran (2006: 70) responds to claims of “Vashti's insignificance” that the plot chosen for her could have taken a variety of different turns from what it did, though she fails to provide an explicit reason for this particular plot contrivance. Jon Levenson (48) notes the counterpoint that Vashti provides for Esther. “Queen Vashti's absolute and uncompromising refusal to comply with her husband renders her powerless and ineffective.” It is this powerlessness and ineffectiveness that will foreshadow by contrast the powerfulness and effectiveness that Esther will display. Moreover, Vashti's deposal underscores the potentially dangerous prospects Esther will later face should she not act prudently.

During the seven-day banquet, following a 180-day (six-month) party in the imperial capital, King Ahasuerus (Persian Xsayarsa Anglicized Xerxes, hence the identification of Hebrew Ahasuerus with the Persian Xerxes I [r. 485–65 bce], son of Darius) summons Vashti to appear before his all-male symposion, an indication of something amiss since gender separation is not customary at Persian banquets. According to rabbinic interpretation, her summons bears a distinctive sexual overtone in that she has to cross from female space to male space naked wearing only the crown (Esth. Rab. 3.14; b. Meg. 12b). Be that as it may, Vashti refuses to be an object placed on display for an all-male drinking party and be treated less than her status as queen deserves. By appearing at the king's drinking party, Vashti risks “losing face” in an honor/shame culture, whether naked or not, and in forbidden male space; but by not appearing, she also risks “losing face” by defying her husband's authority (cf. the honor/shame code sub-plot in Klein 2003: 96–101). Unlike the king who must always defer to his advisors, Vashti acts autonomously, thus setting a precedent the king's advisors fallaciously argue. Vashti, like other characters in the story, becomes a symbol for a certain group, namely all women in that her defiance presumably has the potential to spark a mass gender revolution. Esther represents the Jews and Haman every enemy of the Jews. The king deposes Vashti and issues a political edict to reinforce an already present patriarchal culture, all this during a drinking bout since, as was customary with Persians, sobriety was inessential when discussing and deciding important matters (Hist. I.133). Nor when the wine has worn off does the king's decision warrant reconsideration. Such is the state of affairs in a palace where banquets mark a rampant indulgence and self-gratification with an unsteady despot who cares nothing for justice. Into this situation the heroine Esther emerges.

Origin of the Hero

Heroes typically appear at bleak, dark times to alter circumstances. And, consistent with hero myths, heroes encounter some sort of adversity in their childhood that sets them apart from others. In some cases, that adversity takes on the form of a direct death threat as it did with Moses, whose origin echoes King Sargon of Akkad (Mesopotamia), and with Jesus, whose origin echoes Dionysus (Greece). But sometimes that adversity takes on the form of being orphaned with the hero left to the care of another, as was the case with Gilgamesh (Mesopotamia), Zal, the albino, hero father to Rustam (Persia), and Anubis (Egypt). Esther, too, was orphaned (Esth 2.7). Born a Jewess to Abihail and an unidentified mother, she became the ward of her uncle/cousin Mordecai. Her origin reflects the more subdued nature of the origin motif in female, Hebrew hero myths. Her full patronymic name, Hadassah bat-Abihail (2.15), signifies that she stands at a threshold of identity. Hadassah bat-Abihail was Esther's true, yet secret, identity, a fact underscored by the very name “Esther” itself, which signifies “one whose identity is hidden.” And while similar to “Ishtar” (Babylonian goddess) just as “Mordecai” echoes “Marduk,” the name “Esther” indicates that Jews in Babylonia customarily received Babylonian names (e.g. Belteshazzar//Daniel, Abednego//Azariah, Dan 1.7; Sheshbazzar, Ezra 1.8, 11; and Zerubbabel, 1 Chr 3.17). “Esther” is Hadassah's alter. Throughout, Esther maintains her secret identity and origin and will disclose that true identity only in the moment of ultimate need.

Hadassah's pedigree also smacks of humble, if not ignominious, origins. She is of the Benjaminite tribe, a negative identity marker within Jewish consciousness, and kin to Shimei and Kish, both Benjaminite, though likely not descendants of Saul. Note the parallel expressions—“There was a Jewish man in the fortress Shushan whose name was Mordecai son of Jair son of Shimei son of Kish, a Benjaminite” (Esth 2:5)//“There was a man from Benjamin whose name was Kish son of Abiel son of Zeror son of Becorath son of Aphiah son of a Benjaminite” (1 Sam 9:1)—that introduce Mordecai's adoptive daughter Esther and Kish's son Saul, respectively. Several texts contribute to the negative view of the House of Saul within Jewish consciousness.

In addition to the kinship markers of Shimei and Kish linking Esther with the House of Saul, the textual association of the arch-villain Haman with Agag (Esth 3:1, 10; 8:3, 5; 9:24), the named king of Amalek whom Saul failed to kill, which would serve no ethnic purpose in the Persian Empire (Berlin: 33–34), literarily links Esther with the Saulide House. Other details connecting Esther to the House of Saul (see Berger: 628–31) include the following.

But what special powers does this heroine have that will aid her in her role? The narrative describes Hadassah with no extraordinary skills or superpowers save that of being “fair and beautiful.” But Hadassah is not all beauty and no brains. Her arsenal of skills includes the ability to make a favorable impression on everyone she encounters. She “pleased and won his [Hegai's, the Keeper of the Women] favor” (2:9); she “gained the favor of all who saw her” (2:15); and “she gained [the king's] favor and kindness” (2:17). While her beauty was her most notable characteristic, it was not what endeared her to everyone. Winning the favor of others was something Hadassah actively did; it was not a passive byproduct. The active verbal construction of the aforementioned passages portrays Hadassah as subject in a narrative world clearly portraying her as object. Her initial response to Mordecai of overt cooperativeness construed by some as passivity or stupidity could easily be understood, argues Leila Bronner (5), “as an ability to listen and to learn…. She could even be exercising an ability to recruit good advisors and to recognize savvy political maneuvering when she sees it.” She acts purposefully using her intelligence, wisdom, and strong socialization as part of her skills set to influence powerful individuals to behave in certain ways. Through the banquet motifs, Queen Esther will use her wits and sexuality to manipulate Ahasuerus and Haman: Ahasuerus by plying him with wine, Haman by appealing to his pride and ambitious desires. In addition, she acts humbly, even willing to follow the advice of those who know best—first, with Mordecai who advised her to keep her identity a secret, and second, with Hegai who advised her on her night with the king (2:15). Her skill at finding favor is a point of emphasis throughout the story, especially with the king (White: 167–72).

A Hero's Call and Test

Against the backdrop of a dark scenario where individuals grossly impaired from unrestrained drinking bouts decide the fate of others sounds the hero's call, albeit atypical. Many women are called but only one chosen. While perhaps up against as many as 1,000 contestants (Fox: 39), Esther enjoys no special favors, receiving the same portions of food, number of maidens, beauty treatments, and preparation time. Unlike her other competitors, Esther seeks advice from Hegai, who perhaps instructs her on what accessories to take on her evening with the king, or perhaps instructs her on the king's sexual preferences, or perhaps both, or perhaps neither. She can take anything she thinks useful—garments, aphrodisiacs, perfumes, love potions—but she instead takes Hegai's advice.

The path to Esther's heroic role is anything but noble. Her initial trial or test was … well … a sex contest, despite interpretive efforts to “clean up” the narrative and refer to it as a beauty contest. Every contestant was young, beautiful, and virgin. Each woman “goes in” to the king, leaving one harem in the evening and returning the next morning to another harem (monitored by Shaashgaz, Keeper of the Concubines; 2:13–14) composed of those who had had a sexual encounter with the king. As Herodotus remarked, “In Persia, a man's wives share his bed in rotation” (Hist. III.69).

Whatever advice Hegai gives, Esther obviously uses because “the king loved Esther more than all the other women” (2:17). So favorable is her impression upon the king that he throws a banquet to introduce her as Queen Esther (2:18). With a banquet, one woman departs the story and another enters. Esther enters the king's palace Hadassah, the unknown Jewess, but leaves the king's chamber, Queen Esther of Persia. She has crossed a cultural boundary with her embodiment of a major crisis in the diasporic community, namely that of identity. Esther appears as the alternative example for Jewish life in the diaspora in that she completely assimilates to a foreign lifestyle but only in her habits (Mills: 417–420). She is and is not Persian and Jewish, insider and outsider, “us” and “them.” That she must negotiate between an overt identification with the king and Persian law over against the Jews and a covert solidarity with Jews over against Persian law further reinforces the boundary crossing involved by her dual identity as heroine (Beal 1999: 70), while successfully retaining her secret identity.

Queen Esther's next test to demonstrate her worthiness as heroine comes when she discovers a murder plot against her husband. The first villains, Bigthan and Teresh, two of the king's eunuchs, hatch a murder conspiracy against the king, a plot serious enough since they have access to the king's private room. Esther learns of the murderous plot through Mordecai and relays that information to the king. After a full investigation, Bigthan and Teresh are summarily executed. What follows surprises because Haman, not Mordecai, receives honor, yet another clear indication of the injustice of Persian rule.

Enter Haman, the Agagite (3:1; 9:24), a not-so-subtle reminder that Haman's ethnic identity has ties to Agag, who has strong biblical associations with Amalek (Exod 17:8–16; Num 24:7; Deut 25:17–19; cf. 1 Chr 4:42–43; never mentioned in mt Esther but in the Targums and Josephus), a long-time, bitter enemy of the Jews. All heroes have their villain(s). Haman reflects the characteristics typical of a villain (arrogant, self-seeking, and egotistic with grandiose delusions of self-importance) as he plays the enemy, first to the tribe of Benjamin in his personal conflict with Mordecai, and second to the Jews, a point twice reinforced by the descriptor “enemy of the Jews” (8:1; 9:10). Haman's inflated view of his own self-worth surfaces when Mordecai refuses to honor Haman by bowing to him. In what seems a petty quarrel, this conflict between Mordecai (Jew) and Haman (Amalekite) foreshadows the later armed conflict between the Jews and their enemies. The ethnic enmity between Haman and Mordecai, however, gains emphasis with Haman's decree of genocide against all Jews. But to pull off this plan Haman needs the king's approval, and in this sense Haman comes across less the typical arch-villain. In another banquet scene, the king impulsively gives the royal ring to Haman without verification of Haman's claims, a character flaw that Esther, too, will manipulate. In true Persian fashion, Haman and Ahasuerus ratify the decree of genocide over … drinks. A banquet seals a genocide plot with no justifiable reason, further reiterating a situation in sore need of correction. A palace revels as a people lament.

Amidst this villainous plot of genocide, Esther's role of saving the Jews begins in earnest as she rescues Mordecai (4:1–4). Mordecai laments the recently published decree in true fashion by wailing and wearing sackcloth and ashes all the way up to the King's Gate. Such behavior verges on open transgression of the law since it is disallowed at the gate (Beal 1997: 70). The stark contrast in living conditions is not hard to miss: Esther, in the lap of luxury, wining and dining without a care in the world, and Mordecai, in the din of squalor, weeping and fasting with every care in the world. Mordecai refuses Esther's overtures, thus occasioning the long correspondence with her via emissary. Only through this correspondence does Esther learn of Haman's evil plot. Esther has to solve both a short-range problem (i.e. save Mordecai's life) and a long-range problem (i.e. Jewish genocide) (White: 169).

Mordecai's correspondence additionally includes a command that Esther broach the king on behalf of the Jews. Compliance with this command will certainly bring death. And who, especially those in the palace, would not know this? Esther's response reveals her knowledge of Persian custom as well as the wisdom to act in accordance with court protocol. Moreover, she has not been in the king's presence for thirty days (4:11). What follows may be the closest to an overt call to mission.

Mordecai rallies Esther (4:13–14) with even more incentive than the obvious. The italicized words reveal something implicit in that the first italicized and exceptionally rare word rewah also translates the relief Saul found from David's lyre playing when the evil ruah would come upon him (1 Sam 16:23) in contrast to the divine ruah that enabled David and preceding judges to perform their heroic exploits. Implied in Mordecai's challenge is the presence of the ruah upon Esther should she choose to act on her people's behalf. But, should she choose not to, argues Yitzhak Berger (634–35), rewah (relief) and deliverance will “arise from among the Judeans—the ‘quarter’ that comprises the exilic majority—and probably from the line of David specifically,” thus at the expense of the Benjaminites yet again. Esther faces a dilemma. Be silent and let an entire ethnic group perish, or act and risk possible death to save a civilization? Ignore this call and mission and Yhwh will bring deliverance from elsewhere (likely the Davidides), or accept this call and mission and Yhwh, with the divine ruah upon her, will bring deliverance through the Benjaminites? The risk is indeed great, but then again, so is the reward. “She realizes that she must act for the good of the community” (White: 170). Esther responds, “If I die, I die” (4.16). And that's what heroes do. Like heroes, Esther acts out of deference toward others to ensure peace and justice no matter the risk to herself. “Heroes are persons who rise above the limitations of their own psyches and the societies in which they live, usually for the greater good of those societies” (McGeough: 64).

To act as heroine, however, will demand every bit of courage and skill in Esther's power. She will risk her own life to bring life to the Jewish community as she prepares to face off with her villain. Her preparations to aid her heroic task involve fasting, a stark contrast to the abundant feasting. Jews have been fasting because of the genocide decree but now join alongside Esther and her maids to fast for three days and nights (4.15–16). The three days of fasting prepare Esther intellectually, but also enable her to wax prudent. How to parlay an identity as queen into hero status? How best to gain the king's attention when not having been summoned? Knowing the king's character flaws, Esther goes with her beauty to get past the first difficult step. She dons “royalty,” quite literally her hero costume, perhaps as a way to remind the king of her royal status, not to mention perhaps what he had been missing for thirty days. She stations herself within eyeshot of the king though not in the King's Hall. Her strategy works. Having shrewdly worked the system to gain the king's favor, Esther begins to unfold her plan to save the Jews.

Conflict With an Adversary

In every hero story, the hero engages the archenemy in some kind of conflict, though that conflict need not always be armed or physical. Achilles had his Hector in the Iliad, Gilgamesh his Humbaba (Mesopotamia), Rustam his Afrasiyab in Shah-nama (Persia), David his Goliath, and Judith her Holofernes. And Odysseus had his single-eye Cyclops giant of a nemesis, Polyphemus, whom he defeated by his wits. Similarly, Esther takes on Haman, whom she will outwit to foil his genocide plan. And she does so against the backdrop of a banquet, which raises the intriguing question, what is the function of all these banquets? Esther acts heroically through two banquets: the first catches Haman off guard while the second delays her request. The first banquet allows her to plead for her people though their liberation will not occur until the second. The use of a banquet to foil an enemy's plan is quite the shrewd and certainly not unheard of plan. Herodotus recounts several episodes where banquets served ulterior purposes—e.g. Astyages' revenge against Harpagus (Hist. I.118–19), Nitocris' vengeance of her brother's murder (II.100), Seostris' escape from his brother's attempted regicide (II.107), and Amestris' retaliation against Artaynte's mother for her husband's infidelity with Artaynte (IX.109–11).

Esther dons her hero's costume, that is, royal apparel, as described by Adele Berlin (51) quoting the Targum Sheni.

Esther comes prepared for a business meeting befitting a “Queen,” a title the narrative uses frequently henceforth to connote her hero identity since it is as “Queen” that she will save the Jews. She gains Ahasuerus' favor, but deflects his magnanimous offer of “up to half the kingdom” (5:3) to request instead the presence of Haman and the king at her personally prepared banquet. The second banquet will be prepared for just the two (cf. 5:4, 8). While Esther has gained the favor of the king, she realizes that she must somehow neutralize Haman. The two banquets for her honored guests will aid the process of Haman's own undoing lulling him into a sense of complacency. Including Haman in the banquet invitation reflects Esther's choice to clash with Haman head on.

At the first banquet, Esther cleverly couches her request in the form of two conditional requests—“If I have won the king's favor” and “if it pleases the king” (5.8)—before extending the invitation for both men to attend the second banquet. These requests pique the king's interest, but more importantly they virtually manipulate the king to an advance commitment. Attending the second banquet implicitly suggests the king's approval of Esther's unheard request (Clines: 144). Moreover, Esther construes her plan as if it's what the king commanded—“and tomorrow I will do as the king has said” (5:8). The first banquet creates the anticipation for the big reveal. In the interim, several events occur to aid Esther's plan.

Haman leaves the first banquet in good spirits. Nothing can sour his mood, well, except Mordecai. As Haman relates the honor of the queen's banquet invitation (twice), that honor will diminish at the mere mention of Mordecai, though Haman's spirit will revive upon his wife's advice to construct a stake fifty cubits high (roughly seventy-five feet, taller than Solomon's Temple) upon which to impale Mordecai. The impracticalness of such a stake mocks Haman's grandiose scheme, first, because he constructs this monstrosity and, second, because he will suffer the ultimate form of disgrace by being hung from it.

Only Haman, it seems, has left the first banquet in good spirits, whereas Ahasuerus suffers from a bout of insomnia (5:9; 6:1), from which he seeks relief by reading the chronicle records. He comes across Mordecai's honorable action, of which he needs recollection, an implicit critique since the event was initially written “to his face.” He seems to know nothing of what takes place in the palace, much less the kingdom. The irony persists as the king decides to consult Haman (who is in the palace seeking permission for Mordecai's hanging) on how to honor a certain unnamed man (believed by Haman to be himself).

Everything is going Haman's way—two invitations to a personal banquet with the king and queen, and now more potential honor. Nothing can put a damper on his good spirits, well, except Mordecai, the very thought, much less sight (5:9), of whom easily sours him. To add insult to injury, Haman must now robe Mordecai, the man Ahasuerus has in mind to honor, lead him through the streets, and publicly proclaim him as the beneficiary of the king's honor (6:11). In the ongoing opposition of this sub-plot between good (Mordecai) and evil (Haman), Mordecai's exaltation, if only momentary, foreshadows the eventual triumph of good (Jews) over evil (enemies), a point further reinforced by Haman's counselors, friends, and wife (6:13). With the second banquet looming, the matter of Esther's identity grows closer toward compromise.

At the second banquet, Esther gains the king's favor and appeals to his emotions. Her “banquet design” enables her to defeat Haman quickly while manipulating Ahasuerus' impulsiveness into quick action (Fox: 71–72). Tension builds as she pleads for her life and that of her people. For the first time, Esther identifies herself with her people … sort of. Twice, she aligns herself with the Jews though never actually using the term “Jew” in her expressions “my life … my people” and “my people and I” (7:3–4). Nevertheless, she regards the Jewish lot as hers, too, triply dramatizing the planned genocide—“We are sold … to be destroyed, massacred, and exterminated.” Nowhere does Esther come right out and explicitly state “I'm a Jew!” though her cryptic comments come close. She discloses her secret identity, and yet does not. But can the king figure it out? And how do others not when she fasts, unless she does so without distinctive Jewish markers? In addition, Esther disarms Haman's contention that “it is not appropriate for the king to tolerate [the Jews]” (3:8) by alluding to his earlier proposal to sell them into slavery. Slavery or death? Either way, Jewish removal translates into an economic downturn (7:4), which, in turn, means significant cutbacks in the palace's lavish banquets. Having gained the king's full attention, Esther explicitly discloses the villain behind such an insidious plot with four expressions, “a man, an enemy, a hater—Haman!” (7:6)

For the first time, the king must make an autonomous decision but instead angrily leaves the banquet. Meanwhile, Haman grovels before Esther, who chooses to act a heroine on behalf of justice for her people. As fate would have it, the king reenters the room to catch Haman having thrown himself on the couch where Esther was reclining in a scene that ostensibly screamed sexual assault. The king responds characteristically by jumping to conclusions without benefit of investigation. His constant manipulability, first by advisors then Haman then Esther, and compulsiveness that renders this king into what had to have been a farcical object of humor for a Jewish audience further accentuates what the king should obviously do in this moment yet needs a eunuch's help to do so. Harbona reminds the king of Haman's intentions toward a royal benefactor, thus providing the king with several grounds upon which to execute Haman's death sentence. Haman's death quells the king's wrath. Esther emerges victorious while keeping her secret identity intact. But Esther's mission to save the Jews is far from complete.

By essentially orchestrating circumstances culminating in the replacement of the king's advisor (Haman) with Mordecai, Esther has basically pulled off a palace coup (Bronner: 8). The banquet scene extends itself with the aftermath of prior events, and perhaps within the banquet room itself but most certainly the same day (8:1). Esther prostrates herself before the king, weeping as she appeals to his emotions. Moreover, she personalizes her plea. “How can I bear to see the calamity that is coming on my people? Or how can I bear to see the destruction of my kindred?” (8:6) But to no avail! Her relationship with the king and his authority are not enough to rescind the decree of Haman the Agagite, mortal enemy of the Jews.

Though Haman's imperial decree cannot be rescinded, another decree can be issued. And Ahasuerus is only too eager to bestow upon Esther carte blanche, lending his scribes, royal authority (name and seal), and royal postal system to Mordecai, who assumes a more prominent role, and not because Esther “reverts to modest shame” (Klein 2004: 171). Mordecai becomes vizier, the highest-ranking royal official, while Esther controls wealth, court appointments, and access to the king. Moreover, the promotion of Mordecai, the Benjaminite, is juxtaposed with the demotion of Haman, the Agagite, a clear allusion to the Amalekite King Agag and the Amalekite who claimed credit for Saul's death (2 Sam 1). Vanquishing the enemy becomes surety for saving the Jews and, by extension, redeeming the tarnished reputation of the House of Saul. Under Mordecai's dictation, a decree is issued in every language and dialect throughout the empire's provinces permitting the Jews to defend themselves against their enemies. Furthermore, Jews can act in blood revenge regardless of whether woman or child. Mordecai's edict brings joy and gladness within the Jewish community and the capital of Susa, yet another occasion for a banquet, though not of the Persian type (8:15–17).

Rewards For All

Every hero provides some boon or reward for the human community, yet another motif of hero stories. Moses introduced the legal code for Jewish civilization, Gilgamesh revealed the spark of the divine within humankind and its potential, the Grecian Titan Prometheus stole fire for the benefit of humankind, and the Trojan hero Aeneas, later regarded as a Roman national hero, singlehandedly saved the Trojans to lay the foundations for a future Roman state. Likewise, the bravery of the Jewess Judith saves her village from sure extinction by the Babylonian general Holofernes. The immediate personal boon for Esther and Mordecai is obvious—Esther gains authority over the house of Haman; Mordecai receives the king's signet ring and control over Haman's property (8.1). And the boon for the Jewish community?

The banquet of the Jews anticipates a reversal of fortune when Jews can gain power over their enemies who have ironically “hoped to gain power over them” (9:1). Fear of the Jews permeated the empire's provinces as many non-Jews claimed to be Jews (8:17). Shushanites learned not to take lightly Jewish life (9:3). Within the fortress of Shushan alone, the Jews killed some 500 men on the first day, an additional 300 on the second day, and 75,000 throughout the provinces for both days, including Haman's ten sons whose lifeless bodies were later impaled. Singling out each son by name as the narrator does thoroughly diminishes Haman's honor and systematically extinguishes the possible future threat of Haman's family, thus reemphasizing Esther's total and complete victory over her nemesis.

The violent riots where the Jews killed their enemies transmute into the revelry of a festival where the Jews celebrate their enemies' defeat. Some interpreters find little comfort in this imagery and even less with the proffered explanations of inflated numbers and Jewish action as self-defense, not revenge. Celebration of life occasions the observance of the festival of Purim. Whether this book was composed ostensibly as an etiology for the festival of Purim or not remains debatable (on origin theories ranging from an adaptation from their Babylonian or Persian neighbors to distinctively Jewish, see Schellekens: 116, 130–31). Its growth nevertheless takes shape in the book, first as a onetime day of feasting and gladness (9:17–18), then as an annual day of joy, feasting, and sending food gifts to one another (v 19). Mordecai later amends the ritual celebration to include sending presents to the poor (v 22), a distinction made by the shift from manot, food portions given to all, to mattanot, presents given to the poor. The authority of Mordecai in the first letter initiates the annual celebration by Jews (9:27–28). But it was the second letter of Queen Esther bat Abihail that confirms Mordecai's authority and reifies the observance of Purim as tradition, further legalized by the bureaucratic practice of composing an official document. The Jewish banquets of Purim correspond to and reverse the earlier Persian banquets—the distribution of food portions with no mention of drinking, and this in spite of the heavy drinking to take place in later Jewish Purim tradition as part of its carnivalesque nature. Distributing food portions from Persian banquets was not an unheard of practice, but this book's overemphasis on drinking certainly eclipses it (Deipn. 145f–46a). This story's ending returns to its beginning though transforming the banquet motif from drinking that provides no sustenance to eating that provides sustenance.

Only in Esther's communiqué transcribed in the script and language of the Jews (9:29) does her dual identity become public record … sort of. The double appellation “Esther, the king's wife, daughter of Abihail” suggests that she can never return to a monolithic identity as simply bat Abihail or Hadassah or Esther (Berman: 668). Nor in all her actions on behalf of the Jewish community, without which she could not have instituted a religious festival (an unheard of act among biblical women), is she ever Esther without also being Hadassah. Mary Mills (419) notes, “It is as queen … that she operates with a Jewish social identity, clothed with foreign culture.” Queen Esther aka Hadassah bat-Abihail retains her dual identity while acting shrewdly by utilizing banquets to orchestrate circumstances that would benefit the Jews. Her ability to do so enables this heroine to save an ethnic minority from a villainous plot of ethnic cleansing and subsequently redeem the stigmatized reputation of the House of Saul.

But exactly how is the stigmatized reputation of the House of Saul redeemed? Berger has extensively demonstrated numerous inner-biblical allusions to the texts of Esther and Samuel–Kings in order to argue the reversal of the theme of Davidic superiority and a favorable view of Benjaminite leadership. I will simply supplement from my own analyses those germane points of Berger's sans political agenda that individually convince little but collectively demonstrate the House of Saul's redemption.

A Female Hero?

Esther the woman has not gone without her fair share of criticism from the ideological feminist camp. Esther Fuchs (153, 159) comments upon the character of Esther as “too busy with her makeup and other skin-deep activities” and as “irredeemably patriarchal.” Esther undergirds every patriarchal assumption about women being deferential, obedient, and beautiful objects that they should strive to avoid. Similarly, Alice Laffey (216) regards her as “the stereotypical woman in a man's world” who “wins favor by the physical beauty of her appearance, and then by her ability to satisfy sexually.” Esther is an unfortunate role model for women of “full compliance with patriarchy.” If anyone is a heroine in the story, claim feminists, it's Vashti who confronts a more shaming situation than does Esther. Lillian Klein (102) notes, “Vashti is one woman confronted in male space with many men as judges; Esther is among many women confronted in female space with one man as judge.” But Esther, too, faces a circumstance incommensurate with her Jewish values. The essential difference between Esther and Vashti, however, is simply this: Vashti's actions benefit only self, whereas Esther's actions benefit others. Esther acts heroically; Vashti does not.

A more beneficial feminist reading of Esther takes into consideration the reality that she exists in a man's world and how she is able to operate within that world. Undoubtedly, Esther found herself restricted as she acted deferentially and obediently. But what if her assumed passivity reflects nothing of her character and more of the role her world has circumscribed for her? Traits of self-esteem and assertiveness would certainly have gone by the wayside in an “adaptation of her self-concept as Other woman.” Moreover, Esther remained in complete isolation. She was never outside the palace, and thus was never part of the Jewish world. “Her isolation within the confines of the area that proscribes her Otherness,” argues Josh Berman (651) following Simone de Beauvoir, “deprives the Other woman of both the appeal and the benefits of solidarity.”

Granted, Esther does not reprise the hero role in the same manner as other Jewish heroines like Jael and Judith, but no criterion demands that she do so. A female hero need not act as a warrior in order to be a hero because heroes are of all types—questing, kings, national, cultural, religious, and folk, to name a few. Esther's plan, while reminiscent of Judith's ruse though lacking in any barbaric head severing, nonetheless reflects that of a cultural hero who acts for an ethnic group's existence. Like Jael and Judith, Esther did act independently. Esther alone planned the banquets, invited the guests, and orchestrated the circumstances to unfold. And she alone risked her life when appearing before the king. She alone set her plan in motion, as did Jael and Judith. To be a hero does not require uniformity of action in every circumstance, just the willingness to act and do so selflessly against all odds. Nothing best exemplifies all odds for Esther than her exile status and her androcentric reality, a fact true for Jael and Judith, too, first introduced by the narratives in terms of their relation to men (Judg 4:17; Jdt 8:1–2). Esther's body and sexuality did not belong to her. She was always at some man's disposal, a pawn constantly moved about “taken” by Mordecai, “taken” to Hegai in the palace, and “taken” to the king. In addition, her continual identity effacement and underlying fear of her secret (Jewish) identity being exposed would have affected her self-esteem as well. But despite the lack of personal autonomy and the limitations of her circumscribed role or her isolation, she rose above those limitations as heroes do.

Esther did not act like Jael or Judith. Maybe she appeared to lack in confidence, and maybe she lacked necessary, inner resources (655), but she did possess the necessary resources of beauty, wisdom, and social skills in order to use those to her advantage. She worked within the system via her overt compliance with patriarchy, an ostensibly negative marker for feminists, contra White and Klein (95, 118 respectively), who regard Esther as a model for diasporic women to act heroically so long as they appear to be operating according to gender norms. Her ability to work within Persian structures rather than go rogue (an anti-hero) enabled her to right wrongs sanctioned by said unjust system and reflects a sagacious adaptive strategy to reality in order to survive and to save (see Berman: 649), in short, to be a heroine.

Final Thoughts

Esther models the role of hero. Throughout this story various motifs like a situation that needs correction, origin story, call and test, conflict with an adversary, and rewards for all coincide with numerous occurrences of the banquet motif. While acknowledging two broad literary possibilities for the banquet motif's function, both as a technique of literary artistry for reading engagement and as a context for character contributions to plot development, Susanne Plietzsch (35) fails to state explicitly its function in this book. Granted, there are “banquets where conflict erupts and escalates and others where, through clever politics of invitation, decisions are reached and new courses set” (Plietzsch: 40). Taking the narrative holistically along with its banquet scenes and hero motifs, I have demonstrated in this article the banquet motif's function as integral to the story's plot. Persian banquets foster insobriety whereby rulers lacking clarity make decisions about significant matters like royal appointments and ethnic cleansing. As the plot develops to its eventual denouement, these banquets give way to Jewish banquets that foster sobriety and a sense of clarity whereby to reverse injustices sealed by Persian banquets and to establish acts of charity, or tzedaqah (justice) in modern Judaism, all the while gradually shaping Esther as heroine.

Maybe Esther's does not come off as the quintessential hero story and she as the ideal heroine. But in an overtly patriarchal world, she does model the possibility for roles beyond the circumscribed norm for women, including taking a stand for what's right and just. As strangers in a world and system not structured according to feminine ideals, women can aspire to and attain positions of prominence by gaining the favor of others whereby to make a notable difference. And they can do so while not sacrificing their femininity for a hyper-sexualized form on the one hand or a denigrated form on the other hand. Women may indeed have to “play the game” in a man's world, but they need not always do so by a man's rules. Esther used what powers were available to her within a less than ideal context to defeat a villain and save an ethnic minority from extinction. Her powers were not qualities extrinsic to normal individuals. Just as individuals vary in degree of strength, so the same holds true with social skills and the wisdom for implementing those at the right time in the right situation. Esther willingly risked all, including life, and utilized her intellect, savvy, wisdom, and, to some degree, her beauty to maintain a dual (and secret) identity in a context of crisis.

Since hero stories are for the culture in which they originate and circulate, it seems fitting to close with some considerations of this story's potential cultural function. The book of Esther is a literature of identity crisis. Esther modeled for diasporic Jewish women (and men) how to achieve honor and autonomy within a foreign culture, despite being a scorned minority, by outwardly observing the host country's customs and laws (Klein 2004: 175). Call it the path of accommodation in an effort to survive in a diasporic context. But by accepting the reality of their subordinate position, diasporic Jews could work within the social structures to build a successfully satisfying life in Diaspora (White: 173). Through the hero paradigm of Esther, diasporic Jews could embrace their dual identity, and do so without compromising one identity at the expense of the other when acting out of concerns for justice for the benefit of others. In many respects, Esther's is a story of post-exilic Israel writ large. She had neither father nor mother and lived in a foreign country; Israel had neither king nor land and lived in a foreign country. Her personal identity struggle “is a mise en abyme of the larger narrative of Jewish existence in the Diaspora. Esther is Everyjew” (Berman: 669). And yet, “Everyjew” could also be Esther (and Daniel, who also provided a model for diasporic Jews interfacing with the dominant culture) since, as heroine, she modeled the potential that all who struggled with an identity crisis, whether as strangers in a strange land or not, could actualize. This same cultural function of Esther as heroine would resurface for another Jewish diaspora, that of nineteenth century America. That Jewish diaspora looked to Esther as the paradigm for navigating the sticky matter of dual Jewish and American identities within the US (see Langston: 200–16). Just as Esther embraced her dual identity as Jew and resident alien while selflessly risking her life to preserve that of Jews, so diasporic Jews could likewise embrace their dual identity to perform selfless acts of tzedaqah. And no doubt diasporic Jews did deem Esther worthy of apotheosis if the prominent position given the Purim panel aside the Torah shrine within the third century ce Dura-Europos synagogue is any indicator (Sabar; Hachlili).

Heroes inspire to act on the heroic that lies within and to venture forth in the service of good for others. If it were not so, each generation would not bother to create the heroes it needs as it does. And therein lies the reason why cultures create and emulate heroes. Despite all the criteria haggled over on what makes for a hero, virtually all agree that heroes possess attributes “that go beyond the norms of everyday character traits” (McGeough: 53). Heroes indeed supersede the expectations of the everyday, but not of being human. As psychological explorations into the modern myth of superheroes have revealed, these larger-than-life figures reveal something about a given culture's attitudes, needs, and fears, to name a few. Heroes like Esther mirror something of or about their culture while inspiring nobler acts of selflessness and providing a model for success.