But then, why was he punished? Prophet, judge, friend of the deprived, protector of orphans—what had he done to deserve so terrible a fate? To what, to whom, should one attribute his torments?

These questions preoccupied the Talmud before the tale of Job, for the “case Job” predates Job. Abraham had not sinned and yet he was tested. The parallel with Abraham seems deliberate; it reappears frequently. Both were kind and charitable men; both suffered. In their quarrels with God, they used almost identical language. Abraham questioned His justice with regard to Sodom and Gomorrah, Job with regard to himself. Abraham pleaded for a community of men, an entire city, Job pleaded for himself. Abraham’s purpose was to prevent, Job’s was to indict. And that is the key difference between the two. Abraham challenged God while defending someone else’s interests, Job spoke out against injustice only when it affected him personally. Was that a reason to punish him?

The parallel between the two may have been meant as a consolation. The Midrashic commentators seem to be saying to Job: What are you complaining about? Your case is not unique. Do you think you are the only one whom God has made to tremble? There exists at least one precedent; what is happening to you has happened before and to someone greater than you: Abraham. And he submitted to God’s will. . . A simplistic consolation, yet one that often works; the patient is reassured, or thinks he is, upon discovering that he is not the only one afflicted. Still, Job could have answered that he didn’t care whether his case was new or not, for it in no way altered the question. Repetition of an offense is no excuse; evil is a personal experience for every individual, and to exorcise it, each must fashion his own weapons lest he go mad. Job could also have said that while the tragedy of one man may well be linked to that of another, or many others, that fact explains nothing and surely justifies nothing . . . But Job kept silent. He refuted nothing. It is the Midrash which reasons thus in his stead.

A story: When Rabbi Yohanan, son of Zakkai, lost his son, his disciples tried to console him. Rabbi Eliezer reminded him that the same tragedy had struck Adam, who knew how to overcome his grief. But Rabbi Yohanan, son of Zakkai, replied: Is my own grief not enough? Must you add Adam’s? Then Rabbi Yehoshua reminded him of the ordeals endured by Job, who allowed himself to be consoled. But Rabbi Yohanan, son of Zakkai, replied: Is my own sorrow not great enough? Why do you wish to add that of Job? Then Rabbi Yossi reminded him of Aaron the high priest who witnessed the death of his two sons and knew how to contain his grief and remain silent. And Rabbi Yohanan, son of Zakkai, replied: Is my own anguish not deep enough? Must you add that of Aaron?