Mordecai smiled. “Largely. Jehovah is the father of all creation.”
Xerxes, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, sent him an incredulous look. “And this is where Judaism ceases to make sense to me. How can you worship a deity from
whom both good and evil flow?”
“I do not.” How to explain? Mordecai inclined his heart to God and prayed for the right answers to come to his lips. “Jehovah is all things good, yes—all wisdom, all
justice, all mercy. Which means he knows that worship offered only out of duty is meaningless, so he gave his creation choice. And surely the king knows that creation often
chooses unwisely.”
Xerxes chuckled and motioned toward the exit. They stepped into the blinding sunshine. Summer would be upon them soon, and while the grounds within the palace complex
remained green with life from the irrigation canals, the rest of Susa glistened golden brown in the unrelenting rays.
“Humanity is unwise, indeed.” The king descended the steps and headed toward a lush strip of garden. “But we do not claim Ahura Mazda is all-powerful. Our god could not
take choice away, and men are often swayed by Angra Mainyu. Does your religion have an evil one?”
“Certainly. We call him Satan. But unlike your Angra Mainyu, Satan is a created being, one who chose to oppose Jehovah. He was once an angel—like your lesser immortals—
but rebelled against God.” He hesitated, but decided he might as well voice his question. “I have often wondered about the opposition of good and evil in Mazdayasna.
According to your religion, Angra Mainyu is also uncreated. How, then, is he not the equal to your Ahura Mazda? How can you know good will triumph?”
Xerxes lifted his brows and gave him a lopsided smile. “Is that not why we call religion ‘faith’? We trust—and we labor.” The king sighed and cast his gaze out over the
garden. “I have respect for your people, and for your Jehovah. Yet according to Jartosht, there is only one god—Ahura Mazda. All other deities are demons, servants of the
evil one.”
“And according to our prophets, there is only one God—Jehovah. The deities other nations serve are idols, lifeless and without power. Even your ancestors acknowledged that
my God is a living God.”
“I have read their words.” Xerxes’ brow knit. “I know the stories of the three thrown into the fire, of the great Belteshazzar and the den of lions. I know that while
some kings of Babylon and Persia had no use for your God, others acknowledged the power demonstrated on behalf of the Jews.”
The king paused in the shade of a wide-stretching hornbeam tree. “The law of Persia and Media cannot be altered, because tradition holds that the king is a god. The words
of our most esteemed prophet say that none but Ahura Mazda should be worshiped. In order to keep peace and prosperity in our empire, we allow all to believe as they please.
It is a difficult balance.”
Mordecai focused his gaze on a delicate flower, pink and vibrant where there should have been only desert. “It is. In the history of my people, it is when they concern
themselves with other gods and forget Jehovah that ill befalls the nation. We seem to remember him better when in exile.”
A hint of a smile captured the king’s mouth. “I have a Jewess in my house—she has been entertaining my children with many of the stories of your people, and they are
always so delighted that they tell me about them whenever I visit.” The smile faded, and Xerxes faced him again. “Many of you claim your Jehovah is a personal God, that he
cares for his children and orders the universe. I cannot discount the evidence of him. Yet with my own eyes I have seen Ahura Mazda.”
Mordecai straightened. His curiosity was piqued . . . and his soul seemed to stretch forward, waiting to see if it would recognize truth or lie. “Have you?”
“Two years ago.” Xerxes motioned him on again, following a winding path through the garden. “I was new to the throne, and my friend and cousin Mardonius was adamant that
I punish Greece for rising against my father. The only voice of disagreement was my father’s brother, Artabanus. When he first spoke against me, I was furious.”
The king smiled again, ruefully, and shook his head. “But when I retired that night, I realized his was the more measured argument, the sounder wisdom. I decided that the
next morning, I would announce my change in plans. That night I dreamed.” He halted, gazed across the fountain spurting clear water. “A tall man, fine of face, came to me
and taunted me for turning away from greatness. Though something in me quivered at the dream, I determined not to be affected by such things. I followed through on my
decision and announced the change of plans. The people rejoiced.”
At that, Xerxes rolled his eyes. “Then the next night, he came again. I awoke so frightened that I ran to my uncle and demanded he dress in my robes and sleep in my bed so
that he would have the same dream.”