Carried away by the passion of his indictment, Job ignored all taboos, overturned all obstacles. Freed of his inhibitions, he went far, too far. Through his so-called friends, whom he unmasked, he was aiming for God, his true adversary. Said Job: Whoever pleads with heaven becomes everybody’s laughingstock. God despises the wretched. He who is so powerful and so just pushes away those who waver, while thieves rest in peace under their tents and those who deny God are without cares. Facing his visitors, Job cried out: Be quiet, I am going to speak, come what may. It is dangerous? No matter. I shall be killed? No matter. It is hopeless, I know, but I must speak . . . And later: I lift my eyes to God, crying that He may render justice to man who argues with Him.

This desperate act of courage was not futile. Abruptly God entered the tale and chose to make Himself heard. Says the Midrash: Job felt his hair caught in the tempest and that was when he heard the divine voice. Does this mean that the exchange took place only in his mind? Possibly. Actually, it makes no difference. Reality or delirium, Job felt that he had won. God was answering him. With a series of questions.

Listen to God speaking: Where were you when I created the mountains and the winds? What do you know of My secrets to dare question My means and My ends? What do you know about justice and the ways I choose to dispense it? And truth and good and evil, what do you know about them to dare defy Me?

Actually, God said nothing that Job could interpret as an answer or an explanation or a justification of his ordeals. God did not say: You sinned, you did wrong. Nor did He admit His own error. He dealt in generalities, offering nothing but vast simplifications. Job’s individual experience, his personal misfortunes mattered little; what mattered was the context, the overall picture. The concept of suffering was more important than suffering; the question of knowledge was more important than knowledge. God spoke to Job of everything except that which concerned him; He denied him his right to individuality.

And yet, instead of becoming indignant, Job declared himself satisfied. Vindicated. Rehabilitated. He asked for nothing more; as far as he was concerned, justice had been done. The fierce rebel, the fighter who dared to face God and speak up as a free man, abruptly bowed his head and gave in. No sooner had God spoken than Job repented. Was he so proud of having inspired the divine poem, so satisfied to have heard God’s voice, that he forgot both content and principle? Was he so impressed with the celestial voice that he forgot his resolution? No sooner had God finished His sermon than Job pulled back and withdrew his questions, canceled his complaints. Said he: Yes, I am indeed small, insignificant; I had no right to speak, I am unworthy of Your words and thoughts. I didn’t know, I didn’t understand. I couldn’t know. From now on I shall live with remorse, in dust and ashes.