רוּחִי חֻבָּלָה יָמַי נִזְעָכוּ קְבָרִים לִי

My spirit is crushed, or bruised from all the troubles that have been visited upon me. My days are dwindling, my days fade and are lost. Graves are mine. They are all that is left to me of my children.

אִם־לֹא הֲתֻלִים עִמָּדִי וּבְהַמְּרוֹתָם תָּלַן עֵינִי

Truly, or I swear, mockers are with me, and my eye goes to sleep with the embitterment they cause me.

שִׂימָה־נָּא עָרְבֵנִי עִמָּךְ מִי הוּא לְיָדִי יִתָּקֵעַ

Job now turns to God with a request: Promise now, guarantee me with You. Be my guarantor, for if You will not assure my safety, who is it who will shake hands with me? No mortal will obligate himself as my guarantor. The shaking of hands is a symbolic act that expresses one’s obligation to the other.

כִּי לִבָּם צָפַנְתָּ מִשָּׂכֶל עַל־כֵּן לֹא תְרוֹמֵם

For You have concealed their heart from understanding, my friends do not comprehend at all, and therefore, You will not exalt them.

לְחֵלֶק יַגִּיד רֵעִים וְעֵינֵי בָנָיו תִּכְלֶנָה

The conniver will report friends, and the eyes of his children will languish, from peering in unrequited expectation.

וְהִצִּיגַנִי לִמְשֹׁל עַמִּים ותֹפֶת לְפָנִים אֶהְיֶה

He, this treacherous friend, the pain, Elifaz, or God, rendered me a byword of the people. Indeed, over the generations, Job has become known as the archetype of the suffering man. I will be the classic example of he who is already in hell even before his death.

וַתֵּכַהּ מכַּעַשׂ עֵינִי וִיצֻרַי כַּצֵּל כֻּלָּם

My eye has dimmed, and my vision is blurred from my anger, and my limbs do not function and are all insubstantial, like a shadow.

יָשֹׁמּוּ יְשָׁרִים עַל־זֹאת וְנָקִי עַל חָנֵף יִתְעֹרָר

The upright are outraged and rise up at this; the pure are aroused against the mocking hypocrite to reprove him.

וְיֹאחֵז צַדִּיק דַּרְכּוֹ וּטֳהָר־יָדַיִם יֹסִיף אֹמֶץ

The righteous stays his course, despite the retribution that descends upon the earth, and the clean-handed will add strength.

וְאֻלָּם כֻּלָּם תָּשֻׁבוּ וּבֹאוּ נָא וְלֹא־אֶמְצָא בָכֶם חָכָם

After these general comments, Job addresses his friends with a direct attack: Even if all of you return and speak, and come now, I will not find a wise man among you.

יָמַי עָבְרוּ זִמֹּתַי נִתְּקוּ מוֹרָשֵׁי לְבָבִי

My days have passed, or are passing; my thoughts are severed due to all my pain and aggravation; they are the inheritance of my heart.

לַיְלָה לְיוֹם יָשִׂימוּ אוֹר קָרוֹב מִפְּנֵי־חֹשֶׁךְ

They, my friends, or my torments, transform night into day, as they deprive me of sleep, approaching light into darkness. The light that seems near is actually fading.

אִם אֲקַוֶּה שְׁאוֹל בֵּיתִי בַּחֹשֶׁךְ רִפַּדְתִּי יְצוּעָי

Truly, I hope that the grave will be my home; in the darkness, the grave, I will cushion my bedding.

לַשַּׁחַת קָרָאתִי אָבִי אָתָּה אִמִּי וַאֲחֹתִי לָרִמָּה

I called to the pit of the netherworld: You are my father; and to the maggots I declared: You are my mother and my sister, as I live with them. My mother and my sister eat my flesh.

וְאַיֵּה אֵפוֹ תִקְוָתִי וְתִקְוָתִי מִי יְשׁוּרֶנָּה

Where then is my hope, and my hope, who can see it?

בַּדֵּי שְׁאֹל תֵּרַדְנָה אִם־יַחַד עַל־עָפָר נָחַת

It, my hope, descends the levels of the grave, comes to rest together with me on the dirt.