‘Other laws’: Haman’s accusation against the Jews in the book of Esther

Abstract

This study seeks to explain Haman’s reference to Jewish law (דָּת) in Masoretic Esther 3.8, given the lack of any obvious manifestation of the law in the book, or even of religious practice. The question of Jewish law in the book of Esther is closely related to the much more widely discussed question of God’s absence. This paper suggests that the book of Esther uses Haman’s accusation to invite its readers to question whether Jewish דָּת exists, and if so, whether it conflicts with Persian (or royal) law. This question persists with the reader throughout the whole book. Ultimately, we argue that the (Masoretic) book of Esther paints Jewish identity as fundamentally compatible with Persian law.

Keywords

Esther Haman דָּת Persian law Jewish ethnic identity

‘Law’ in Esther

The book of Esther is deeply concerned with Persian law and what it might mean for its Jewish protagonists (and thus for its audience). However, this focus on Persian law raised a particular question for early readers of the book, namely, whether there was any conflict between Jewish identity and obedience to Persian law – a question that the Greek (and subsequent) editions of the book sought to answer.¹ However, the question is in fact quite salient in the Masoretic edition of the book, because it is raised by Haman’s accusation against the Jews (3.8), that they follow ‘other laws’ and that they disobey the king’s own laws. The accusation is almost always present in the different versions of Esther, despite other very significant differences.² While the Greek editions of Esther – the LXX, the Alpha Text and the (underlying Greek Vorlage to the) Vetus Latina – have focused on ‘correcting’ perceived shortcomings in the Jewish characters’ behaviour, the Masoretic text is much more interested in demonstrating the essential compatibility of Jewish identity with Persian law.

The Masoretic book of Esther, though set during the rule of Xerxes, was written later. The earliest possible date is the late Persian period due to the distance that the narrator maintains from the events portrayed in the book.³ However, most commentators admit the possibility, or even probability, of a Hellenistic date.⁴ In either case, the way that the book of Esther describes Xerxes’ reign reflects the thought and priorities of later authors and audiences. It is in this later context, most likely in the Diaspora, that the book’s first readers were confronted with Haman’s accusation. The attitudes to the law found in the book of Esther, likewise, belong primarily to that context.

The (Masoretic) book of Esther uses a variety of vocabulary to describe the law. Of these, however, the most prominent is ‎דָּת, a loanword from an Iranian language, presumably Old Persian (cf. Old Persian dāta).⁵ Although the word is used alongside several native synonyms, ranging from close to approximate,⁶ this word’s Persian status and its prominence in the book alert us to one of the essential (but less remarked upon) themes of the book, namely, the relationship of the protagonists, Esther and Mordecai, to Persian law and, by implication, to Jewish law.

Haman’s reference to the Jews’ דָּת (Esth. 3.8), though it is put in the biased mouth of the book’s villain, raises the question for the reader of what exactly in the book of Esther might constitute Jewish דָּת.⁷ Some commentators have thought Haman’s accusation is a reference to Torah.⁸ Others have construed it more broadly.⁹ However, there is certainly no reference to any Jewish written law elsewhere in the book. Thus, any conception of a Jewish ‘law’ in the book of Esther is somewhat different from its conception of Persian law, which, as we will see, is presented as closely connected with writing.¹⁰ However, the meaning of the loanword דָּת, both in the source language and in Aramaic (which also borrowed the word) is much broader than just the written law.¹¹ In this paper, we will start with a consideration of the role of Persian law in the book of Esther. Next, we will survey those instances that might be considered by Haman (or the reader) as examples of Jewish characters conforming to a Jewish דָּת that might contradict Persian law. Finally, we will analyse how the book of Esther presents its characters relative to these different concepts of law.

Persian law and the role of writing in the book of Esther

At first glance, there seems to be a consistent emphasis in the book of Esther on the written nature of Persian law (e.g. 1.19, 1.22, 2.23, 3.9, etc.). Certainly, writing is an important theme of the book.¹² Considerable attention is given to the process of dissemination of special edicts throughout the empire, even to every household.¹³

Nevertheless, Esther does not depict the Persian system as some sort of code of statutory law.¹⁴ Rather, even though Persian law is typically written in Esther, written copies of a law are always tied directly to a decision made by the king.¹⁵ Thus, whatever authority a written edict possesses, it is derived from the king’s own authority.

Furthermore, the book of Esther also stresses, in certain places, the role of legal experts in the Persian system, in addition to written decrees. Thus, before the king makes a decision about Vashti he consults, in Esth. 1.13–14, those who know both law (דַּת) and judgement (דִּין; i.e. precedent?). Still, even such expert advice is filtered through the eyes of the king.

The fact that the law’s authority, in the book of Esther, hangs upon the king’s own authority makes it subject to the same types of attack as the king’s character. Xerxes is typically viewed as the target of the book’s (satirical or comedic) criticism—a wealthy buffoon, who is easily manipulated by his courtiers.¹⁶ So we should also bear in mind that the legal system itself might also be in the crosshairs of such criticism.¹⁷ In particular, the book of Esther is concerned with the danger of the abuse of the power invested in written Persian law.¹⁸ However, the danger is twofold because of the potential for the king’s (dis)favour to trump the written law.

In summary, while the book of Esther gives considerable attention to written edicts and keeping records of the king’s decisions, it does not in fact assume a written legal code that applied uniformly across the empire. Rather, it depicts a system, wherein the king’s authority was absolute and his written ad hoc edicts (not a systematic code) had to be obeyed throughout the empire.

Jewish דָּת in Esther

The prominence of Persian legal authority in the book of Esther raises the question of Jewish legal authority, or more precisely of its absence. In particular, it raises the question of whether there is a conflict between Jewish law and Persian (or more broadly, imperial) law—a question of great interest to the book’s audience, whether living under imperial authorities in the late Persian period, or in the Hellenistic period. It is worth noting that when it looks back on the early Persian period, the book of Esther seems unaware of any possibility that the Torah had received imperial authorisation.¹⁹ If it is thought that the legal and ritual authoritativeness of the Torah developed by or during the Second Temple period,²⁰ it is a development in thinking that had not influenced the (eastern diasporic) worldview of the author(s) of Masoretic Esther. Yet, as we will see, Masoretic Esther is not entirely uninterested in questions of ritual and law.

The absence of Jewish law, whether in the form of books, or in the form of figures of religious authority, cannot be separated entirely from the related problem of the absence of God and the supposed absence of Jewish religious practice in the book.²¹ However, unlike the latter questions, the role of the law in the book has attracted little scholarly attention. In seeking to remedy this, our approach will be to survey those instances that might be considered by Haman (or the reader) as examples of a Jewish דָּת and might answer the question raised by Haman, of whether there is any part of Jewish practice that contradicts the Persian law.

Certainly, there are no explicit citations of any form of Jewish law, whether written or otherwise, the possibility of narrative allusions to Genesis or Exodus notwithstanding.²² Typically, Esther and Mordecai are motivated by their Jewish identity and the danger that they face as a result of it. For example, when persuading Esther to approach the king, Mordecai appeals to ethnicity, not law (4.14). Nevertheless, there are certain instances in the narrative, moments when character motivations are opaque, in which the reader might find Haman’s accusation fair: Mordecai’s refusal of proskynesis, the role of fasting and sackcloth, even on Passover, adoption practices, and the refusal to take plunder.

Proskynesis

One such instance, in which the reader who has read Haman’s accusation might detect a conflict between Persian and Jewish law, is Mordecai’s refusal to bow to Haman. Because the narrative is so sparse, readers of the narrative have supplied their own reasons for Mordecai’s refusal.²³ One possible explanation would be that he was obeying Jewish law.²⁴ Even in antiquity readers were uncomfortable with the text’s reticence, with the result that the additional chapters found in most ancient translations offer exculpations for Mordecai’s actions, appealing not to the law in any specific sense, but to a general principle of not bowing to anyone but God (C:4–7, LXX versification). This solution is interesting for two reasons. Firstly, as many have noted,²⁵ there is no command in the Hebrew Bible that would require such an attitude. Moreover, it is not unusual for people throughout the Hebrew Bible to bow down (הִשְׁתַּחֲוָה) to other people, without any hint of censure.²⁶ Secondly, it is striking that while the versions do attempt to excuse Mordecai’s behaviour, they do not attempt to do so by referring to any known law but instead to more general principles of glorifying God more than humans.²⁷ This might imply that the authors of the additional chapters were also unaware of a legal principle that they could appeal to in this matter.

Haman, however, attributes Mordecai’s disobedience to two factors: his ethnic Jewish status and the fact that Jews have different laws (Esth. 3.8, דָּתֵיהֶם שֹׁנוֹת). Given that we have no evidence of any foreign, that is Jewish, law that Mordecai would be following, we must conclude that Haman is misrepresenting the facts, in order to heighten the charges against Mordecai. However, regarding the other factor, Haman is correct: the narrator’s comment in 3.4 (כִּי־הִגִּיד לָהֶם אֲשֶׁר־הוּא יְהוּדִי) implies that Mordecai, for whatever reason, expected his Jewish status to either explain or excuse his behaviour.²⁸ Even if there is some unknown law or moral principle guiding Mordecai’s actions (as Haman suggests), the narrator frames Mordecai’s actions as deriving from his ethnic identity rather than from a conflict between the king’s command and the Jews’ laws.

Fasting, sackcloth and Passover

Another instance in which readers primed by Haman’s accusation might detect the influence of ‘other laws’ is in Esther and Mordecai’s response to the edict. However, this suggestion is complicated by their flouting of Passover laws. Even in antiquity it was noted that Esther’s fast (4.16) coincides with Passover.²⁹ It is not obvious whether this is deliberate; conceivably, the book of Esther (at least in the Masoretic edition) expects that the reader would immediately associate the 13^th of Nisan with the timing of Passover, when that date is introduced in 3.12. If so, then the point is that the circumstances are dire enough to require transgression of the laws of Passover.³⁰ However, it is also conceivable that for the book of Esther (and its audience), observation of the Passover was not so important.³¹ Thus, Esther’s fast, which in the context of the book is presented quite positively, either transgresses or ignores the law. As in the case of Mordecai’s refusal, however, Esther’s fast is motivated by her Jewish identity, not by law: she is specifically moved by the threat to the Jews and her father’s family (4.14) and her instruction is only for the Jews (4.16).³²

Mourning practices such as sackcloth, ashes and fasting, on the other hand, do have a ritual, perhaps legal, overtone of the sort that Haman might plausibly be referring to; even if the connection here is not explicit, fasting in particular is generally associated with prayer (cf. Ezra 8.21, Dan 9.3), and perhaps the turning aside of divine judgement.³³ However, these practices, as expressions of mourning, do not derive from biblical law,³⁴ and the book of Esther does not attempt to present them as religious.³⁵ Instead, they are better characterised as cultural practices. While these expressions of mourning are typical in the Bible, they were also widespread in the ancient Near East and Mediterranean.³⁶ Nevertheless, Esther and the Jews are motivated to display this customary expression of their mourning (even if it is not a uniquely Jewish custom) by a danger that is predicated on their Jewish identity.

Adoption and obedience to parents

There is little clear evidence of the parameters of adoption practices in the Hebrew Bible, though it seems probable that such a custom existed.³⁷ There is, perhaps, an oblique reference to legal customs (of which Haman might be aware) in Mordecai’s adoption of Esther (2.5–7). Adoption by a close family member, whether formal or informal, is not mandated elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible. Nevertheless, such a custom would be unsurprising in light of the kinsmen-redemption practices assumed, for example, in the book of Ruth and in light of the value placed on care for orphans.³⁸ After the adoption, Esther and Mordecai fall into the role of child and parent, with Esther typically obeying Mordecai in the narrative.³⁹

However, it seems unlikely that Esther’s adoption should be seen as a particularly Jewish דָּת, especially given that the terminology so closely parallels that used in Babylonian law codes.⁴⁰ Likewise, obedience to parents is hardly an example of specifically Jewish law. Therefore, we should not assume (necessarily) that the protagonists are following any particular form of Jewish law. Moreover, it is difficult to imagine how adoption practices, obedience to parents, or orphan care might constitute a special incompatibility between Jewish דָּת and Persian law (whether in Haman’s eyes, the king’s or the readers’).

In fact, the Esther–Mordecai adoptive relationship often works to the king’s advantage. For example, even before Haman’s accusation, Mordecai uses his relationship with Esther to warn the king of the eunuchs’ plots. The text specifically refers to Esther’s filial obedience (2.20). Thus, even if Haman was criticising this kind of Jewish law, the king (or, rather, the reader) does not have to look very far to discover that the practice of adoption and filial obedience by the Jews is to the king’s benefit.

On another occasion, however, when Mordecai uses his parental influence over Esther to encourage her to disobey the king’s (alleged) command that no-one may approach the throne unbidden, Haman may have a stronger case. As part of Mordecai’s attempts to persuade Esther, he refers to salvation ‘from another place’ (ממקום אחר; ‎ 4.14). This has traditionally been interpreted as an oblique reference to God or to Jewish law.⁴¹ If this interpretation were correct, then Mordecai would be relying on an appeal to a divine authority beyond Persian law. However, it is not very plausible that this is a reference to God at all. Wiebe’s proposed translation seems preferable: ‘For if you certainly keep silent at this time, will relief and deliverance arise for the Jews from another [i.e. human] place? Then you and the house of your father will be destroyed.’⁴²

However, three objections must be raised to the notion that here Esther is presented as disobeying Persian law on the basis of a Jewish דָּת. Firstly, Esther is portrayed as extremely reluctant to break any Persian law.⁴³ Thus, the text is at pains to avoid any implication that the Jews have a tendency to disobey the king’s laws. Secondly, it is not clear that Esther was actually ever forbidden from approaching the king (cf. Esth. 2:22).⁴⁴ Thirdly, it does not appear that Esther actually ever disobeys the king, who immediately invites her to approach (Esth. 5.2). Therefore, once again, though the spectre of Jews disobeying the king may be raised (4:11), it is immediately proved insubstantial.⁴⁵

Taking no plunder

Although it is only implicit, in Esth. 9, there is an instance where the Jews arguably follow a kind of Jewish law. On three occasions (vv. 10, 15 and 16), it is stated that the Jews took no plunder from their enemies, despite the king’s edict instructing them to do so (8.12). This oddity has been explained as a part of the Samuel intertext that runs throughout the book of Esther.⁴⁶ According to this explanation, the Jews’ refusal to take any plunder from their enemies is a ‘correction’ of Saul’s sin (cf. 1 Sam. 15). If this interpretation is correct, the Jews’ actions have been explained by the book of Esther in theological terms, framed as obedience to a divine command, which has been generalised from the case of Saul and taken to apply in this situation by analogy. It is striking that in this single instance of the Jews following something that might be conceived of as a ‘foreign law’, it produces no conflict with Persian law. Although the king has permitted the taking of plunder (8.12), he has not commanded it.

Proving Haman’s accusation false: Esther and Mordecai as ‘law-abiding citizens’

Despite Haman’s accusation, if a concept of Jewish דָּת guides the Jewish characters in the book of Esther at all, it only ever does so implicitly. Often it appears that even where there is a hint of law motivating the characters, Jewish identity is a more important factor driving their decisions. Nevertheless, the book strongly encourages its readers to think about this issue, by strongly emphasizing Persian law and by highlighting Haman’s allegation that Jewish law is incompatible with Persian law. Although the book raises the spectre of the incompatibility of Jewish דָּת with Persian laws through Haman’s accusation in 3.8, in fact it presents a different picture: Jewish customs and practice are thoroughly compatible with Persian law. While Mordecai might not bow to Haman, it is Haman who is revealed as the true danger to the king. Though Esther worries about transgressing the king’s law by approaching him, the situation resolves without any transgression eventuating. While the Jews may follow some additional rules, such as not taking plunder or obeying parents, this does not interfere at all with their ability to follow the king’s commands. By placing the question of legal incompatibility in the mouth of its primary antagonist, the book of Esther provides itself with the opportunity to affirm, instead, at every opportunity, the essential compatibility between Jewish identity and imperial law.

Conclusions

Haman’s accusation causes the reader to ask whether there is a Jewish דָּת that is opposed to Persian law. The answer in Masoretic Esther is an emphatic ‘no’. The community depicted in the book is not exactly ‘a-legal’ but only ever engages with the idea of Jewish law implicitly. The community depicted is one where ritual is not governed by scripture, but where there is still a perhaps ‘pre-legal’ sense of an obligation to act according to certain principles. Thus, there is a mirror-symmetry in how Persian law and Jewish ‘law’ are presented in the book: the Persian law is explicit, often written and categorical; Jewish ‘law’ is implicit, unwritten and flexible. The book does not necessarily imply that imperial law must be obeyed at all costs. Rather, it portrays a situation where the Jewish characters in Esther are able (though not always easily) to meet the legal requirements of living under empire, without compromising their Jewish identity. Although we should not take this community in Susa⁴⁷ as representative of other (more prominent) Jewish communities of the late Persian/Hellenistic period, neither should we reject this perspective on Jewish life in this period.

Footnotes

ORCID iD

Jonathan Arulnathan Thambyrajah

1

Ego, 2015: 88; Ego, 2020; Koller, 2014: 214–25; Schorch, 2010: 30–42; Walfish, 2003.

2

Most versions of the text produced in the Second Temple period and subsequent centuries preserve Haman’s accusation that the Jews have ‘different laws’ The exception to this rule is the Armenian, which instead describes them as ‘lawless’

3

Bush, 1996: 295–97, 345.

4

Ego, 2017: 55–69; Levenson, 1997: 23–27; Macchi, 2018: 38–49; Moore, 1971: l–liii.

5

Ellenbogen, 1957: 61; Gindin, 2012: 67; Rabin, 1950–1988: 1079; Scheftelowitz, 1901: 43; Wagner, 1966: 45; Wilson, 1928: 195–96; Wilson-Wright, 2015: 156.

6

מַאֲמַר ;דָּבָר ;מִצְוָה, etc.

7

See also Clines, 1984b: 16, who understands a different question to be implicit: according to him, for the Jewish readers of the book, the question is under which circumstances the Persian law may be broken. Clines focuses on the transgression against the Persian law, which is the counterpart to the question that we are interested in: whether Haman is right that there is some aspect of Jewish ‘law’ that would compel transgression. Further, see Fox, 2001: 49, who points out, helpfully, that whatever laws they may have had that were different from other subject nations, the Jews also submitted to Persian laws. Thus, Jewish דָּת includes the Persian laws.

8

See the summary of these views in Ego, 2017: 219.

9

E.g., Clines, 1984a: 296; Moore, 1971: 39.

10

Some commentators on Esther have argued that דַּת must also refer to a form of precedent, as in 1:15. See Bush, 1996: 350–51; Fox, 2001: 20. Although the ‘experts’ in 1:15 do not appear to consult written documents to form their opinion, references scattered throughout the book of Esther, suggest that in the world of the narrative, precedents were recorded in writing (e.g. 2:23, 6:1, 10:2).

11

On the flexibility of the Persian word, see Briant, 2002: 510–11. On the flexibility of the Aramaic, see Kaufman et al., n.d.: s.v. ‘dt’.

12

Bechtel, 2002: 14–16.

13

This is especially true at Esth. 3.12–15 and 8.9–14, but also in cases such as 1.22.

14

Indeed, Old Persian dāta- (or Hebrew דָּת) does not refer to a written code of law. Nor could it be presumed that there was such a written code in the Achaemenid Empire. Briant, 2002: 510–11, 956–57; Kuhrt, 2007: 828–29.

15

The edict in 1.22 derives from the decision in 1.21; the edict in 3.12–15 from 3.10–11; the edict in 8.9–14 from 8.7–8; the edict in 9.14 from the king’s decision in the same verse. Compare Macchi, 2018: 66–67. Though he only considers three of the edicts, Macchi recognises that the edicts derive from the king’s decision about a particular situation. If any further proof is required of this, the book of Esther provides ample evidence of the king’s favour trumping the written law (e.g. 5.2, 8.5). See Clines, 1984b: 15.

16

Bechtel, 2002: 22; Berlin, 2001: 5; Bush, 1996: 314–17; Fox, 2001: 171–77; Grossman, 2011: 39–45; Tomasino, 2016: 87–89. For the notion of comedy and carnivalesque in Esther, see further Berlin, 2001: xvi–xxii.

17

See Koller, 2014: 58–61; Macchi, 2018: 67; Stern, 2016: 267–70.

18

See Hasler, 2020: 99.

19

On the theory of imperial authorisation, see Frei, 2001; Schmid, 2007. See also the criticism of the view in several of the other articles in Watts, 2001.

20

Carr, 2007; Collins, 2012; Schmid, 2013; Watts, 2005. Cf. Turton, 2021: 81–84.

21

Fox, 1990; Goswell, 2010; Korpel, 2003: 351–74; Korpel, 2004: 153–56; Macchi, 2018: 71–72; Tomasino, 2016: 119–125; Wahl, 2001a; Wahl, 2001b; Wetter, 2013.

22

See Berlin, 2001: xxxvi–xxxvii; Macchi, 2018: 59–64. For parallels to Exodus, see especially Gerleman, 1973: 11–23. For parallels with the Joseph story, see b. Meg. 13b; Bardtke, 1963: 311; Berg, 1979: 123–52; Humphreys, 1973; Rosenthal, 1895; Rosenthal, 1897.

23

Bechtel, 2002: 37–38; Fox, 2001: 43–45; Gerleman, 1973: 92; Grossman, 2011: 85–90; Harvey, 2003: 45–48; Clines, 1984a: 294; Levenson, 1997: 67; Macchi, 2018: 150–51; Moore, 1971: 37; Reid, 2008: 90; Tomasino, 2016: 216–18. Some contemplate that Mordecai is motivated by pride or bitterness. One suggestion that has become especially popular is that Mordecai’s refusal relates to Haman’s Agagite status. : 151) sees in this refusal, evidence of the books Hellenistic composition, seeing Mordecai’s refusal as typical Greek behaviour. Berlin too (2001: 35–36) connects Mordecai’s refusal with both a Hellenistic milieu and with enmity towards the Agagite.

24

Loader, 1992: 240; Wahl, 2001a: 40–41; Wahl, 2009: 39, 91–92. Wahl notes the commands against worshipping anyone other than God.

25

Berlin, 2001: 35; Bush, 1996: 379; Fox, 2001: 44; Gerleman, 1973: 92; Levenson, 1997: 67.

26

E.g. Gen. 23:7, 12, 1 Sam. 2.36, 2 Kgs 4.37, amongst others. See Ego, 2017: 211–12. However, as Ego notes, this is the only occasion where the combination of both כרע and השׁתחוה does not refer to worship of a deity. Nevertheless, Fox is right (2001: 44) that the act of proskynesis can hardly be illegal, regardless of the exact wording used to describe it.

27

Here a selection of representative examples (translations mine). LXX, C:4–7 ‘You know all things. You know, Lord, that I did not do this out of pride, nor out of arrogance, nor out of self-glorification, namely that I did not bow down to the arrogant Haman, because I was willing to kiss the soles of his feet for the salvation of Israel. Rather, I did this so that I might not place a man’s glory over God’s glory and I will not bow down to anyone except you, my lord and I will not do it in arrogance.’ AT, 4.14–15 “For you know all things and you know the race of Israel, and that it was not out of pride nor out of self-glorification that I acted in order not to bow-down to the uncircumcised Haman, since I was willing to kiss the soles of his feet, for the sake of Israel. Rather, I did it in order that I might place no-one ahead of your glory, master, and that I might bow down to no-one except you, and I will not do it even in testing.” VL, C.5–7, ‘You know, lord, that I am not willing (quoniam non mihi placet) to reverence the soles of Haman’s feet, for the safety of Israel, but I did not do so, lest I place the glory of man over the glory of my God. And I will not reverence another, except you, lord God, and I will not do it with imposition nor in extravagance, lord. Appear, lord. Be known, lord!’ On ‘quoniam non mihi placet’, Bellman and Portier-Young (2019: 279 n.34) suggest that non, as printed in Haelewyck (non quoniam mihi placet) is an error without manuscript support, based on private correspondence with Haelewyck. Thus, they base their translation on the text “quoniam mihi placet.” However, contrary to Haelewyck’s apparatus, manuscript 151 (BNF lat. 11549), ‘Corbeiensis’ reads ‘q(uonia)m n(on) m(ihi) placet’. See also Haelewyck, 2003: 260.

28

See Bush, 1996: 379; Ego, 2017: 213; Fox, 2001: 44–45; Moore, 1971: 37; Seidler, 2017: 8–17; Seidler, 2020: 293–95. From the perspective of a reader of the MT, in the context of the intertextual links with 1 Sam. 15, it is possible to connect Mordecai’s refusal with the conflict between Jews and Amalekites. Indeed, as Wahl (2009: 91) helpfully points out, Mordecai’s reasoning involves the Jewish readers of the book in the conflict. However, it seems implausible to me that the reader is meant to conclude that the other officials, who are neither Jews nor Amalekites (those officials to whom Mordecai explains that he is Jewish) would understand anything about that conflict (see also Bardtke, 1963: 317).

29

See Tg. Esther I, 4.17–5:1. Bush, 1996: 398; Clines, 1984b: 36–37; Ego, 2017: 253; Loader, 1992: 249; Macchi, 2018: 176–77.

30

Lev 23:5–8, Deut 16:1–8. While the eating of leavened bread is prohibited, the Israelites are directed to eat unleavened bread and a sacrificed animal (e.g. Deut. 16.2–3). Fasting, therefore, is impossible. Cf. m. Pesaḥ 2:5, which likewise assumes that eating is obligatory (ידי חובתו).

31

See also Stern, 2016: 266. Stern suggests that this case might imply that the law does not carry “categorical obligation.” However, it would be a mistake to interpret Esther’s treatment of the law as necessarily revealing anything about ancient Israelite law, or its reception beyond the community that produced the book of Esther. I have argued previously that this community was a part of the Eastern diaspora, probably in Susa itself. It cannot be assumed that its approach to the law is necessarily typical of other communities of Jews, particularly those in Jerusalem or even Babylon. See Thambyrajah, 2021. See also Koller, 2014: 29–34.

32

On the connection between this rite and Esther’s ethnicity, see Gwyther, 2021: 57–58; Seidler, 2017: 17–21; Wetter, 2012.

33

Baldwin, 1984: 81–83; Levenson, 1997: 78; Macchi, 2018: 169; Moore, 1971: 47, 51. Moore thinks that the author studiously avoids mention of God here. Others have suggested non-religious motives for these actions, often seeing them instead as attempts to gain the attention of Esther or the king. Bush, 1996: 294; Clines, 1984a: 299; Gerleman, 1973: 104; Tomasino, 2016: 238.

34

It is possible that fasting is intended as part of Sabbath self-abasement (ענה את הנפשׁ) practices connected with several festivals in Biblical texts (e.g. Lev. 16.31, Lev. 23.27–32). However, if fasting is involved, the logic of these Sabbath fasts appears quite different from the sort we find in Esther.

35

Ego, 2017: 255. For the opposing view, see Wahl, 2009: 39. Indeed, as Moore notes (1971: 47, 51) the absence is conspicuous.

36

Jastrow, 1899; Robertson, 2014; Thi Pham, 1999: 16–24.

37

Cf. Gen. 15.3, 48.5; Exod. 2, 4.22; 2 Sam. 7:14; Pss 2:7–8, 89:27–28; Isa. 1.2–3; Jer. 3.19, 31.9; Ezek. 16; Hos. 11.1. On adoption, see Baldwin, 1984: 66; Bartlett, 2008: 381–83; Knobloch, 1992: 76–79; Paul, 1980: 181–82. Gerleman (1973: 78) suggests that Esther’s adoption is itself an allusion to Moses’ adoption. On the other hand, Wahl thinks that Esther is the only genuine case of adoption in the Hebrew Bible. Wahl, 1999. If he is correct, then this is not a case of a particular Jewish דָּת, but in fact a case where Mordecai and Esther have adopted a foreign legal practice. Indeed, : 8:16–21) goes as far as claiming that it is a Persian custom. Either way, it would not substantiate Haman’s accusation.

38

Exod. 22.22, Deut. 10.17–18, 24.17–22; Isa. 1.16–17, etc. See also Flynn, 2018: 100–110; Wahl, 2009: 77.

39

Reid, 2008: 79.

40

There is a much-remarked parallel between the wording לְקָחָהּ לוֹ לְבַת (Esth. 2.7) and the Babylonian legal formula for adoption, ‘ana mārūtim lequˇ’, of which the Hebrew may even be a calque. Still, as Ego points out, it may just be an informal adoption. See Baldwin, 1984: 66; Bush, 1996: 363–64; Clines, 1984a: 287; Ego, 2017: 169; Levenson, 1997: 58; Macchi, 2018: 125; Tomasino, 2016: 185. See also the discussion in Bardtke, 1963: 300. On the parallels between biblical adoption and relevant Mesopotamian customs, see Flynn, 2018: 57–110.

41

Spanier, 1922; Wahl, 2009: 40. Loader (1992: 248) rejects this as a reference to God, but admits it might be a reference to the lex talionis (cf. Exod. 21:23–25). : 81) thinks that it refers to God, but without any connection to the Talmudic usage of המקום.

42

See Wiebe, 1991. See also Ackroyd, 1967; Bush, 1996: 395–97; Clines, 1984a: 302; Clines, 1984b: 42–43; Harvey, 2003: 29–35.

43

: 27–29) suggests, on the other hand, that Esther’s unease is less to do with her unwillingness to break the law and more to do with her feelings of being disconnected from the Jewish people. However, this explanation fails to explain why, ultimately, she does break the law. If Esther has no feeling of connection to the Jews, she has no motivation to do what she perceives as a transgression of the law. More helpful is Harvey’s recognition (2003: 49–50) that Mordecai too is reluctant to break the law in chapter 4, in that he does not enter the king’s court in sackcloth.

44

Fox (2001: 62) thinks that such a law may have existed, based on Herodotus I 9, III 72, 77, 84, 118, 140. If this is a genuine remembrance of Persian practice, it should be noted that there was an exception for those closest to the monarchy (III 84, 118; cf. Esth. 6.4). Moreover, even if Esther, as queen, were not subject to an exemption—improbable, as Wahl (2009: 119) argues—these laws imagine that it is quite possible to interact with the king through his messengers. See also Bechtel, 2002: 48; Macchi, 2018: 172; Moore, 1971: 49; Levenson, 1997: 80. The discrepancy with 2.22 seems to have bothered Josephus. In his retelling of the Esther story, the first time he refers to the king’s prohibition is at Esther 2.19–23. Thus, according to his version of events, Esther endangered herself on both occasions that she approached the king (Josephus, JA 11.205–8).

45

46

See Berlin, 2001: 85; Clines, 1984a: 323; Clines, 1984b: 200 n. 35; Ego, 2017: 387; Fox, 2001: 115. Other explanations of this oddity see it as reflecting the superiority of the Jews’ ethics, who seek only their own safety, especially in comparison to their enemies, who sought to plunder them (3:13). See Bardtke, 1963: 384; Bush, 1996: 476–77; Macchi, 2018: 262–63; McKane, 1961; Reid, 2008: 141; Wahl, 2009: 168. Moore (1971: 87–88) and Tomasino (2016: 336) countenance both explanations. : 133) seeks to explain the phenomenon as a (critical) allusion to the Exodus and the fact the Jews’ ancestors did take plunder.

47

See above: note 31.

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