Esther in Austin - The Jewish Standard

I find myself somewhat conflicted about the teaching of biblical texts in the “Bluebonnet Curriculum” proposed for use in Texas public schools.

On the one hand, biblical literacy — now so sadly lacking among Americans of all ages — was the rhetorical coin of the realm for the Founding Fathers, who regularly cited and referenced Scripture. The defining majority of those references drew upon the Hebrew Bible, not because of any particular affinity the Founders had for Jews, but to avoid New Testament texts about which Christians of diverse denominations among the Founders harbored bitterly conflicting and mutually exclusive theological approaches and interpretations.

The relevance of the Bible to American history and the American experiment is undeniable.

Andrew Jackson said: “The Bible is the rock on which the republic rests.”

Daniel Webster opined that “Education is useless without the Bible.”

In the twentieth century, President Calvin Coolidge wrote: “The foundations of our society and our government rest so much on the teachings of the Bible that it would be difficult to support them if faith in these teachings would cease to be practically universal in our country.”

So why am I conflicted? I question the motivation behind the curriculum, but more importantly, I question the qualifications, the motives, and the goals of those who would be teaching the biblical texts. I question the impact of supercessionist (replacement) theology animating prospective instructors teaching New Testament texts. I question whether educators will do justice to the grandeur, the wisdom, the beauty, the sophistication, and the Jewish origins of the texts from the Hebrew Bible included in the curriculum.

In short, I worry whether the Bluebonnet Curriculum would effectively increase or ultimately diminish biblical literacy.

The teaching of the Book of Esther represents a special case. It is included in a proposed second-grade curricular unit on “Fighting for a Cause.” Over the course of my rabbinic career, I have devoted a great deal of attention to the study, interpretation, and teaching of the Book of Esther. I have published articles about its meaning and literary history in a number of academic journals.

Almost 25 years ago, I published a study on Conservative Judaism titled “As is the Practice of Women: Birth Control in the Book of Esther.” In that article, I identify “recurrent themes of sexuality and contraception woven into the fabric of the biblical narrative.” I demonstrate that “the earliest readers of Esther within the Jewish community were presumed to have sufficient familiarity with the practice of contraception — its mechanics as well as its literary history — to appreciate the nuanced structure and themes of this unusual biblical book.”

For example, I demonstrate that Esther’s Hebrew name, Hadassah, is taken from a plant — myrtle — used in folk medicine as an oral contraceptive, and specifically, as an abortifacient. I further establish that the six months that Ahasuerus’s virginal bed partners spent soaking in myrrh oil — and the additional six months spent applying “women’s ointments” and aromatic lotions, “as was the practice of women” (Esther 2:12) — are properly to be understood as “a medical procedure requiring carefully prescribed protocols” reliant upon “the contraceptive properties of herbs such as myrrh oil,” as specified in the biblical text. I point out that even Mordechai’s name was understood by the Sages of the Talmud to refer to myrrh (Megillah 10b), and that those rabbinic giants also asserted Esther’s recourse to other contraceptive technologies (Megillah 13b, Tosafot). I document sustained literary parallels between the Book of Esther and other ancient cultures’ etiological narratives relating to contraception and the agency and reproductive self-determination of women.

I conclude that “the practice of contraception and, specifically, Esther’s apparent use of contraceptive herbs and ointments, serve an important narratological function. The recurrent contraceptive imagery in Esther bespeaks the strength and control she exercises over affairs of state and Jewish national survival. Although confronted with powerful men who would exploit her sexually, and from whom the threat of bodily harm is readily apparent, Esther manages to protect herself and her people… By shrewdly regulating her own fertility, Esther embodies the spirit of the Jewish people, which, with worldly wisdom and regal bearing, adopts a defiant posture of self-determination, allowing no earthly power to direct its fate and future.”

If those charged with shaping public education in the State of Texas wish to convey the critical importance of affirming the agency of women — if they wish to instill the sacred value of safeguarding women’s bodily integrity and self-determination in matters of reproductive health care — then an unflinching reading and thorough teaching of the Book of Esther may be just the ticket. I applaud that goal — so very fittingly addressed under the rubric of “Fighting for a Cause” — though I question whether second grade is the most developmentally or pedagogically appropriate time for such instruction.

If, in the wake of the Supreme Court’s fateful Dobbs decision, the Hebrew Bible’s Book of Esther can impart these eternal truths to the students, teachers, electorate, and political leaders of the state of Texas, I congratulate proponents of the Bluebonnet Curriculum with words taken from that cherished Biblical book: “Perhaps you have risen to your current position of influence for precisely such a time of crisis” (Esther 4:14)!

Joseph H. Prouser is the rabbi of Temple Emanuel of North Jersey in Franklin Lakes.

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