It’s a question that has haunted humanity for centuries, and perhaps no story embodies this struggle more powerfully than that of Job. But what if I told you the story we know so well has a prologue, a hidden conflict that sets the stage for all of Job's suffering?
Our tale begins not with divine pronouncements, but with envy. Satan, or Ha-Satan, "the accuser," harbored a deep-seated resentment towards Job, a man whose life was a testament to piety and righteousness. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, Satan held an old grudge.
Now, near Job's home stood an idol, worshipped by the local people. A fascinating thought occurs to Job: "Is this idol truly the creator of heaven and earth? How can I discover the truth?"
That night, a voice pierced through the darkness. "Jobab! Jobab!" it called, (Job, you see, is sometimes called Jobab in tradition). "Arise, and I will tell thee who he is whom thou desirest to know." The voice revealed that the idol was nothing more than a deceptive creation of the tempter himself, Satan.
Job, upon hearing this, prostrated himself and cried out, "O Lord, if this idol is the handiwork of the tempter, then grant that I may destroy it!" The text points out that none could hinder him, because he was the king of the land. Job, or Jobab, was in fact the king of Edom, also known as Uz, a place described as a breeding ground for wicked schemes against God.
The voice, identifying itself as an archangel, warned Job that destroying the idol would unleash Satan's wrath upon him, leading to immense suffering. But, the voice promised, if Job remained steadfast, God would transform his troubles into joy, making his name celebrated for generations and granting him a share in the resurrection to eternal life. What would you do?
Job's response is immediate and unwavering. "Out of love of God, I am ready to endure all things unto the day of my death. I will shrink back from naught." Fueled by this devotion, Job, accompanied by fifty men, destroyed the idol. Knowing Satan wouldn't be far behind, he instructed his guards to deny access to everyone, then retreated to his chambers.
As expected, Satan arrived disguised as a beggar, demanding to speak with Job. The guards, following orders, refused him entry. The "beggar" then asked the guard to plead with Job for a piece of bread. Job, recognizing Satan's deception, sent a message: "Do not expect to eat of my bread, for it is prohibited unto thee," and instructed the guard to give Satan a piece of burnt bread.
The servant, ashamed to offer such meager fare, replaced it with a good piece of bread. But Satan, ever perceptive, knew the servant had disobeyed. He revealed the deception and insisted on receiving the burnt bread, repeating Job's exact words. In response, Satan declared, "As the bread is burnt, so I will disfigure thy body." Job's reply? A stoic acceptance: "Do as thou desirest, and execute thy plan. As for me, I am ready to suffer whatever thou bringest down upon me."
Frustrated, Satan then turned to God, seeking permission to test Job. According to the text in Legends of the Jews, Satan essentially argued that Job's piety was conditional, dependent on his comfortable life. He said, "I went to and fro in the earth, and walked up and down in it, and I saw no man as pious as Abraham. Thou didst promise him the whole land of Palestine, and yet he did not take it in ill part that he had not so much as a burial-place for Sarah. As for Job, it is true, I found none that loveth Thee as he does, but if Thou wilt put him into my hand, I shall succeed in turning his heart away from Thee."
God, while acknowledging Job's unparalleled righteousness, ultimately granted Satan power over Job's possessions. The text notes that this day of accusation fell on Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, a day when human deeds are judged before God.
So, there it is: the prelude to Job's trials. A story of envy, devotion, and a challenge to the very nature of faith. Before the boils, the lost children, and the agonizing questions, there was a king who chose God over comfort, knowing full well the price he might have to pay. It forces us to ask ourselves: What idols do we protect, and what price are we willing to pay for our beliefs? And, perhaps most importantly, what does true faith really look like in the face of unimaginable suffering?