Esther's choice: the space between fate and providence

If there is a Jewish festival worthy of the Arabian Nights, it is the story of Purim:

in the distant past of a mythical kingdom identified with Persia, a narcissistic king seeks a new wife after having put his to death. An ambitious adviser seeks to eradicate an entire population because one among them refuses to bow to him. And it so happens that the declared enemy, as well as the newly chosen queen, are both Jewish.

When she decides to intervene to save her people, Queen Esther—whose very name suggests “hiddenness”—takes advantage of her royal husband’s fondness for banquets. She risks revealing her identity and asks that the one who sought the death of her people meet that very fate himself.

וּבִשְׁנֵים עָשָׂר חֹדֶשׁ הוּא־חֹדֶשׁ אֲדָר … בַּיּוֹם אֲשֶׁר שִׂבְּרוּ אֹיְבֵי הַיְּהוּדִים לִשְׁלוֹט בָּהֶם וְנַהֲפוֹךְ הוּא אֲשֶׁר יִשְׁלְטוּ הַיְּהוּדִים הֵמָּה בְּשֹׂנְאֵיהֶם׃

Esther 9:1

“In the twelfth month, which is the month of Adar (…) on the day when the enemies of the Jews had hoped to rule over them—it was turned around: the Jews ruled over those who hated them.”

This expression—“it was turned around”—is the turning point of the verse and captures the very ethos of Purim: the reversal of circumstances.

Yet the central reversal of the Purim story begins, in truth, in Esther’s own mind. The night her uncle Mordechai urges her to plead with the king to save her people, she first protests; she fears for her life.

Providence and Choice

What did Mordechai say to persuade Esther to overcome her fear and choose to act?

…אַל־תְּדַמִּי בְנַפְשֵׁךְ לְהִמָּלֵט בֵּית־הַמֶּלֶךְ מִכׇּל־הַיְּהוּדִים׃ כִּי אִם־הַחֲרֵשׁ תַּחֲרִישִׁי בָּעֵת הַזֹּאת רֶוַח וְהַצָּלָה יַעֲמוֹד לַיְּהוּדִים מִמָּקוֹם אַחֵר וְאַתְּ וּבֵית־אָבִיךְ תֹּאבֵדוּ וּמִי יוֹדֵעַ אִם־לְעֵת כָּזֹאת הִגַּעַתְּ לַמַּלְכוּת׃

Esther 4:13–14

“Do not imagine that, in the king’s palace, you will escape any more than all the other Jews. For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father’s house will perish. And who knows whether it was not for just such a time as this that you attained royalty?”

He tells her two essential things, though they may seem contradictory.

First, refusing to act will not necessarily save her—yet the people will be saved, even if not through her.

Second, perhaps it is precisely for this moment that she became queen.

Both statements carry the same message, both affirmation and challenge: Mordechai affirms the principle of divine providence—hashgaha pratit—and reminds Esther that this providence calls upon us to act. Providence, according to him, has placed the players on the chessboard, and it is providence, by whatever path, that will save the people.

But like God in the world, providence is in a sense vulnerable: it needs us. If we do not believe in it, says Maimonides, it does not manifest in our lives. And if we do not answer its invitation, nothing happens.

One of the deepest teachings of Purim is precisely this: providence works through human beings, and it is our choice to act that activates it—or not. Hashgaha pratit means “individual providence,” or “particular care.” It expresses the idea that God, the source of life, watches over all and everything.

Yet this does not mean that the divine touch is always felt as a gentle caress. Sometimes providence appears as favorable circumstances—Esther is beautiful and chosen as queen. Sometimes it appears as unfavorable ones—Haman rises to power and decrees the death of all the Jews.

Providence and Faith

Choosing to see hashgaha where others see chance necessarily entails another choice: faith—emunah. In Jewish thought, faith finds expression in the Talmudic phrase: גַּם זוֹ לְטוֹבָה (TB Taanit 21a)

“Gam zu l’tovah”—“This too is for the good.” (

This was the choice made by Viktor Frankl, survivor of the concentration camps, who lost his wife and daughter and from his shattered life developed a therapeutic method that has since helped millions find meaning.

It is the choice of Eli Sharabi, survivor of captivity in the tunnels of Gaza, who lost his wife, daughters, and brother, and who now, through his words and writings, helps thousands find strength when everything collapses. And it is the choice Esther made when she decided to risk her life to save her people, in a context that seemed governed by arbitrariness—reflected in the very name of the holiday: Purim, from pur, “lot.”

According to Jewish thought, chance is only a disguise of God. To believe in hashgaha is to decide that this disguise is part of a divine plan—even if that plan sometimes takes the form of what Ram Dass called a “fierce grace,” shaking and even dismantling the world we knew so that something else may emerge.

Human Choice Within the Divine Plan

Yet this divine plan, the story of Esther teaches, is ours to reveal. Faith in God or in providence is only the backdrop against which human action must unfold. God calls upon our initiative. Just as no Jew is meant to see themselves as a mere victim of fate, neither are they meant to live as a passive object of providence.

One of the most powerful illustrations of this principle appears in the Torah. At the moment of the Exodus from Egypt, just before the providential splitting of the Sea of Reeds, as the people are pursued by a vengeful Pharaoh, God does not say to Moses, “Do not fear, I will save you.” Instead, He says:

מַה־תִּצְעַק אֵלָי דַּבֵּר אֶל־בְּנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵל וְיִסָּעוּ׃

Exodus 14:15

“Why do you cry out to Me? Tell the children of Israel to move forward!”

In Jewish thought, it is not enough to believe in divine presence to be rescued from difficulty. We must act. This may be one of the most beautiful messages of Purim: between fate and providence there is an opening. We have the choice of our actions, and they too have the power to bend what appears to be destiny. In truth, there is no blind fate. There are challenges—and life’s invitations to choose how we wish to live.

The choice to risk changing the course of events is what the resistance fighters did during the Nazi occupation in World War II. It is the choice made by those who rise up in struggles for freedom. It is the Jewish perspective on the human condition. This principle is expressed in one of the Mishnah’s most cherished teachings (Pirkei Avot 3:15):

הַכֹּל צָפוּי, וְהָרְשׁוּת נְתוּנָה

“Everything is foreseen, yet freedom of choice is given.”

Esther’s Choice: A Realistic Courage

In the strange theater of the world, Esther’s choice is that narrow space between fate and providence; the fine line between a web of circumstances that can seem inescapable and the risk of trusting life enough to act in ways that may transform situations that appear hopeless.

Beneath the costumes, comedy, and epic excess, this is what the story of Purim reminds us each year, as it traces the circle of the dance between hashgaha, emunah, and bechirah chofshit—free will.

You who read this and I who write, we may not have a revolution to lead or a people to save—or perhaps, in our own way, we do.

Each of us has been thrust into life circumstances we did not choose.

And each of us is called to be the Queen Esther of our own small world. Sometimes the choices are tiny.

Sometimes they are paradigm-shifting.

But it is through each of them that we get to embroider the magnificent tapestry of our lives.

So let it be beautiful.