I Think You Might Have Slutshamed Queen Esther

I never gave much thought to my namesake. From the homilies offered by chaplains at my Episcopalian school, I understood that Queen Esther risked her life to save the Jewish people — her people. She was wise and beautiful and brave. Most importantly, she was a she. Hearing a woman’s voice in the Bible is a seldom occurrence—out of thousands of characters mentioned, only 93 women have speaking roles, and just 49 are named—and I didn’t take it for granted. As a child sitting in the pews, practically swallowed by the Washington National Cathedral’s limestone architecture, I took comfort in this genteel version of her story. But returning to the story now, old enough to peel away the euphemisms, I found a far more unnerving tale of suffering, struggle, and survival.

But before Esther, there was her predecessor, Queen Vashti, and understanding her story is crucial to understanding the extreme subjugation of Biblical women. During a royal banquet, the inebriated King Ahasuerus summoned Queen Vashti to undress before him and his seven eunuchs. She refused, and the King met her defiance with rage, “for this deed of the queen will be made known to all women, causing them to look with contempt on her husbands”(Esther 1:17). Vashti’s banishment set an example for women who challenged their husband’s authority. It also left a space in the Royal court that needed to be filled by a new Queen, and so the king’s servants declared, “Let beautiful young virgins be sought out for the king” (Esther 2:3).

The Hebrew word “laqach” means to snatch or to seize, and this is the word used to describe how Esther, along with other young women, were taken to the King’s Harem, or the “house of women” and held for twelve months before each taking turns spending the night with King Ahasuerus. Scripture will not reveal the explicit details of these sexual interactions between the most powerful man in Persia and young, powerless women. The emotions and thoughts of these unnamed women can only be realized through the imagination of a sympathetic reader. We read of King Ashperus’s anger which “burned within him” when Vashti refused to undress but are left to assume Esther’s fear and pain when she “arrived in the evening and left in the morning” (Esther 2:14). From this brief sexual encounter, the King realized that he “was attracted to Esther more than to any of the other women, and she won his favor and approval more than any of the other virgins” (Esther 2:18). In the book written under her name, she is almost entirely described in the passive voice. She rarely acts but is rather acted upon, and she is loved by King Ahasuerus because she gives what Vashti did not. In this way, Esther is forced into her own story. 

Looking beyond euphemistic characterizations of her “fairness” and “beauty,” it is clear that Esther’s power stemmed from her sexual desirability. This is not meant to traduce her reputation as a Biblical heroine, but rather acknowledge the reality of the oppression she endured as a woman of her time. It is this power, rooted in sex, that gives her the leverage to persuade King to stop the order that will annihilate the Jews. This order had been introduced by Haman, the King’s appointed principal minister. Mordecai, Esther’s adoptive father and a Jewish servant to the king, refused to bow to Haman’s authority. In a vindictive rage, Haman convinced the King to authorize an order to have all the Jewish people in Persia killed. Esther, who has until this point kept her Jewish identity a secret,  approaches the king without being summoned— an offense punishable by death. She risks her life to save her people, pleading:

“If I have won your favor, O king, and if it pleases the king, let my life be given me—that is my petition—and the lives of my people—that is my request. For we have been sold, I and my people, to be destroyed, to be killed, and to be annihilated.” (Esther 7:3-4)

Esther is successful. The King storms out of the castle in a rage, while Haman, who issued the order, stays to beg Esther for his life. The final verses are as follows:

 “Just as the king returned from the palace garden to the banquet hall, Haman was falling on the couch where Esther was reclining. The king exclaimed, “Will he even molest the queen while she is with me in the house?” As soon as the word left the king’s mouth, they covered Haman’s face...So they impaled Haman...Then the king’s fury subsided” (Esther 7:8).

Up until the very end, King Ahasuerus’s lust for Esther motivates his political actions, even when such actions entirely contradict his past decisions. He took no issue with Haman’s proposal to annihilate the Jewish people when the idea was first proposed to him earlier in the text. Only when Esther condemns the idea and reveals her own identity as a Jewish woman does he change his mind. Not only this, but his anger towards Haman reaches a climax—not when he is confronted with Haman’s genocidal plan—but when he perceives Haman to be making sexual advances towards his wife. Reading it over again, the Book of Esther didn’t seem so much about Esther at all but rather the sheer absurdity and emotional instability of King Ahasuerus. 

Esther is not the hero I wanted from the Bible. She is not chosen directly by God as righteous like Noah or destined to lead her people like Moses. There is no divine assistance or theophanic moment during her trials and tribulations. She is not the hero I wanted, yet she is the only hero she could realistically be—submissive and obedient until presented with such evil that she must protest. Even in her pleading, she remains polite.  

Esther’s is a story of finding agency within a system that labels you as powerless—striking the delicate balance between advocating for what’s right while maintaining respectability among those who ultimately make the decisions. In today’s political climate, the unlikely hero is often caught in a web of conflicting interests that demand careful navigation. They are subject to scrutiny and particularly vulnerable to intense criticism and online vitriol. Their unlikeliness is misconstrued as ineptitude. 

When Lebron James criticized President Donald Trump for not understanding the American people, Fox News host Laura Ingraham responded by telling him to “shut up and dribble.” In the eyes of Ingraham and those of many angry sports fans, Black athletes like James are merely bodies in motion—passive agents existing only to perform. James went lengths to articulate his position in a civil and respectful manner. "I've never in my 35 years ever condoned violence” he said. “ I'm not saying that all cops are bad because, I actually throughout high school and things of that nature, I'm around them all the time and they're not all bad,” he said. "I do not condone violence towards anyone — police, Black people, white people, anyone of color, anyone not of color  —  because that's not gonna ever make this world or America what we want it to be," he said.  Even then, he was insulted and shamed. Some went even further in their criticism. When a gunman shot and killed two police officers in Compton, CA, conservative commentator Candace Owens deemed James responsible, tweeting “Why does this happen? Because pea-brained celebrities that are idolized like @KingJames tell young black men that they are “literally being hunted.”

When Taylor Swift encouraged Tennessee citizens to vote during the 2018 midterm elections, she was told to “shut up and sing.” In the eyes of conservative congressmen and politicians,  female artists like her are merely pretty faces to be adorned—too ditsy to speak on pressing issues.

When Cardi B spoke up about the election, she was told to “stick to stripping.” Meghan Thee Stallion, another prominent black female rapper, also became the victin of similar slutshuming as a result of inserting her voice into conversations surrounding politics and race. After writing an opinion piece for the New York Times titled “Why I Speak up for Black Women,” many focused on her sexuality as a way to undermine her intelligence and discredit her platform. Some of the comments included:

“I will be more likely to respect her if I perceive her to be communicating via avenues other than just her sexuality.” 

“The way you act is the way you get treated.”

“Why not capitalize on intelligence instead of sexuality? One cannot gain societal respect and stature without greater contributions than music videos and twerking skills.” 

In the eyes of anonymous Internet people, black female rappers are merely sexual specimens—too sexually deviant, too slutty, to speak on important issues. 

Nevertheless, James, Swift, Cardi B, and Meghan Thee Stallion as well as countless others have remained steadfast in their mission to raise awareness for issues that matter. They are connected by the same underlying philosophy: that we are not placed in positions of privilege to remain passive in times of grave injustice. This is the same philosophy which inspires Esther to save her people. When Esther remained uncertain as to whether or not she should speak out against Haman’s proposal, her mentor Mordecai, reflected that, “Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this” (Esther 4:14). 

It’s worth asking what Fox News reporters and ugly internet trolls, many of whom are self-proclaimed Christians, would have said about someone like Esther had she been alive today, advocating for the lives of her marginalized people as Lebron and Meghan Thee Stallion did for theirs. Would they have called her a slut? Would they have told her to shut up and spread her legs because that was the only thing she’s good for? Would she have been humiliated? Her worth diminished to just a vessel for sexual gratification? A thing to be looked at by men with bad intentions? These are questions we cannot answer, and yet the answers are so predictable. 

In May of 2017, a working-class waitress from the Bronx nick-named “Sandy” decided to run for Congress. She wasn’t supposed to win. Her grassroots campaign was challenging a well-financed, incumbent Democrat. She wasn’t supposed to be taken seriously—and many didn’t. Conservative media jumped on the opportunity to question her intellect or competency. She was told to “stop campaigning & do a crash course on basics, including economics and foreign policy.” Like Esther, little about her background was conducive to political success. Like Esther, her efforts required tremendous self-sacrifice. But she was successful. Alexandra Ocasio- Cortez became the youngest elected congresswoman in 2018.  

Social media has created an increasingly diverse and accessible public sphere that has facilitated the rise of the unlikely hero. These are people like American model Kayla Ward, who raised over $700,000 for victims of Australia’s bushfire crisis by sending nude photographs of herself to anyone who donated more than $10 to a specified charity. These are people like Greta Thunberg, a 17-year-old Swedish climate activist who led the largest climate strike in history on  September 20, 2019. Now more than ever, those who have been excluded by cultural norms and deeply-ingrained prejudices that label them as being too young, too slutty, too ignorant, too ghetto are entering public discourse. But the internet is an ugly world—and those who rise within it will be subject to its bile. Still, many choose to forge ahead despite the backlash. As Esther said before approaching King Ahasuerus, “And if I perish; I perish” (Esther 4:16). 

2020 has been the year of the unlikely hero. These are not just wealthy celebrities utilizing social media, but ordinary folks as well — our postal workers, our pharmacists, our farmers, our nurses — risking their lives to do work we often take for granted. The labor we often view as low-skilled and menial has now been rightfully redefined as essential. 

I hope 2020  is also the year we finally abandon preconceived notions of what a hero is supposed to look like, sound like, talk like, dress like so that we can truly appreciate their efforts. And while I don’t believe that biblical stories and lessons should be leveraged within political spheres to make grandiose claims about how to act or live, I think there is something meaningful in acknowledging the correct version of Esther’s story: how a sex-trafficked, Jewish orphan stopped a genocide. 

SocietyEsther Eriksson von AllmenComment