I was a washer in the palace of King Achashverosh—the mighty ruler of Persia. Just a boy from Shushan who scrubbed floors and hauled buckets. No title. No family name. But I had eyes. And I remember the days when Haman rose to power—and how everything changed.
It started with a whisper.
“Did you see? Mordechai won’t bow.”
Mordechai was a Jewish man—wise, quiet, faithful. He worked at the palace gate. Each morning, Haman, the king’s top advisor, passed by in his rich robes, expecting every man to kneel. And every morning, Mordechai stood tall.
At first, Haman said nothing. Then pride turned to fury.
One morning, a notice was nailed to the palace walls. I remember my hands shaking as I read it: On the thirteenth of Adar, all Jews—young and old—are to be destroyed.
Why? Because one man would not bend.
Panic swept the city. People wept in the streets. The Jews fasted. Mordechai sat in sackcloth outside the palace gate, head low, ashes on his shoulders. He sent a message to Queen Esther—the Jewish queen no one knew was Jewish.
She rarely appeared in public. She wasn’t loud or jeweled like the others. But when word spread that she would go to the king uninvited, I couldn’t believe it.
“No one walks into the throne room without being called,” a servant whispered. “Not even the queen.”
But she went.
Wrapped in royal robes, trembling with courage, Esther walked into the hall. We held our breath. And the king lifted his golden scepter.
She lived.
She invited the king and Haman to a feast. Then another. I didn’t understand at first—why wait?
But Mordechai had taught her: move with wisdom, not haste.
At the second feast, I carried in wine with the other servants. I heard her voice—steady, not shaking.
“If I’ve found favor in your eyes, my king… spare my life. And the lives of my people.”
The king’s eyes narrowed. “Who would do this?”
Esther turned to Haman.
“A foe and enemy.”
Silence.
Then shouts. Guards rushed in. Haman was taken. And soon after, he was gone.
The law that doomed the Jews could not be undone. But a new law gave them the right to defend themselves.
That’s when I understood.
Courage doesn’t always shout. Sometimes, it speaks softly and stands still. Esther risked her life. Mordechai held his ground. And the world shifted.
I was just a washer.
But I saw pride fall. I saw the quiet save the many.
And I never forgot.
I was a washer in the palace of King Achashverosh—the mighty ruler of Persia. Just a boy from Shushan who scrubbed floors and hauled buckets. No title. No family name. But I had eyes. And I remember the days when Haman rose to power—and how everything changed.
It started with a whisper.
“Did you see? Mordechai won’t bow.”
Mordechai was a Jewish man—wise, quiet, faithful. He worked at the palace gate. Each morning, Haman, the king’s top advisor, passed by in his rich robes, expecting every man to kneel. And every morning, Mordechai stood tall.
At first, Haman said nothing. Then pride turned to fury.
One morning, a notice was nailed to the palace walls. I remember my hands shaking as I read it: On the thirteenth of Adar, all Jews—young and old—are to be destroyed.
Why? Because one man would not bend.
Panic swept the city. People wept in the streets. The Jews fasted. Mordechai sat in sackcloth outside the palace gate, head low, ashes on his shoulders. He sent a message to Queen Esther—the Jewish queen no one knew was Jewish.
She rarely appeared in public. She wasn’t loud or jeweled like the others. But when word spread that she would go to the king uninvited, I couldn’t believe it.
“No one walks into the throne room without being called,” a servant whispered. “Not even the queen.”
But she went.
Wrapped in royal robes, trembling with courage, Esther walked into the hall. We held our breath. And the king lifted his golden scepter.
She lived.
She invited the king and Haman to a feast. Then another. I didn’t understand at first—why wait?
But Mordechai had taught her: move with wisdom, not haste.
At the second feast, I carried in wine with the other servants. I heard her voice—steady, not shaking.
“If I’ve found favor in your eyes, my king… spare my life. And the lives of my people.”
The king’s eyes narrowed. “Who would do this?”
Esther turned to Haman.
“A foe and enemy.”
Silence.
Then shouts. Guards rushed in. Haman was taken. And soon after, he was gone.
The law that doomed the Jews could not be undone. But a new law gave them the right to defend themselves.
That’s when I understood.
Courage doesn’t always shout. Sometimes, it speaks softly and stands still. Esther risked her life. Mordechai held his ground. And the world shifted.
I was just a washer.
But I saw pride fall. I saw the quiet save the many.
And I never forgot.
