אַחֲרֵי־כֵן פָּתַח אִיּוֹב אֶת־פִּיהוּ וַיְקַלֵּל אֶת־יוֹמוֹ

Thereafter, after having sat in silence, Job opened his mouth, and he cursed his day. He expressed his pain over having lost everything and questioned the value of his life in this lowly state. However, he does not accuse God regarding what has occurred.

וַיַּעַן אִיּוֹב וַיֹּאמַר׃

Job exclaimed and said:

יֹאבַד יוֹם אִוָּלֶד בּוֹ וְהַלַּיְלָה אָמַר הֹרָה גָבֶר

Job curses his life: Perish the day I was born, and also the night it was said: A man, I, a boy who later became a man, has been conceived.

הַיּוֹם הַהוּא יְהִי חֹשֶׁךְ אַל־יִדְרְשֵׁהוּ אֱלוֹהַּ מִמַּעַל וְאַל־תּוֹפַע עָלָיו נְהָרָה

Let that day on which I was born be one of darkness; let God above not seek it, but let it be forgotten, and may light not shine on it.

יִגְאָלֻהוּ חֹשֶׁךְ וְצַלְמָוֶת תִּשְׁכָּן־עָלָיו עֲנָנָה יְבַעֲתֻהוּ כִּמְרִירֵי יוֹם

May darkness and the shadow of death sully it; may a cloud dwell upon and darken it; may it, that day, be terrorized as if by day-demons or other evil forces that appear every day.

הַלַּיְלָה הַהוּא יִקָּחֵהוּ אֹפֶל אַל־יִחַדְּ בִּימֵי שָׁנָה בְּמִסְפַּר יְרָחִים אַל־יָבֹא

May that night on which I was created be taken and swallowed by blackness; let it not be counted among the days of the year; may it not enter the tally of months. That night should be erased from the calendar so that it will not be included in the calculations of the days or months.

הִנֵּה הַלַּיְלָה הַהוּא יְהִי גַלְמוּד אַל־תָּבוֹא רְנָנָה בוֹ

Behold, may that night be desolate, may it remain alone; may no joy come in it.

יִקְּבֻהוּ אֹרְרֵי־יוֹם הָעֲתִידִים עֹרֵר לִוְיָתָן

They who curse the day, who prepare for rousing the leviathan to swallow them up, or alternatively, those who know how to arouse even the awesome leviathan from its place, may they scorn it, that night that I was created.

לוּ יֶחְשְׁכוּ כּוֹכְבֵי נִשְׁפּוֹ יְקַו לְאוֹר וָאַיִן וְאַל־יִרְאֶה בְּעַפְעַפֵּי־שָׁחַר

Let the stars of its twilight, or, alternatively, the stars of that night, be dark; it hopes for light, but there is none, as light should never arrive to conclude that night; let it not see the eyes of dawn. The metaphorical eyes of that night should not merit to be opened by the morning.

כִּי לֹא סָגַר דַּלְתֵי בִטְנִי וַיַּסְתֵּר עָמָל מֵעֵינָי

I am bitter, for it did not shut my belly’s doors, my mother’s womb, hiding trouble from my eyes. Had those doors closed, preventing my birth, everything would have been better, as then I would have been spared all this suffering.

לָמָּה לֹּא מֵרֶחֶם אָמוּת מִבֶּטֶן יָצָאתִי וְאֶגְוָע

Why didn’t I die from the womb, and at least expire when I emerged from the belly? It would have been better for me to have died immediately following my birth.

מַדּוּעַ קִדְּמוּנִי בִרְכָּיִם וּמַה־שָּׁדַיִם כִּי אִינָק

And if I had to be born, why did the knees on which I was placed after my birth wait for me? And for what were there breasts for me to suck? For what purpose did I nurse at my mother’s breasts?

כִּי־עַתָּה שָׁכַבְתִּי וְאֶשְׁקוֹט יָשַׁנְתִּי אָז יָנוּחַ לִי

It would have been better had I not been born, or had I not received immediate care at birth, for now, I would lie in the grave and be silent. I would sleep, and then there would be rest for me. I would rest peacefully, having joined the dead resting in the grave,

עִם־מְלָכִים וְיֹעֲצֵי אָרֶץ הַבֹּנִים חֳרָבוֹת לָמוֹ

and there in the grave, I would have resided with kings and counselors of the world, who build cities, which were formerly ruins, for themselves, where they could spread their reputation before departing from the world,

אוֹ עִם־שָׂרִים זָהָב לָהֶם הַמְמַלְאִים בָּתֵּיהֶם כָּסֶף

or with princes who have gold, who fill their houses with silver, but ultimately die.

אוֹ כְנֵפֶל טָמוּן לֹא אֶהְיֶה כְּעֹלְלִים לֹא־רָאוּ אוֹר

Or why am I not like a buried stillborn, like infants who did not see light, who died before they could see the world? Job is asking: Why couldn’t mine have been a hidden, buried, untimely birth, like that of infants who never see the light of the world?

שָׁם רְשָׁעִים חָדְלוּ רֹגֶז וְשָׁם יָנוּחוּ יְגִיעֵי כֹחַ

It would have been preferable for me not to have lived at all, as there, in the grave, distress has ceased even for the wicked, as they are spared suffering, worries, and strife. There even the wicked don’t scheme as they did in their lifetimes; and there, in the grave, rest those whose strength is sapped.

יַחַד אֲסִירִים שַׁאֲנָנוּ לֹא שָׁמְעוּ קוֹל נֹגֵשׂ

Together, all prisoners are tranquil; they are no longer beaten, not hearing the raised, oppressive voice of the taskmaster.

קָטֹן וְגָדוֹל שָׁם הוּא וְעֶבֶד חָפְשִׁי מֵאֲדֹנָיו

Small or great, he is there. Whatever the status of the person when alive, in the grave, everyone is equal, and the slave is free from his master. Death frees everyone from social status and troubles and provides each person with freedom and rest.

לָמָּה יִתֵּן לְעָמֵל אוֹר וחַיִּים לְמָרֵי נָפֶשׁ

That being the case, why does He give the light of the world to the sufferer, and what is the reason that life is granted to embittered souls, the pitiful

הַמְחַכִּים לַמָּוֶת וְאֵינֶנּוּ וַיַּחְפְּרֻהוּ ממַטְמוֹנִים

who suffer their entire lives, and wait for death, but it is not? They dig for it as though hunting for death in holes and crevices, more than one would search for hidden treasures,

הַשְּׂמֵחִים אֱלֵי־גִיל יָשִׂישׂוּ כִּי יִמְצְאוּ־קָבֶר

rejoicing with cries of exultation, glad when they find the grave.

לְגֶבֶר אֲשֶׁר־דַּרְכּוֹ נִסְתָּרָה וַיָּסֶךְ אֱלוֹהַּ בַּעֲדוֹ

It, all of this, is stated for myself, a man whose way is hidden, whose world has darkened, and against whom God has set a screen so that he will no longer see His face.

כִּי־לִפְנֵי לַחְמִי אַנְחָתִי תָבֹא וַיִּתְּכוּ כַמַּיִם שַׁאֲגֹתָי

For my groaning in pain will come before my food, before I eat my food, and my screams pour out like water.

כִּי פַחַד פָּחַדְתִּי וַיֶּאֱתָיֵנִי וַאֲשֶׁר יָגֹרְתִּי יָבֹא לִי

For that very matter which I feared has come upon me, and that which daunted me has come to me.

לֹא שָׁלַוְתִּי וְלֹא שָׁקַטְתִּי וְלֹא־נָחְתִּי וַיָּבֹא רֹגֶז

I was not serene, was not silent, and I did not rest, but turmoil came.