Hadassah , livre ebook

© 2004 by Tommy Tenney
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www . bakerpublishinggroup . com
Ebook edition created 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4412-1911-4
Cover design by Jennifer Parker
Cover photography by Kevin White Photography, Minneapolis, Minnesota
Maps created by Meridian Mapping, Minneapolis, Minnesota
Author is represented by Winters, King, & Associates, Inc.
To every little girl who would be queen . . . But especially to the Queen of my life. And to our three girls, every one a princess.
Contents
Cover 1
Title Page 3
Copyright Page 4
Dedication 5
Acknowledgments 9
Cast of Characters 11
Map of the Persian Empire 12
Hadassah Kesselman 13
T HE J ERUSALEM S TAR SOCIETY PAGE
“ . . . the Kesselman/ben Yuda wedding promises to be the social event of the summer . . .”
Haman, son of Hammedatha 27
K ETHUVIM E STHER 3:10
“ . . . the king removed his signet ring from his hand and gave it to Haman, son of Hammedatha the Agagite, the foe of the Jews.”
Hadassah, daughter of Abihail 57
K ETHUVIM E STHER 2:7
“ . . . had neither father nor mother. The maiden was shapely and beautiful . . .”
Xerxes, son of Darius 103
K ETHUVIM E STHER 1:1
“ . . . who reigned over a hundred and twenty-seven provinces from India to Nubia.”
Esther, Queen of Persia 227
K ETHUVIM E STHER 2:17
“The King loved Esther more . . . so he set a royal diadem on her head and made her queen. . . .”
Mordecai, son of Jair 315
K ETHUVIM E STHER 3:2, 4
“ . . . but Mordecai would not kneel or bow low. . . . They spoke to him day after day, and he would not listen. . . .”
Hadassah ben Yuda 355
T HE J ERUSALEM S TAR FRONT PAGE
“ . . . Prime Minister to meet with Minister of Defense regarding current conflict . . .”
About the Author 363
Back Cover 364
Acknowledgments
Mark Andrew Olsen is a talented and creative writer, and he provided a wealth of experience for our collaboration on Hadassah. Being a novice fiction writer, I questioned my ability to write effective dialogue. Mark helped educate me on this and other pieces that contribute to writing a novel. Downloading my research on Esther, he took my “architect’s drawing” for the plot and themes and began to build the story on the foundation I had laid. Many hours of phone conversations and multiple drafts passed back and forth between us until my original vision for the story of Esther was completed. Thank you, Mark, for your significant contribution to this effort.
Larry Walker has assisted me editorially on many writing projects. Rarely can the phrase “my friend” be added to the phrase “my editor.” Larry can wear both badges equally well. His research assistance on this project was invaluable.
Much thanks also to Carol Johnson, an incredible editor with a fine eye, a soft voice and a red pen.
Cast of Characters
Hadassah Kesselman: A modern-day Jewish bride-to-be.
Hadassah (Star, Esther): A beautiful young Jewish girl raised by her cousin, Mordecai.
Mordecai: A Jewish man who works as a palace scribe at the King’s Gate in the Persian capital of Susa. “Mordecai” is a derivative of the Persian name “Marduch.”
Rachel: Mordecai’s Jewish housekeeper and Hadassah’s confidant.
Jesse (Hathach): Rachel’s grandson and Hadassah’s friend.
Xerxes: King of Persia from 486 to 465 BC, also known as Ahasuerus.
Memucan: King Xerxes’ chief advisor, the Master of the Audiences.
Hegai: Royal eunuch in charge of preparing the Queen candidates for their night with the King.
Haman: An Amalekite warrior, also known as the Agagite, who fiercely despises all persons of Jewish descent.

1
I SRAEL M USEUM —J ERUSALEM — PRESENT DAY
Father, where are you taking me?”
The old man turned shakily upon his cane, paused at the top step and looked toward his daughter while still panting to catch his breath. Despite the wrinkles that had lately etched their way across his face, she could still recognize the sly smile that always signaled his toying with her.
“Why, Hadassah, this is the Shrine of the Book. You’ve been here a dozen times.”
“Of course, Poppa. I know that.”
As if to punctuate her statement, she glanced about the monument. Her gaze rose into the cobalt blue Judean sky where the Shrine’s celebrated dome thrust its odd, milky white swirl. She noted again its fluid shape, meant to evoke the ancient jar lids that once sealed the beloved scrolls now housed inside. Just beyond, her gaze settled briefly on a jutting slab of ink black basalt—the famous architectural apposition of Darkness against Light. “Ideological structure,” her ninth grade teacher had called it years ago, just before using the term in a test question.
Ideological structure: designing a building for a symbolic as well as a functional purpose. . . .
“But why today?” Hadassah continued the conversation in the modern Hebrew with which she had grown up, though she also spoke fluent English. “With the wedding just a few days away? This is no time for sightseeing, Poppa.”
He smiled again, indulgently this time, and waved her on up. “My child, have you ever known me to waste your time?”
It was an odd question to pose so flippantly, but she pondered it nevertheless while she scrambled up the steps after him. In fact, he had always been a quiet, mild-mannered father, and she had to admit after consideration that he had never been one to yank her about on useless errands.
She reached him, and he laid his arm upon her shoulders. “Just follow me,” he said with a smile that grew wider and more inscrutable by the second.
Still locked in their amiable stalemate, they entered the lobby where tourists waited in line to see the world-famous Dead Sea Scrolls. For the first time her father did not approach the counter for a ticket but merely waved at the cashier and received a solemn nod in return. They walked through the entrance passage with its smooth, rounded walls intended to emulate the cave at Qumran, site of the scrolls’ discovery. And then, presumably like the young shepherd who had found them half a century earlier, they emerged into a cool, vaulted space: the main hall.
Despite both her bewilderment and her familiarity with the room, Hadassah could not help but glance around. One of the wonders of modern architecture, the luminous inner hall of the Shrine of the Book never failed to seize her imagination. Overhead, the curved underside of the dome shone with countless horizontal grooves, each one capturing a different hue in the sunlight that filtered from a window at its apex. Rising from the floor, just beneath this aperture, stood a huge scroll handle—as though someone had half-buried a giant Torah upright in the floor.
A hush overtook the pair as they entered the chamber, as both its acoustics and the solemnity of its contents discouraged noise. But her father was not here today to peruse the softly lit parchment tables. He crossed the room and immediately started down a nearly hidden stairway that led into shadow below.
“Poppa?” she asked.
She saw only the back of his hand motioning her to follow, then disappearing into the gloom. Hadassah shook her head and frowned, then followed him. A door opened into soft half-light. She followed him through it into a carpeted hallway that branched off into three additional corridors.
And there, smiling in anticipation, stood—
Aunt Rose? “What are you doing here?” Hadassah asked, incredulous. Aunt Rose lived in America. The two had not seen each other for four years. Rose was indeed flying over for the wedding, but Hadassah was sure she was not due for another few days.
Rose leaned toward her with a knowing smile and simply engulfed her in a hug. And that was when, over her aunt’s ample shoulder, she saw the rest of the women. Standing in a corner, strangely quiet and still, were Grandma Grossman, Great-Aunt Pauline, Aunt Connie and two more elderly matrons she only faintly recognized, yet all were facing her with intent and shining eyes.
As soon as she disengaged from Aunt Rose, the women converged on their youngest descendant en masse, crying softly and creating a tumult of greetings and congratulations. Although she responded in pleasure and surprise, this gathering, on this day and in this place, filled her with an intense curiosity and even a sharp sense of foreboding.
What in the world is going on here? She pulled away and shot her father a questioning glance.
“My dear, I brought you here to maintain an ancient tradition,” he said as though he’d read her mind. He turned to the group while jerking his thumb dismissively in her direction. “Ladies, Missy here did not even want to come today. I practically had to drag her over—I thought she’d call a nursing home to haul me away before I could get her in here.”
The women all laughed knowingly, which did not help the bride-to-be’s disposition. Her father faced her again, and this time his expression had changed completely; she could even see a surprising gleam of tears in his eyes.
“Your mother would have brought you here herself, were she still with us,” he said huskily, then paused a moment. “And, of course, I wondered if I would last long enough to see you actually find your beloved.”
It was true. She had been picky, taking her time to find the one she would want to wake up with every morning for the rest of her life.
Now her father was off again, hobbling down the center hallway with his cane, the line of old women in tow.