The name Esther comes from the Hebrew root s-t-r—to hide. In the Megillah, God is hidden, and Esther, too, must hide who she is in order to survive. Mordechai warns her explicitly: “Do not reveal your Jewish identity.” And in truth, the fear is justified.
Life in Ahashverosh’s palace is precarious—one day you are queen, the next you are sent packing; one day you are the king’s trusted adviser, the next you are hanging from the gallows. It’s definitely not a safe space for unpopular opinions.
So when Esther finally decides to stand against Haman’s decree—the decree to wipe out the Jews of Shushan—we must understand the weight of her decision. She’s risking her life.
When she speaks to the king, she uses a phrase that has stayed with me since childhood, words that caught my ear when I first heard them in shul and later when I learned to chant them myself:
כִּ֠י אֵיכָכָ֤ה אוּכַל֙ וְֽרָאִ֔יתִי בָּרָעָ֖ה אֲשֶׁר־יִמְצָ֣א אֶת־עַמִּ֑יוְאֵֽיכָכָ֤ה אוּכַל֙ וְֽרָאִ֔יתִי בְּאׇבְדַ֖ן מוֹלַדְתִּֽי׃
“For how can I bear to see the disaster that will befall my people?
And how can I bear to see the destruction of my kindred?” (Esther 8:6)
In Hebrew, the repetition slows you down—eykhakhah ukhal ve’ra’iti… eykhakhah ukhal ve’ra’iti—especially because of the quadrupled sound “kh” that’s no easy feat to pronounce.
Eykhakhah ukhal ve’ra’iti has become a phrase that’s written on my heart, that I draw on when I see suffering in front of me, when I’m trying to decide whether to speak up or keep moving.
Esther’s call to us is twofold.
First: when you see something you cannot bear to see, being Jew means you stand up. You find your voice. You speak out—even when the personal cost may be high.
Second: you do not look away. Esther may be in the palace, but she refuses to turn her eyes from her people in pain in front of her. And so must we. We do not look away. We do not keep walking.
In the weeks between Purim and Pesah, the RA, USCJ, EJ, and the Conservative Movement’s new Center for Public Policy and Social Action will be lifting up the voices of our community members who have stood up. Not bystanders but upstanders.
These stories—only a fraction of the countless acts of courage we witness—will highlight those who have stepped forward to speak d’vrei emet, the truths of our values as Conservative/Masorti Jews.
As we celebrate our own upstanders–I invite you to join in and ask yourself:
When do you stop? When do you keep looking, even when it is difficult, uncomfortable, painful? What is the moment when you say: “I cannot bear to see this”?
And what can we do together to make a difference?
