Holiday Magick by Rich Storrs Read Free Book Online Page B

My mother stopped, closed her eyes, and hung her head. “All the way to Persia. Who knows what that man is capable of? He sees everything. He hears everything. He knows everything!”
    My nostrils flared. Through gritted teeth I said, “No one but HaShem has those powers. And Haman is most certainly not HaShem.”
    My mother released a sob that turned into a wail. Brucha sighed and rubbed our mother’s back. Tova clenched my hand and pulled me along.
    â€œStop upsetting our mother.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œJust stop it, Hadassah. I don’t care if you say his name a million times, just don’t do it in front of Mother. She’s been through enough.” Tova stared over my shoulder toward the killing field. “She had sisters in that camp, you know. And nieces.” She ripped her gaze back to my eyes and leaned forward meaningfully. “So stop tormenting her. Especially you, stop tormenting her by saying his name.”
    Especially me. I was an Esther, the third daughter of a third daughter of a third daughter. Three times three. My people believed the Esthers were capable of great magic. Another Esther, in the camp just destroyed, had dreamt of Persia, and our tribe had followed her here in the hopes of escaping Haman. I wondered if she had secretly known she was walking toward her own doom and that of her tribe. Or had this tragedy been part of HaShem’s larger plan to save our people?
    My own magic as an Esther had yet to be tried or tested, but I was hopeful, eager even, to prove I could help my people finally find peace, either by destroying Haman or by losing him. No matter where we went, he dogged our every step, but there had to be some place in this land where we could not be found. Perhaps with the other Esther gone, my chance to save my people would present itself.
    The true origin of Haman’s hatred for us was long lost to the desert winds, but many believed a blood feud all the way back to the time of Jacob had blackened Haman’s heart, tainted his soul with evil, and given him unnatural life to hunt us down until he felt our debt was paid in full. Some said he despised our matriarchal ways because he hated women, but his reason didn’t matter anymore. His name was a curse within my small tribe, whispered fearfully in shadows, told in stories to scare children. Behave, or Haman will get you!
    I did not know how much more we could endure. From generation to generation, we had survived Haman’s attempts to wipe us off the face of the earth. And while he terrorized us in the night and stole our daughters, never before had he annihilated an entire camp, even the boys and men.
    Brucha, Tova, Mother, and I walked without speaking the rest of the way back to our own camp, the silence occasionally broken by my mother’s sniffles and soft sobs. The stench of smoke stung my nostrils the entire way home, and the sun sliced like hot knives through my only tunic and into my back.
    A crowd slowly formed upon our arrival, their faces wide-eyed and lost. They already knew what we would say, but they needed to hear us say it. Three small boys with dirty faces and torn tunics ran with bare feet and wrapped themselves around Brucha’s legs. A much taller boy, a sleeping baby strapped to his back, trailed after them, half-heartedly scolding his brothers to leave their mother alone.
    Brucha spoke first. “The entire camp. All of them. Every tent, every family.”
    A few wails rose from the crowd.
    My grandmother, Mordechai, stepped forward, her voice full of hope, her face squeezed with despair. “Any survivors? Any at all?”
    Brucha shook her head and rubbed her belly.
    Mordechai dropped to her knees and shoved her hands into the sand. She threw her head back and released cries of anguish to the heavens.
    Several from our camp spat between their dust-coated fingers to ward off the evil eye. Someone started a mourner’s prayer, and soon