Job Act 3 p. 83
by Yitzkhok Katzenelson
Oh person born of woman,
with days – oh so short!
days without gain,
and sidelined with regret…
bursts forth like a flower-
and soon, soon is gone!
disappeared like a shadow,
was, died and buried…
Even such, you see and consider-
Even me you now have brought to
judgement…
You decide if his days are done,
With you resides the number of
his months…
you have judged so, allowed no question,
and no complaint!
Leave him alone now, don’t strike–
he will be destroyed anyway…
Let him be, oh, until he agrees
like a day laborer hired for his day…
For not lost is the hope of a tree,
Even when already cut and felled
it grows again
and blooms
without end–
The budding will not stop
And when the root gets old amid the dust
and if the root has ceased
to live deep in the earth–
it only has to sense a bit of water in the depths
to bloom again
completely,
it blooms
and gives
a cutting–
like every plant…
And when a man expires,
as is the mode to die up until now:
becoming weak, passing away–
Where? Where is he?
Waters that have run out of clear seas
the river that dried out is no more –
And the person who has laid himself down,
heavy–
will not rise again!
until the sky withers
without an end–
they do not wake up from their dream,
nor wake up ever from their sleep.