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Job Chapter 30 | Parsha:

1But now those younger than I deride me,
[Men] whose fathers I would have disdained to put among my sheep dogs.

2Of what use to me is the strength of their hands?
All their vigor is gone.

3Wasted from want and starvation,
They flee to a parched land,
To the gloom of desolate wasteland.

4They pluck saltwort and wormwood;
The roots of broom are their food.

5Driven out from society,
They are cried at like a thief.

6They live in the gullies of wadis,
In holes in the ground, and in rocks,

7Braying among the bushes,
Huddling among the nettles,

8Scoundrels, nobodies,
Stricken from the earth.

9Now I am the butt of their gibes;
I have become a byword to them.

10They abhor me; they keep their distance from me;
They do not withhold spittle from my face.

11Because God has disarmed and humbled me,
They have thrown off restraint in my presence.

12Mere striplings assail me at my right hand:
They put me to flight;
They build their roads for my ruin.

13They tear up my path;
They promote my fall,
Although it does them no good.

14They come as through a wide breach;
They roll in like raging billows.

15Terror tumbles upon me;
It sweeps away my honor like the wind;
My dignity vanishes like a cloud.

16So now my life runs out;
Days of misery have taken hold of me.

17By night my bones feel gnawed;
My sinews never rest.

18With great effort I change clothing;
The neck of my tunic fits my waist.

19He regarded me as clay,
I have become like dust and ashes.

20I cry out to You, but You do not answer me;
I wait, but You do [not] consider me.

21You have become cruel to me;
With Your powerful hand You harass me.

22You lift me up and mount me on the wind;
You make my courage melt.

23I know You will bring me to death,
The house assigned for all the living.

24Surely He would not strike at a ruin
If, in calamity, one cried out to Him.

25Did I not weep for the unfortunate?
Did I not grieve for the needy?

26I looked forward to good fortune, but evil came;
I hoped for light, but darkness came.

27My bowels are in turmoil without respite;
Days of misery confront me.

28I walk about in sunless gloom;
I rise in the assembly and cry out.

29I have become a brother to jackals,
A companion to ostriches.

30My skin, blackened, is peeling off me;
My bones are charred by the heat.

31So my lyre is given over to mourning,
My pipe, to accompany weepers.

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