Once upon a time, in the land of Uz, there was a man named Job. He was a man of perfect integrity, who feared God and avoided evil. He had seven sons and three daughters; seven thousand sheep, three thousand camels, five hundred yoke of oxen, and five hundred donkeys; and also many slaves. He was the richest man in the East.
Every year, his sons would hold a great banquet, in the house of each of them in turn, and they would invite their sisters to come feast with them. When the week of celebration was over, Job would have them come to be purified; for he thought, “Perhaps my children have sinned, and cursed God in their hearts.” Job did this every year.
One year, on the day when the angels come to testify before the Lord, the Accusing Angel came too.
The Lord said to the Accuser, “Where have you come from?”
The Accuser answered, “From walking here and there on the earth, and looking around.”
The Lord said, “Did you notice my servant Job? There is no one on earth like him: a man of perfect integrity, who fears God and avoids evil.”
The Accuser said, “Doesn’t Job have a good reason for being so good? Haven’t you put a hedge around him—himself and his whole family and everything he has? You bless whatever he does, and the land is teeming with his cattle. But just reach out and strike everything he has, and I bet he’ll curse you to your face.”
The Lord said, “All right: everything he has is in your power. Just don’t lay a hand on him.”
Then the Accuser left.
That same day, as Job’s sons and daughters were feasting in the house of the eldest brother, a messenger came to Job and said, “The oxen were plowing and the donkeys grazing and the Sabeans attacked and took them and killed the boys and only I escaped to tell you.” Before he had finished speaking, another one came and said, “Lightning fell from the sky and burned up the sheep and boys and only I escaped to tell you.” Before he had finished speaking, another one came and said, “Chaldeans attacked the camels and took them and killed the boys and only I escaped to tell you.” Before he had finished speaking, another one came and said, “Your sons and daughters were feasting and a great wind came out of the desert and knocked down the walls of the house and it fell on them and they’re dead and only I escaped to tell you.”
Then Job stood up. He tore his robe. He shaved his head. He lay down with his face in the dust. He said, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will return there. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken; may the name of the Lord be blessed.
Once again, on the day when the angels come to testify before the Lord, the Accusing Angel came too.
The Lord said to the Accuser, “Where have you come from?”
The Accuser answered, “From walking here and there on the earth, and looking around.”
The Lord said, “Did you notice my servant Job? There is no one on earth like him: a man of perfect integrity, who fears God and avoids evil. He is holding on to his innocence, even after you made me torment him for no reason.”
The Accuser said, “So what? A man will give up everything he has, to save his own skin. But just reach out and strike his flesh and bones, and I bet he’ll curse you to your face.”
The Lord said, “All right: he is in your power. Just don’t kill him.”
Then the Accuser left.
He covered Job with boils, from his scalp to the soles of his feet. Job took a piece of broken pottery to scratch himself with, and sat down in the dust.
His wife said to him, “How long will you go on clinging to your innocence? Curse God, and die.”
Job said, “Foolish woman, have you lost your mind? We have accepted good fortune from God; surely we can accept bad fortune too.”
Now Job had three friends—Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Namathite. When these friends heard of all the calamities that had come upon him, each of them left his own country to mourn with Job and to comfort him. They met at an appointed place and went on together. When they arrived and saw Job from a distance, they could barely recognize him. They cried out, and tore their clothing, and sprinkled dust on their heads. Then they sat with him for seven days and seven nights. And no one said a word, for they saw how great his suffering was.
God damn the day I was born
and the night that forced me from the womb.
On that day— let there be darkness;
let it never have been created;
let it sink back into the void.
Let chaos overpower it;
let black clouds overwhelm it;
let the sun be plucked from its sky.
Let oblivion overshadow it;
let the other days disown it;
let the aeons swallow it up.
On that night—let no child be born,
no mother cry out with joy.
Let sorcerers wake the Serpent
to blast it with eternal blight.
Let its last stars be extinguished;
let it wait in terror for daylight;
let its dawn never arrive.
For it did not shut the womb’s doors
to shelter me from this sorrow.
Why couldn’t I have died
as they pulled me out of the dark?
Why were there knees to hold me,
breasts to keep me alive?
If only I had strangled or drowned
on my way to the bitter light.
Now I would be at rest,
I would be sound asleep,
with kings and lords of the earth
who lived in echoing halls,
with princes who hoarded silver
and filled their cellars with gold.
There the troubled are calm;
there the exhausted rest.
Rich and poor are alike there,
and the slave lies next to his master.
Why is there light for the wretched,
life for the bitter-hearted,
who long for death, who seek it
as if it were buried treasure,
who smile when they reach the graveyard
and laugh as their pit is dug.
For God has hidden my way
and put hedges across my path.
I sit and gnaw on my grief;
my groans pour out like water.
My worst fears have happened;
my nightmares have come to life.
Silence and peace have abandoned me,
and anguish camps in my heart.
These words will perhaps upset you;
but I cannot hold back my thoughts.
Once you encouraged the timid
and filled the frightened with strength.
You brought relief to the comfortless,
gave the desperate hope.
But now it is your turn, you tremble;
now you are the victim, you shudder.
Have you lost all faith in your piety,
all hope in your perfect conduct?
Can an innocent man be punished?
Can a good man die in distress?
I have seen the plowers of evil
reaping the crimes they sowed.
One breath from God and they shrivel up;
one blast of his rage and they burn.
The lion may roar with fury,
but his teeth are cracked in his mouth.
The jackal howls and goes hungry;
the wolf is driven away.
Now a word, in secret, came to me,
a whisper crept in my ear,
at night, when visions flash
and ecstasy grips the mind.
Terror caught me; panic
shook my bones like sticks.
Something breathed on my face;
my hair stood stiff.
I could barely see —a spirit—
hovering on my chest—
a soft voice, speaking:
How can man be righteous?
How can mortals be pure?
If God distrusts his own servants
and charges the angels with sin,
what of those who are built of clay
and live in bodies of dust?
They are snapped like bits of straw;
their lives are blown out like candles .. .
they vanish, and who can save them?
Call now: will anyone answer?
To which of the angels will you turn?
For anger destroys the fool,
and passion flays the ignorant.
I have seen the fool rooted up,
his house collapsing in ruins,
his children stripped naked
with no one to help or pity them,
the hungry devouring his harvest,
the thirsty gulping his wine.
For pain does not spring from the dust
or sorrow sprout from the soil:
man is the father of sorrow,
as surely as sparks fly upward.
If I were you, I would pray;
I would put my case before God.
His workings are vast and fathomless,
his wonders beyond our grasp.
He lifts up the despised
and leads the abandoned to safety.
He traps the wise in their cleverness
and ruins the plots of the cunning.
By day they stumble in shadows;
at noon they grope in the dark.
But he plucks the poor from danger
and the meek from the power of wrong.
Then there is hope for the wretched,
and wickedness shuts its mouth.
You are lucky that God has scolded you;
so take his lesson to heart.
For he wounds, but then binds up;
he injures, but then he heals.
When disaster strikes, he will rescue you
and never let evil touch you.
In war he will save you from bloodshed,
in famine from the grip of death.
When slander roams he will hide you;
you will laugh in calamity’s face.
In league with the stones of the field,
in concord with savage beasts,
you will know that your house is protected
and your meadows safe from harm.
You will see your family multiply,
your children flourish like grass.
You will die at the height of your powers
and be gathered like ripened grain.
I know that these things are true:
consider them now, and learn.
If ever my grief were measured
or my sorrow put on a scale,
it would outweigh the sands of the ocean:
that is why I am desperate.
For God has ringed me with terrors,
and his arrows have pierced my heart.
When a donkey has grass, does he bray?
Does an ox low near his fodder?
Can gruel be eaten unsalted?
Is there taste in the white of an egg?
My lips refuse to touch it;
my heart is sickened at its sight.
If only my prayer were answered
and God granted my wish.
If only he made an end of me,
snipping my life like a thread.
That is my only comfort
as I writhe in this savage pain.
How long can I keep on waiting?
Why should I stay alive?
Is my body hard as a rock?
Is my flesh made of brass?
All my strength has left me;
all hope has been driven away.
My friends are streams that go dry,
riverbeds in the desert.
In spring they are dark with ice,
swollen with melted snow.
But when summer comes they are gone;
they vanish in the blazing heat.
Pilgrims search for them everywhere
and lose their way in the dust.
They wander dazed, panting;
their tongues parch and turn black.
You too have turned against me;
my wretchedness fills you with fear.
Have I ever asked you to help me
or begged you to pay my ransom,
to rescue me from an enemy
or save me from an oppressor?
Teach me, and I will be silent;
show me where I am wrong.
Does honest speech offend you?
Are you shocked by what I have said?
Do you want to disprove my passion
or argue away my despair?
Look me straight in the eye:
is this how a liar would face you?
Can’t I tell right from wrong?
If I sinned, wouldn’t I know it?
Man’s life is a prison;
he is sentenced to pain and grief.
Like a slave he pants for the shadows;
like a servant he longs for rest.
Each day I live seems endless,
and I suffer through endless nights.
When I lie down, I long for morning;
when I get up, I long for evening;
all day I toss and turn.
My flesh crawls with maggots;
my skin cracks and oozes.
My days fly past me like a shuttle,
and my hope snaps like a thread.
Remember: life is a breath;
soon I will vanish from your sight.
The eye that looks will not see me;
you may search, but I will be gone.
Like a cloud fading in the sky,
man dissolves into death.
He leaves the whole world behind him
and never comes home again.
Therefore I refuse to be quiet;
I will cry out my bitter despair.
Am I the Sea or the Serpent,
that you pen me behind a wall?
If I say, “Sleep will comfort me,
I will lie down to ease my pain,”
then you terrify me with visions,
your nightmares choke me with horror,
and I wake up gasping for breath,
longing to be dead at last.
I will not live forever;
leave me, for my days are wind.
What is man, that you notice him,
turn your glare upon him,
examine him every morning,
test him at every instant?
Won’t you even give me
time to swallow my spit?
If I sinned, what have I done
to you, Watcher of Men?
Why have you made me your target
and burdened me with myself?
Can’t you forgive my sins
or overlook my mistakes?
For soon I will lie in the dust;
you will call, but I will be gone.
How long will you go on ranting,
filling our ears with trash?
Does God make straightness crooked
or turn truth upside down?
Your children must have been evil:
he punished them for their crimes.
But if you are pure and righteous
and pray to God for mercy,
surely he will answer your prayer
and fulfill your greatest desires.
Your past will seem like a trifle,
so blessed will your future be.
Go learn from the wisdom of the ages;
listen to the patriarchs’ words.
For we are small and ignorant;
our days on earth are a shadow.
But their advice will guide you,
and their answers will give you peace.
Can papyrus grow without water?
Can a reed flourish in sand?
As crisp and fresh as it looked,
it wilts like a blade of grass.
Such is the fate of the impious,
the empty hope of the sinner.
His peace of mind is gossamer;
his faith is a spider’s web.
Though he props up his house, it collapses;
though he builds it again, it falls.
But the righteous blossom in sunlight,
and the garden is filled with their seeds.
Their roots twine around stones
and fasten even to rocks.
If they are plucked from the ground,
rooted up from their soil,
they rejoice wherever they go
and bloom again from the dust.
God never betrays the innocent
or takes the hand of the wicked.
He will yet fill your mouth with laughter,
and joy will burst from your lips.
Your enemies will drown in their shame,
and the wind will blow through their houses.
I know that this is true:
no man can argue with God
or answer even one
of a thousand accusations.
However wise or powerful—
who could oppose him and live?
He levels cliffs in an instant,
rooting them up in his rage;
he knocks the earth from its platform
and shakes the pillars of the sky;
he talks to the sun—it darkens;
he clamps a seal on the stars.
He alone stretched out the heavens
and trampled the heights of the sea;
he made the Bear and the Hunter,
the Scorpion, the Twins.
His workings are vast and fathomless,
his wonders beyond my grasp.
If he passed me, I would not see him;
if he went by, I would not know.
If he seized me, who could stop him
or cry out, “What are you doing?”
He will never hold back his fury;
the Dragon lies at his feet.
How then can I refute him
or marshal my words against him?
How can I prove my innocence?
Do I have to beg him for mercy?
If I testify, will he answer?
Is he listening to my plea?
He has punished me for a trifle;
for no reason he gashes my flesh.
He makes me gasp with terror;
he plunges me into despair.
For in strength, he is far beyond me;
and in eloquence, who is like him?
I am guiltless, but his mouth condemns me;
blameless, but his words convict me.
He does not care; so I say
he murders both the pure and the wicked.
When the plague brings sudden death,
he laughs at the anguish of the innocent.
He hands the earth to the wicked
and blindfolds its judges’ eyes.
Who does it, if not he?
My days sprint past me like runners;
I will never see them again.
They glide by me like sailboats;
they swoop down like hawks on their prey.
If I want to forget my misery
or try to smile at my pain,
one thought makes me shudder:
that you don’t believe what I say.
If I am already guilty,
why should I struggle on?
Should I wash my body in snow,
scour my face with sand?
You would toss me into a cesspool,
and my own stench would make me vomit.
If only there were an arbiter
who could lay his hand on us both,
who could make you put down your club
and hold back your terrible arm.
Then, without fear, I would say,
You have not treated me justly.
I loathe each day of my life;
I will take my complaint to God.
I will say, Do not condemn me;
why are you so enraged?
Is it right for you to be vicious,
to spoil what your own hands made?
Are your eyes mere eyes of flesh?
Is your vision no keener than a man’s?
Is your mind like a human mind?
Are your feelings human feelings?
For you keep pursuing a sin,
trying to dig up a crime,
though you know that I am innocent
and cannot escape from your grip.
Your hands molded and made me,
and someday you will destroy me.
Remember: you formed me from clay
and will soon turn me back to dust.
You poured me out like milk,
made me curdle like cheese,
clothed me in flesh and skin,
knit me with bones and sinews.
You loved me, you gave me life,
you nursed and cared for my spirit.
Yet this you hid in your heart,
this I know was your purpose:
to watch me, and if ever I sinned
to punish me for the rest of my days.
You lash me if I am guilty,
shame me if I am not.
You set me free, then trap me,
like a cat toying with a mouse.
Why did you let me be born?
Why couldn’t I have stayed
in the deep waters of the womb,
rocked to sleep in the dark?
Is my life not wretched enough?
Leave me one moment of peace,
before I must go away
to the land of endless shadows,
the land of gloom and sighing,
where dawn is as black as night.