We tend to view Haman as the quintessential villain, and throughout the Megillah itself, his character is hardly developed beyond this stock portrayal. But a more vivid picture of his personality emerges from Midrashim. I would like to focus on one such Midrash — a single line in the Gemara at the end of Chullin1 — which I think exposes the psychological root of Haman’s sin. 

The Gemara asks: “Haman min ha-Torah minayin?,” where in the Pentateuch is there a reference to Haman? Leaving aside the valuable question of why the Gemara assumes that there would be such a reference, let us review the pasuk quoted in response: “Ha-min ha-etz asher tziviticha? L’bitli achal memenu achalta?”2 The superficial relationship between the pasuk and the person is clear — a wordplay on “hamin” and “haman” — but the substantive connection is entirely opaque. Chazal do not just draw willy-nilly comparisons when they see two words with the same letters. What, then, are we meant to learn about Haman’s character? 

Let us examine the pasuk in context. After Adam and Chava eat from the Etz Ha-Da’at, they are confronted by God, who asks them, “have you eaten from the tree which I commanded you not to eat?” Some commentators are sensitive to the fact that God does not refer to the tree as the Etz Ha-Da’at but simply as ha-Etz asher tziviticha — the tree about which I commanded you. Among them is the Netziv,3 who explains that God did not prohibit the tree because there was something metaphysically harmful about it, but rather, because He wanted to give the first humans a prohibition in order to teach them that a higher power governed their desires. The tree’s significance therefore lay solely in its being ha-etz asher tziviticha, and it was only once Adam and Chava were punished with that da’at tov v’rah4 that it acquired its distinctive name. Viewed in this light, Adam and Chava didn’t desire the tree per se, but rather, they wished to live without any limits on their desires. 

By connecting Haman to this pasuk, Chazal signal that he was motivated by the same drive, and this is borne out by his own words in the Megillah. Haman’s most personally revealing remarks come when he confides in his wife and his loved ones: Haman complains that despite his riches, prominent sons,5 and high position, “Kol zeh einenu shoveh li b’chol et asher ani ro’eh et Mordechai Ha-Yehudi yoshev b’sha’ar hamelech.,” all of this is worthless to me, as long as I see Mordechai the Jew sitting in the gateway of the palace. The behavior of a single individual — the fact that Mordechai refuses to bow to him — renders all the good in Haman’s life worthless to him. Adam and Chava rebelled against divine limits on their desires, Haman adopts this attitude in the extreme, claiming that everything loses its meaning when a single thing is missing. Haman’s hatred of Mordechai is therefore more than just an interpersonal sin — it is also a theological sin, a rebellion against the existence of a God Who sets limits on man. It is no wonder, then, that the Midrash tells us that when Adam sinned, God initially wanted to hang him on a tree, but He ultimately decided to save this tree for Haman.6

Our celebration of Purim represents an utter rejection of Haman’s attitude. The Gemara tells us that one reason we do not recite Hallel on Purim is “acati avdei Achashverosh anan,”7 i.e., the salvation on Purim was incomplete. And yet, we rejoice on Purim nonetheless, recognizing the value of what we did gain, thanking the One who made our salvation possible, and refusing to adopt the all-or-nothing attitude of “kol zeh enenu shoveh li” embodied by Haman. 

Endnotes

1. Chullin 139b.

2. Bereishit 3:11.

3. Ha’amek Davar, Bereishit 3:11.

4. This approach appears to be difficult given that Hashem does call it the Etz Ha-Da’at in His original command to Adam. The Rosh, who shares the Netziv’s view, explains that it was only called the Etz Ha-Da’at then based on what would happen in the future: “v’hai d’matzinu Etz Ha-Da’at kodem achila katvu baTorah al shem ha-atid” (Commentary of the Rosh, Bereishit 3:11). 

5. While some commentaries interpret “rov banav” as a reference to his many sons, Ibn Ezra quotes the “midakdikim” who argue that there would be no reason for Haman to tell his wife how many sons the two of them have. “Rov” therefore must not be a reference to the number of children that Haman has, but to their prominence: “gidulat banav.” But Ibn Ezra argues that it also makes sense for Haman to speak about how many sons he has — not because he needs to inform his wife about the quantity — but because he is simply describing his good fortune in order to dramatize the point he is about to make. 

6. This Midrash is quoted in the Da’at Zekeinim of Ba’alei Tosafot Bereishit 3:11.

7. Megillah 14a.