A Counter-Decree of Grace: Baking in the Spirit of Sivan 23

A Counter-Decree of Grace: Baking in the Spirit of Sivan 23

In the heart of the Persian Empire, the Jewish people once stood on the brink of annihilation. Haman's decree, sealed with the king's ring, was irrevocable—a death sentence encoded in law. But on the 23rd day of Sivan, everything shifted. Queen Esther’s bold petition, Mordecai’s wise counsel, and divine providence moved King Achashverosh to issue a second decree. This one granted the Jews the right to defend themselves—not a removal of the danger, but a reversal of its power.

This day, marked the memory of the Jews, turned to be a day of redemption by empowerment. The danger did not disappear but with it the possibility of revolting against it did not disappear either. it was a counter-edict of the gods--a religious contrast to grace through judgment.

I used to think of this story in my kitchen as I prepared food for my family. As the burdens of life kept pressing, like that first decree, there are days that the weight of life presses in harder. And there were or are in fact very real-the doctor diagnoses me with a slip disc and that twitching frustrating sciatica nerve pain, financial strain having been out of work for three long years, unexpected grief because I receive more regret letters to my job applications, moving to an uncharted territory in search of work and to make a fresh start but nothing seems to work out. And these are all for real and seemed to be inscribed in the book of my life and cannot be altered like the never-alterable decree of Haman.

But then there’s the second decree—the counter-decree of grace. I see it each time I knead dough for challah. The flour, rough and scattered, seems unworkable at first. But with oil, salt, water, and the patience of my hands, it yields. It rises. It becomes nourishment. It becomes peace shared at a table.

The act of baking becomes an act of defiance—not denial of what is hard, but a holy reordering of what seems final. Like Mordecai’s scroll sent to every province, my bread speaks hope to my home: “You will not be overcome.”

And sometimes, I bake honey cake—sweet and spiced. I imagine Queen Esther’s trembling hands when she entered the throne room, unbidden, yet anchored by purpose. I whisk the eggs and honey, thinking of courage rising like air in the oven. When my family slices into it, we taste more than dessert—we taste deliverance.

The 23rd of Sivan reminds us: God doesn't always erase the battles. But He does empower us in them. For every bitter decree, there’s a sweeter one rising—right from the heart of heaven and the heart of our home.

I'd like to close this story with these two lines:
Though trials rise like storm-sent rain,
Grace kneads the dough of hope again.