In cursed days gone by, I was as you are,
Believing the Lord would sustain me with shelter,
My flock, my beautiful children. But Satan said:
“Skin for skin!” and I was damned.
Still, I thanked the Lord for my trials:
My oxen were scattered, flock and servants burned
Like dry chaff. Even my two children perished.
Satan curled his claws around my neck, and only when
The Lord Hid behind His name was havoc wreaked
On my body. Scraping my arms with shards of pottery
To cut away sores bursting on my skin,
I cried out to Him:
What is man that you make so much of him,
That you examine him every morning and test him
Every moment? What strength do I have, that I should still hope?
Remember, O God. My life is but a breath!
The land grew quiet, grey.
Dark shades walked the clouds, charred earth
Withered away to dust. I lay in the remains, tearing my clothing.
I knew the Lord Our God did not wish for me.
The rest you know from the telling of His word.
Yet, do not be fooled by my fortunes now,
For centuries hence, I am filled with endless aching.
While you descendants of Zophar, Bildad, Eliphaz and Elihu
Wander the earth, I sit by His throne and wonder:
Why does Our Lord still not silence that cry of “Skin for skin!”?
Why deify me when my rage and empathy grow in heaven?
At any moment those dark shades may climb the clouds again
And drag me down to earth. And would not that be a blessing
To console my fellow man? Or is it preferable to sit beside His throne
Knowing that the Lord Our God may never wish for you?