When law becomes king: Esther’s lesson for our time

Who is the tyrant in the story of Esther?

On the surface, the tyrant is Achashverosh, the Persian king whose affection the story’s other characters compete to win and who is referred to more than anyone else in the story. Indeed, Achashverosh’s presence is so ubiquitous that Talmudic sages questioned whether the book, which contains no explicit reference to God, even belonged in the Bible (see Megilla 7a).

Yet I would submit that there was a tyranny that loomed even larger. A tyranny to which even Achashverosh was forced to submit.

Get The Jewish Standard Newsletter by email and never miss our top stories Free Sign Up

That tyranny was the tyranny of the law.

Esther portrays a Persian society that could best be described as obsessively legalistic, governed by countless Dats, or decrees. These decrees governed almost every aspect of Persians’ lives. There were laws governing how to drink at a party (1:8). There were even laws governing how (and for how long) potential queens anointed themselves in preparation for the king (2:12).

More problematic was that once laws were passed, they seemed to take on lives of their own. They were followed even if the rationale that once justified such laws no longer applied, and even if following such laws yielded perverse results.

Following the law became its own value, and there is no greater follower (or captive) of that philosophy than King Achashverosh himself.

The book opens with Queen Vashti refusing King Achashverosh’s request to attend his inaugural feast. Achashverosh’s response to what seems to be little more than a personal affront seems not only wildly disproportionate but obtuse. He consults not Vashti nor the ancient-Persian equivalent of a marriage counselor, but Yod’ei Dat VaDin, Persian legal scholars, KeDat Mah La’Asot, to tell him how he is legally required to respond (1:13-15). And Vashti’s refusal is considered, and responded to, legally — VeYikatev BeDatei Paras U’Maday, through codification (1:19). As if it were some kind of banal municipal ordinance. As if it lacked any personal or human dimension.

Yet the primary fallout was personal, and Achashverosh paid a staggering price. By escalating a private marital spat and bringing it into the public arena, Achashverosh lost not only his queen, but on the party’s last day he torpedoed the image of splendor he had worked so hard to cultivate. His actions transformed a feast designed to showcase his reign’s benevolence and stability into a grotesque display of debauchery and cruelty.

And Achashverosh’s legalistic streak continued. Indeed, it governs how Achashverosh picks Vashti’s replacement.

Each woman taken to Achashverosh’s chamber was subjected to an identical process over an identical time period — all KeDat HaNashim, as prescribed by the laws applicable to all women (2:12). The law effectively stripped the selection process of any individuality or humanity. It was as if Achashverosh sought a replacement chandelier rather than a new wife.

Even when Achashverosh selected a queen, the legal regime rendered her inaccessible to him. People who visited the king’s inner courtyard without being summoned by the king Achat Dato LeHamit were legally required to be killed unless the king chose to save them (4:11). The law, whose rationale was to protect Achashverosh, effectively imprisoned him, and estranged him from his own queen.

Achashverosh’s obsessive fealty to law and custom also made him vulnerable to exploitation. It enabled Memuchan to force Achashverosh’s hand into dismissing Vashti. Memuchan argues “Lo al HaMelech Levado Avta Vashti HaMalka,” that Vashti’s actions impacted an order that even the king was required to uphold.

And Haman made a similar argument to convince Achashverosh to support a genocidal campaign against the Jews. Haman argues that Dateihem Shonot…VeEt Datei HaMelech Einam Osim, that the Jews, by virtue of not following the king’s laws but their own (3:8), constituted a grave threat to a legal order that required complete adherence to a universal set of laws.

And how does Achashverosh respond? Each time, not surprisingly, with a Dat. In the case of Vashti, a Dat that she would no longer come before the king, and in the case of the Jews, a Dat fixing the date of their annihilation and on which their property could be seized as spoils (3:13-15) (and, a reader wonders: in any normal world would the Jews — to say nothing of their enemies — simply sit around and wait for that date?).

And when the time came to reverse Haman’s plans, Achashverosh stood powerless before his own Dat, which could not be rescinded once issued (8:8). The only solution to a Dat was to pass another counter-Dat, which notably did not call upon his subjects to not attack Jews, but merely authorized the Jews to defend themselves on the day marked for their annihilation (8:9-13). (Again, consider the preposterousness of two conflicting Dats and the Jews needing legal authorization to defend themselves from death!)

The great irony of the story of Esther is that while Achashverosh is subservient to his own laws, his subjects constantly flout them, and their acts of defiance are what shape the story.

The most decisive act of defiance is Esther’s. Esther enters Achashverosh’s chamber to plead for her people despite not being called — even though going without being called was Shelo KaDat, against prevailing practice, and risked her life.

Esther’s decision to prioritize people over laws was the key to the Jews’ salvation.

***

I thought about this when federal agents tasked with enforcing American immigration laws recently stopped a young girl on her way to school here in Teaneck. Similar stories are occurring across the country.

Let me be clear: we need immigration laws, and those laws should be enforced. There are bad people who are in this country illegally, criminals like a rock thrower who injured a little girl several weeks ago, also in Teaneck. You can believe that dangerous people like that should be deported, as I do, and still be deeply troubled by what we see in our cities and on our streets, as I am.

What we are seeing seems to go well beyond sensible enforcement. Federal agents roaming streets in quiet towns and stopping random people who are not dangerous at all, including schoolchildren, is not sensible. It is dangerous. And it is wrong.

It suggests that all illegal immigrants, and not just an unrepresentative few, are dangerous criminals who need to be hunted down and expelled, when the truth is that the vast — indeed, the overwhelming — majority are decent people seeking better lives. They are often the ones cleaning our homes, cooking our food, and watching our kids. And if American Jewry’s story holds any lesson, it is that our country is wise to give immigrants willing to work hard a chance.

But what has particularly troubled me is the tendency by some to justify sweeping enforcement by arguing that illegal immigrants broke the law by entering this country, and that our laws are meaningless if they are not enforced.

I disagree. Laws cannot take on lives of their own. Their enforcement must always remain grounded in their purpose and reflect common sense and compassion. When they don’t, our laws run the risk of not only no longer protecting our freedoms, but of gradually usurping them.

Esther’s lesson is that the law can become its own form of tyranny.

We need to acknowledge that there comes a point when the economic, social, and moral costs of sweeping enforcement — the costs of finding, detaining, trying, and deporting millions of people, including people who have been here for years and who have families and jobs — far exceed the cost of their crime. It’s not just heart-rending, it’s counterproductive. It is inconsistent with the wisdom and care this country is so capable of.

Surely we can do better. Let us find solutions that balance justice with common sense. That secure our borders and find a reasonable solution for those here illegally. And that, above all else, preserve America’s place as a land of the free. A place where even the law cannot be king.

Yigal Gross is an attorney and community organizer. He lives in Teaneck. All his opinions here are expressed in his personal capacity.