Job's Present State Is Humiliating
2
"Indeed,
what good was the
strength of their
hands to me?
Vigor had
perished from them.
3
"From
want and
famine they are
gaunt Who
gnaw the
dry ground by
night in
waste and
desolation,
4
Who
pluck mallow by the
bushes, And whose
food is the
root of the
broom shrub.
5
"They are
driven from the
community ; They
shout against them as against a
thief,
b'N;G;K<01590)> w{myel'[ .W[yir'y .Wv'r{
g.y weG -nim
6
So that they
dwell in
dreadful valleys, In
holes of the
earth and of the
rocks.
9
"And
now I have
become their
taunt, I have even
become a
byword to them.
h'Lim.l ~,h'l yih/a'w yityIy'h ~'t'nyig.n h'T;[.w
10
"They
abhor me and
stand aloof from me, And they do not
refrain from
spitting at my
face.
12
"On the
right hand their
brood arises ; They
thrust aside my
feet and
build up
against me their
ways of
destruction.
13
"They
break up my
path, They
profit from my
destruction ;
No one
restrains them.
14
"As through a
wide breach they
come,
Amid the
tempest they
roll on.
16
"And
now my
soul is
poured out
within me;
Days of
affliction have
seized me.
yin{
[ -yem.y ]yin.Wz]xa{y
yiv.p;n .$eP;T.viT y;l'[ h'T;[.w
18
"By a
great force my
garment is
distorted ; It
binds me about as the
collar of my
coat.
19
"He has
cast me into the
mire, And I have
become like dust and
ashes.
20
"I
cry out to You for
help, but You do not
answer me; I
stand up, and You
turn Your
attention against me.
21
"You have
become cruel to me; With the
might of Your
hand You
persecute me.
22
"You
lift me up to the
wind and cause me to
ride ; And You
dissolve me in a
storm.
23
"For I
know that You will
bring me to
death And to the
house of
meeting for
all living.
24
"Yet does not one in a
heap of
ruins stretch out his
hand,
Or in his
disaster therefore cry out for
help ?
25
"Have I not
wept for the one whose
life is
hard ? Was not my
soul grieved for the
needy ?
yin{
[ -yem.y yinUm.Diq .WM'd -a{l.w
.Wx.TUr y;[em
28
"I
go about
mourning without comfort; I
stand up in the
assembly and
cry out for
help.
30
"My
skin turns black on me, And my
bones burn with
fever.
b,r{
x -yiNim h'r'x -yim.c;[.w y'l'[em
r;x'v yirw{
[
31
"Therefore my
harp is
turned to
mourning, And my
flute to the
sound of those who
weep.