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March 4th, 2021 
Awake Goy 
For the last three millennia, society has embraced two primary written methods of communication — the book and the letter. Both convey ideas, thoughts and emotions, but in very different ways:
A book is formal; a letter is personal.
A book is proofread for precision while a letter bears no such pretense.
A book speaks to the unknown reader; a letter addressed to the personal friend.
A book contains generalized language — a letter is private-speak coded nuance.
A book is to be read; a letter may be read, reread and cherished.
Megillat Esther is an epic sefer, a treasured part of our Holy Tanach and written with ruach hakodesh (Megillah 7a). It thus requires, like any book in the Tanach, special etching, ink and parchment.
Megillat Esther is also called a letter (Esther, 9:26). If it is scratched out or missing letters, it is still a kosher megillah (Shulchan Aruch 690:3). It may be read sitting or standing. Before we read the Megillah, Jewish custom is to unfold it as a letter (Shulchan Aruch 690:17).
Apparently, the Megillah can coexist in these two realms. It records past redemption and harbingers of future glory. And yet, the formality of the sefer dares not cloud its strikingly personal message — for it is also a letter to the generations — a personal call to the one who feels locked in.
It is a letter to the generations — a personal call to the one who feels locked in.
For when Mordecai speaks to a hesitating Esther [4:14] and coaxes her to petition Achashverosh now — for perhaps this is your moment of greatness and this is why you became the Queen — he is also speaking l’doros (for generations) not only to Esther but also to Erica and Shloime, Yocheved, Matt, Soheil Brian and Mushky. He is demanding us to tap into something very great, the power of our unique and great neshamos. Only when we believe it can we do it.
Mordecai’s demand offers a stark contrast to his antagonist, Haman. In Midrashic terminology, Haman is karahu the child of karahu [Esther Rabah, 8:5], the child of cold and/or chance. Haman, descendant of Amalek, lives a hot-and-cold existence — tossed around by the vicissitudes of life. He is intoxicated until he sees a defiant Mordecai, and then he is bitter once again. I know of many people leading Hamanesque lives, not of wickedness but of coldness and disappointment that the plot of their lives has not followed their original script.
But there is a warmer option: Take a friend of mine, blessed with a large and vibrant family, who struggles to financially make the month. There is little wiggle room for extras in his life. He drove a twelve-seater until he woke up to find his car stolen. He is a great Torah scholar, but more than his scholarship is his radiant faith. For him, Torah is not an intellectual pursuit; it is a passionate dialogue with the Master of the Universe. He lives joyously.
My friend’s simple response to his lost car was stunningly beautiful. “Hashem must love me that he spared me from greater pain and relegated me to the frustration of dealing with the insurance.”
My friend is familiar with Rambam, who teaches us that faith is not simple belief in a Creator, but rather that God is the po’el hametzius — everything that happens is part of a bigger picture to be unveiled later [Book of Mitzvos, 2]. He is not merely familiar with Rambam, he views life through the prism of warm faith and basks in its glow. I know of many simple (and great) Jews who live life the same way. They see God in their daily, and thus their daily is vibrant, warm and pregnant with meaning. They live life as a cherished letter.
As we depart from the megilla, let us endeavor to reject a Haman parochialism and embrace Mordechai’s eternal call — for in this holy eternal letter, we feel valued — ready to respond to its sweet demand for greatness. And like the original recipient of the letter, let us tap into our great strengths with mesirus nefesh to bring the redemption speedily in our days.
Rabbi Asher Brander is the Rov and Founder of the Link Kollel.
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