We celebrate Purim with costumes and celebration, but the story told in the Megillah ends with a massacre. This violence, orchestrated by Mordechai and Esther after taking control in Shushan, raises troubling questions about power, retribution, and justice.

They ask permission from King Achashveirosh to destroy all their enemies, including women and children. Through a contemporary lens, the scope of the violence is jarring. Later, after casualty figures are brought to the king, Esther requests permission for yet another day of killing in the capital. This would seem to be unnecessary for self-defense, as Haman had already been defeated. Finally, the hanging of Haman’s ten sons along with their father appears to be a troubling extension of vengeance and smacks of inherited guilt.

Our Rabbis have, of course, been sensitive to these issues throughout the ages. Some attempt to explain that the violence truly was targeted and measured. They point out that the megillah often uses the word ‘enemies’ to describe those killed, implying that they were not random bystanders but rather actual threats. Later verses state that the Jews did not take of the spoils, implying restraint and moral judgment. Uncomfortable with punishing children for their father’s misdeeds, the rabbis insist that Haman’s sons were active participants in their father’s schemes.

These interpretations attempt to justify the violence, but they do not fully answer concerns about its scale and intensity. And even if the actions of Mordechai and Esther are understandable in their historical context, transforming them into the foundation of a holiday still raises a troubling question: should the celebration extend to include not just the victory over Haman, but the extensive bloodshed at the conclusion of the story as well?

Another way to understand the ending focuses on recognizing the emotional and psychological reality of the time. The Jewish people narrowly escaped destruction, only because Esther had been able to manipulate the king. There were no laws or institutions protecting them, and no guarantee that another plot similar to Haman’s wouldn’t recur.

So Mordechai and Esther had to exploit the possibly fleeting moment in which they enjoyed the king’s favor for maximum advantage. How could they live, knowing that at any moment another advisor could get the king drunk and once again order their destruction? They had to make clear that any attack would be met with devastating consequences.

This was not vengeance; it was survival. And after Haman’s plot, they were entitled to seek security. Those who had prepared to annihilate them were in no position to lecture about morality and restraint.

Even if this is the most realistic way to understand the story, it raises a difficult question: what lesson are we meant to learn?

Is the message of the megillah that when the Jewish people are vulnerable, we should strike whatever blows we can to instill fear in our enemies, thereby helping secure physical safety into the future? That in a world often hostile to Jews and unwilling to protect them, strength, violence, and intimidation are not only called for, but are unfortunately required?

Or perhaps the opposite. The Megillah ends with Mordechai second to the king and his Jewish subjects thereby secure. But only for a short while. When Achashveirosh’s reign would come to an end, or Mordechai be swept aside in a new round of palace intrigue, the situation of constant danger would return as before, perhaps even in a more dangerous form.

The Talmud (Megilla 7a) recounts that the rabbis were hesitant about Purim, fearing that celebrating so much destruction in Shushan would stir up animosity amongst the nations. The rabbis may have worried that force, while sometimes necessary, also carries its own consequences. Maybe then the story highlights the limits of deterrence and becomes a cautionary tale, showing us that lasting safety depends not only on fear, but on law, justice, and stable government.

On Purim we celebrate the reversal of fortune — the chance to do to Haman what he had planned for us. But the deeper question remains: when a vulnerable people suddenly gains power, how should that power be used in pursuit of security? Of course we celebrate because Mordechai and Esther caused Haman’s decree to fail. But was what followed a model to emulate — or simply a record of what survival required in a lawless world?

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)