Excerpts from Kol Menachem Megillas Esther

CrownHeights.info has obtained exclusive excerpts from Kol Menachem Megillas Esther, Slager Edition.

Read more about the new Megilah here

‎[ הֲדַסָּה הִיא אֶסְתֵּר — Hadassah—that is, Esther (2:7)

Living in a world that is often hostile to the values and observance of Judaism, there is always the temptation to compromise. Do we really have the energy and resilience required to persistently be different from our neighbors and to stand out from the crowd?

Or, to frame the question in more metaphysical terms: Doesn’t living in the world of matter cause an inevitable drain on our spirit? Would it not be fair to say that bodily incarnation must restrain and compromise, to some extent, the vibrancy of our souls?

The Kabbalists taught that the answer to this question is: Yes and no. Superficially, of course, yes; but, in essence, if we listen to the deeper voices of our hearts, no.

And that is what this verse comes to teach us. “Hadassah” (“the righteous”) hints to the pre-natal, disembodied soul which is in direct communion with G–d. “Esther,” a name symbolizing concealment and secularity represents our bodily incarnation that serves as a distraction to everything spiritual. Surely, now the soul is hampered by the body, things cannot be the same any longer? Won’t our connection with G–d hopelessly lose its focus?

Says the Megillah: “Hadassah is Esther.” There need be no real compromise, because an inner link of soul consciousness is always retained. It just requires some more effort and introspection to penetrate the “white noise” of your predominately physical life but your soul never loses its connection with G–d.

Our verse, then, is a kind of spiritual introduction to the story that follows. How did the Jews manage to withstand the formidable challenge that stood ahead of them, a year-long test of faith for which they imagined they would lose their lives?

The answer: “Hadassah is Esther.” Their souls provided them with such a powerful level of connectedness that they were able to withstand even the harshest of challenges.

(Based on Ma’amar of Purim 5719, 5713)

‎[ אֶת הָמָן בֶּן הַמְּדָתָא הָאֲגָגִי — Haman the son of Hammedatha the Agagite (3:1)

Haman reviled the irrational. That does not mean to say that he was opposed to accepting a force that is higher than the human mind and worshiping that force—because this, too, can be explained rationally. It makes sense to say that intellect has its limits and must bow, on occasion, to that which transcends it. And that would mean that concepts such as “holiness” and “spirituality” were acceptable to him.

But, Haman would argue, there must be a clear compartmentalization of the physical and the spiritual to prevent rupturing the important boundary which separates them. Spiritual things must be worshiped in a spiritual way—through mediation, prayer and meaningful symbols and rituals. But there is no basis, he would say, to attempt to “spiritualize” mundane acts such as eating, drinking and other forms of sensual pleasure. G–d simply does not belong in the delights of the dining room and the bedroom.

In demanding that a man worships G–d even in these basic areas, Judaism seemed to make unreasonable demands. That feasting and drinking on a festival should lead to fear of heaven; that the act of circumcision, which is considered to reduce the pleasure of physical intimacy (Rambam, Guide 3:49), should be associated with joy—such claims seemed absurd and abhorrent to Haman. Religious life must be confined to the sphere of appropriate religious activity and not spill over to dominate every area of a man’s life. The idea that Judaism is not just a religion but a “way of life,” angered Haman, because it implies that G–d’s demands of man know no limits even in the private and physical spheres.

Why did a commitment to rationality lead to such a conclusion? Because the mind, while extremely powerful, is ultimately just one component of a human being. So if worship of G–d is confined exclusively to the dictates of the mind then you will never devote your entire being to G–d.

Judaism, however, does ask of us this absolute form of devotion: “In all your ways know Him” (Proverbs 3:6), a commitment to G–d that takes expression in every aspect of daily life.

Where do we see that Haman reviled the irrational? First, he banned the study of the Oral Law (Rashi to Megillah 16b; Ohr ha-Torah, Esther, p. 149), the humanly derived parts of the Torah. Reverence of the scriptures, a sacred text revealed prophetically, was acceptable in Haman’s eyes; but how could Jews look at the words of the rabbis, who were not prophets, with the same reverence as the words of scripture. They accept Rabbinic law as G–d’s word!

Haman was also opposed to the practice of wearing tefillin (Megillah ibid.), because of their irrational elements. Religious rituals, he would argue, are all well and good, but they ought to be aesthetically beautiful and laden with meaning. But what is the basis for tying scriptural passages to your body? The scriptures are something to be read and provide a source of inspiration, not to be dangled from your arm and your head. And why should G–d be glorified by black boxes, a most unattractive color?

And of all materials available to us, why should this sacred object be fashioned from a cow’s hide?

Haman’s commitment to rationality might seem, superficially, as something noble or even impressive, but it was actually an expression of his sacrilegious Amalekite blood.

A rebellion against G–d can be overt and passionate, or subtle and passive. The former, at least, has the redeeming feature of transparency: you know you are dealing with a rebel. But Amalek’s threat—relentless cynicism—is a silent killer of faith. If you pour cold water on everything, then the sacred can never survive, and no claim can ever be fully trusted.

A man who cannot bring himself to obey G–d’s will, if brave, will be honest about his rebellion. But if he cannot bear that others—or himself—will witness his weakness, then he, like Haman, will become a cynic.

(Based on Likutei Sichos, vol. 3, pp. 916-22)

‎[  אֶת כָּל הַיְּהוּדִים — All the Jews (4:15)

Esther could simply have said, “Go and assemble the Jews.” Her stress that it was necessary to gather, “all the Jews,” suggests that if this clause would not have been stipulated explicitly, Mordechai might have omitted some Jews from the gathering.

Who, exactly, did Esther insist on including that Mordechai would have left out?

The prospect of fasting for three days consecutively was demanding to the extreme, and Mordechai imagined that not all Jews would be willing to take upon themselves such a herculean act of religious commitment. The most secularized Jews, who had participated in Ahasuerus’ feast, were far from religious piety, and it seemed pointless to demand from this faction a heroic three-day fast. “You cannot transform a rebel into a rabbi overnight,” Mordechai thought. It would be a sufficient achievement to get them to eat kosher food, and make the required blessings beforehand and after!

Mordechai also felt that the inclusion of this group was inappropriate, because it was their sins that had been responsible for the pending decree of annihilation, and “that which incriminates you cannot act in your defense” (Rosh ha-Shanah 26a). These errant Jews, who had aroused such harsh judgments in heaven would surely not be the ones to bring about salvation. The three-day fast, in Mordechai’s eyes, was a “holy-of-holies” which would showcase the great religious devotion of the observant.

Esther disagreed. Mordechai had dismissed these assimilated Jews because of a certain inevitable aloofness that comes with being very holy: he did not personally relate to the sinner. Esther, on the other hand, while not actually sinning herself, had been constantly challenged. As a clandestine Jewess in the palace of Ahasuerus, she would have been faced with countless awkward encounters where non-kosher food was served. Religious challenge for her, in this very non-Jewish setting, was a way of life. So, unlike Mordechai, she related to the pressures that might lead a person to eat from the feast of Ahasuerus, and she felt it was important to include those Jews who had succumbed.

And it was precisely the inclusion of this group, Esther felt, that would storm the heavens into annulling the decree—“From the very forest itself comes the handle of the axe that fells it” (Sanhedrin 39b).

Whose opinion prevailed?

The Megillah relates that, “Mordechai went and did everything that Esther had instructed him,” following her words precisely, including the necessity to include “all the Jews.”

(Based on Sichas Shabbos Parshas Ki Sissa 5731)