Our method of study in Sefer Iyov will be as follows: first, we will examine the overall meaning of the text as a single, comprehensive theme, and only then read the text inside, verse by verse. We follow the commentary of the Malbim, and as such, we proceed in his manner: the Malbim first explains the overarching theme - what Iyov seeks to express with his words - and then demonstrates how this is reflected in each and every verse.
When looking at the verses of Iyov, one often gets the impression that each verse is disconnected from the next, as though it were a collection of standalone verses each expressing a different idea, much like the verses of Mishlei. But this is not so. When Iyov delivers a speech, he has a specific thesis, and that thesis runs like a common thread throughout his entire response. When Elifaz speaks, he has a distinct line of reasoning that runs like a common thread through his address, and likewise with each speaker. At times, however, a single address incorporates two, three, or four interrelated points: he states point A, while indicating that points B and C follow as well. It is all one unified response, representing everything he had to argue in order to substantiate his position.
To understand Iyov's speech, the Malbim cites Sefer Ha-Ikkarim (Maamar 4, Chapter 4), which explains that two views were accepted among the ancients regarding the influence of celestial bodies - what will be referred to from here on as "the celestial order" (ha-ma'arechet), meaning the constellations and astrological systems and their influence upon the terrestrial world.
The first view is that of the philosopher: the influence of the celestial bodies affects only human predispositions toward what may unfold, rather than exerting a specific, detailed influence over every event that befalls a person. For example, according to the celestial alignment, it may be decreed that a person will be a receptacle for wisdom, so that if he studies and applies himself, he will reach a high level of wisdom; whereas another person may struggle to comprehend and not grasp what he learns well. Some are predisposed to spirituality and the reception of prophetic inspiration while others are not, all according to the celestial alignment at the time of birth. However, whether one will end up rich or poor, married or single, have children or not, achieve honor and authority or not - in all these matters, the celestial systems play no role at all.
The second view is that of the stargazers and astrologers: everything destined to happen to a person is decreed by the configuration of the stars at the moment of birth and their ongoing positions throughout his life. This does not refer to the horoscopes of our day - which are mere nonsense - but rather to genuine ancient astrology, in the manner that Pharaoh was an astrologer, and like the Chaldeans, who possessed profound knowledge of these systems. According to their view, everything is determined by the position of the stars: whether a person will marry, with whom he will live harmoniously, how many wives and children he will have, what profession he will pursue, how long he will remain in his trade, and when he will be dismissed.
The Malbim notes that this also aligns with the view of some of our Sages who stated, "Mazal makes one wise, mazal makes one wealthy" - meaning that celestial influence causes one person to become wise and another foolish. This does not mean, God forbid, that everything is determined independently by the celestial order, but rather that events descend and cascade from their supernal source through the intermediary channels of the celestial spheres.
Iyov, the Malbim explains, subscribed to the view of the astrologers. He believed that everything that befalls a person - the length of his days, whether he will suffer or prosper in this world - is determined by the celestial systems at the moment of birth and their ongoing configurations throughout his life. From this, we can understand why Iyov curses the night of his conception and the day of his birth. Why curse the day and the night? He curses them because he views them as the root cause: the night Iyov was conceived was such an ominous night, and therefore Iyov emerged destined for so much suffering.
Iyov continues to argue: If Heaven already sees that according to my mazal I am destined to be born a wretched, suffering man condemned to severe agony, why was my existence not prevented in advance? Why bring me into the world merely to suffer? It would have been better had I never entered the world at all than to be brought into being here only to endure all this torment.
The Malbim explains: If you ask most people what is better - to have existed or not to have existed - they would say it is better that I exist. Why? Just as a person thinks of an advantage - it is better for me to have more money, better health, more wisdom - and every lack seems like a deficiency to him, so too, if I did not exist at all, that would seem to be the ultimate deficiency. If five percent is missing it seems bad, all the more so if all eighty were missing. No less difficult is it for a person to contemplate what will happen when he no longer exists, especially one who does not believe in reward and punishment and an afterlife, who believes he is headed into absolute nothingness. Therefore, the very fact that I exist seems to be a good thing.
Iyov comes and argues: All this distress exists only once I already exist. Once I am here, it is hard for me to accept being at a lower level, and even a small deficit is painful. But if I am not here at all - it does not bother me in the least that I have nothing. Once you enter into something, it is hard to be without it; but without having entered into it, you never feel you lack it. A simple analogy: Has someone who has never smoked ever felt that he was missing cigarettes? Never. Likewise, someone who has never taken drugs never feels that drugs are missing from his life, nor does he look with envy upon someone who takes drugs. But if one had become accustomed to it, and now his supply were reduced by one cigarette a day, he would feel tremendous distress. This is Iyov's claim: Had You not brought me into the world in the first place, it would have been far better than the current situation.
Here, Iyov broadens his canvas and sharpens his argument in a manner akin to the claim cited in Moreh Nevukhim (Part 3, Chapter 12) in the name of the Arab philosopher al-Razi. That thinker argued - as already hinted at in the previous chapter - that most of human life in this world is bad: a life of obstacles, hardship, suffering, grief, and sorrow. If a person were to measure his good moments against his bad moments, he would find that human existence is "a vengeance upon him and a great evil." That is to say, as though he were created merely to take revenge upon him, as though Hashem wished to torment man and therefore created him. It is utter heresy to say so, yet this was the claim of that philosopher, and of the nations that adopted this view. They composed poems and brought proofs and evidence of how much suffering and anguish man endures, demonstrating that most of man's time is spent in suffering. If so, why create him? If most of the time he derives no enjoyment and finds no satisfaction in his life, why bring him into the world - to take revenge on him? What did he do that he should be treated with such harshness?
And he further claims: Even if you say that there are people who have it good - until when? Until death. And if You have already created a person who has it good, why take him away? This is precisely what I argued: man was created for his own harm, for precisely when things are good for him, he is taken.
Furthermore, he shows how the reality of the world seems to mock man. Consider a poor, destitute, and impoverished man, who all his life longs to die: "Why was I created? What sorrow, what a life, what hardship!" One day he digs and finds a treasure. For once in his life he feels good, and now he says: "Master of the Universe, now I want to live!" He climbs down into the pit to retrieve a few remaining coins, and then a mound of earth collapses upon him and buries him alive. Is this not cruelty? All his life he despised living, yet he was not taken, and when he finally reaches a point where he wants to live and has something to live for - only then is he taken. These are the vicissitudes of time: sometimes a person seeks good, and instantly meets death.
From here Iyov deduces that human destiny is subject to the cosmic system, and the influence of this system - the constellations - is sometimes bad for man, sometimes very bad, and most of the time man suffers. Consequently, man also has no free will. Remember this argument, for Iyov will return to it later, claiming that man is coerced in his actions, and we will see an entire chapter addressing this question. Iyov argued that one person is born under the astrological sign of a righteous person and another under the sign of an evil person; just as You created an ox with split hooves and an animal with uncloven hooves, so You created a tzaddik and so You created a rasha - not by human choice, and man does not determine who will be righteous and who will be wicked.
Iyov brings proof from what happened to him: I myself am conclusive proof. For I am completely righteous - and this is how Iyov views himself throughout the entire book, and not mistakenly so: as we will see in the final chapter, the Holy One, blessed be He, was angry with Iyov's companions for condemning him, for Iyov was correct that he was righteous. One should not mistakenly think that Iyov thought more of himself than he truly was; rather, he evaluated himself accurately. Iyov says: As a completely righteous person, it is impossible that what I am suffering is a providential punishment for my deeds, for if there is divine providence - how could I be punished for my righteousness?
And perhaps we might say that there is no providence at all and everything is mere chance? Iyov cannot accept this either. Can anyone dispute that Iyov's afflictions came through divine providence? The greatest proof is their relentless rapidity: "While this one was still speaking, another came; while this one was still speaking, another came"; blow after blow after blow, a fire of God fell from heaven. From a state where I had everything, in a short span of time disasters struck in rapid succession and I am left with nothing - it is unmistakable that this was by divine providence.
How does one reconcile this contradiction? To say there is no Hashgachah (divine providence) - impossible. To say I deserve it - impossible, for I know I am a tzaddik. Perforce, the Holy One, blessed is He, handed over His world to the rule of the system, the celestial system of the stars, from which everything is decreed according to the view of astrologers. In simple terms: Iyov, as it were, absolves the Creator of the world from the entire affair - it is not Hashem, but rather His functionaries, the celestial system of the stars, who are the ministers above.
Yet even so, he does not truly let Hashem off the hook, because in the end there is a claim: How could You hand over the management of affairs to wicked functionaries? If the system does not distinguish between a tzaddik and a rasha, and everything is predetermined with no free choice, how could You entrust the running of the world to such an agent who causes man harm most of the time? Indeed, we will see later that his friends make this very counterargument: You want to clear the Creator of the world, but in truth you are pinning an equally grave accusation upon Him - that He handed governance over to wicked forces who run the world unjustly. Even if you argue that it was not Hashem Who did this to me, but rather His emissary, ultimately the matter traces back to Him, blessed is He. As Chazal taught regarding one who appoints unfit judges, Hashem exacts retribution from the one who appointed them: the one who made the appointment cannot wash his hands and say, "I did not issue a corrupt ruling; the judge did" - from whom did the judge receive his mandate and appointment? From you, so the responsibility falls on you. Iyov does not yet realize this contradiction, and he will continue to argue against the celestial system that is waging war against him.
Iyov brings another proof: All my days I lived in fear. And the fear a person harbors testifies to a kind of prophecy cast into him regarding what is destined to happen to him, as we will see in the verse, "For the thing I feared has come upon me." Even in ordinary speech, people say, "My heart tells me bad news," or "I have a bad feeling." When something terrible is about to happen to a person, his neshamah, bound to the celestial realms, knows and sees, for it is not bound by physical limits - it sees from one end of the world to the other. Only sparks of the neshamah illuminate the three primary faculties within man - Keter, Chochmah, and Binah - but the neshamah itself is transcendent, not contained entirely within man. Therefore, Iyov claims: I always had a sense that something terrible was about to happen to me, which proves that this was predetermined by the celestial constellation, and so it was decreed from the start that I should receive it.
Let us summarize Iyov's premises: First - the Holy One, blessed is He, does not exercise individual providence (Hashgachah Pratit), but He certainly knows everything that happens in the world, for one cannot say He does not know, as that would imply, Heaven forbid, that Hashem is limited. Second - I do not believe that evil emanates from Hashem, for Hashem does no injustice. Third - there is an astral order, the celestial systems, and from them everything that occurs in this world is channeled. Fourth - man does not possess free will; it is not up to him whether he will be a tzaddik or a rasha, and he is compelled in his actions by the celestial system. The very same astral order that dictates whether good or bad will befall him is what dictates whether he will be righteous or wicked. This is the general framework, and now we will see, step by step, how it is expressed in the verses.
אַחֲרֵי־כֵן פָּתַח אִיּוֹב אֶת־פִּיהוּ וַיְקַלֵּל אֶת־יוֹמוֹ׃ - After this, Iyov opened his mouth and cursed his day.
"After this" - after the most agonizing afflictions had already struck, crushing his very body, Iyov opened his mouth and cursed his day. Who is to blame for everything that befell him? The celestial system and the constellations that ruled on the day he was born and on the day he was conceived. Therefore, what is there to curse? The day: since I was born at an ill-fated time, my condition is terrible.
וַיַּעַן אִיּוֹב וַיֹּאמַר׃ - And Iyov responded and said:
"Vaya'an" (and he answered) implies a response - but who questioned him? There are two explanations: It is possible that his companions and friends who came to visit him asked him what had happened to him and how he viewed these events, and he answered them. Alternatively, "vaya'an" means raising one's voice, as in "And you shall call out and say (ve'anita ve'amarta)... 'An Aramean sought to destroy my father,'" where Rashi explains that one must raise his voice; here too, Iyov raises his voice and embarks upon the monologue before us.
יֹאבַד יוֹם אִוָּלֶד בּוֹ וְהַלַּיְלָה אָמַר הֹרָה גָבֶר׃ - "Let the day perish on which I was born, and the night that said: 'A male child has been conceived.'"
May it be the will that the day on which I was born should perish, for it is the cause of all my distress. The night of conception and the day of birth are the causes, and that night sealed and decreed my fate - and therefore let this day perish from the days of the year, as we will see further on. Rashi explains "ivvaled" in the future tense: would that the day on which I was destined to be born had perished, that this future day had been destroyed in advance.
"And the night that said: 'A male child has been conceived'" - the night on which the herald said "a male child has been conceived," an expression of conception, that the man impregnated my mother, meaning my father impregnated my mother. And Chazal expound that "Night" refers to the angel appointed over conception whose name is Laylah, and he said: A male child will be conceived this night. Thus, he is cursing both the day and that angel.
And it is cited in Yalkut Shimoni: Rabbi Marinus bar Oshaya said, Iyov said: Would that my mother had been a niddah at the time my father came to consort with her, so that she would have said to him, "Conceive a male child?" And how is this to be understood? Not that she says it as an announcement, but rather as an expression of astonishment: Now that I am in my niddah state, can a man cause conception? Is this a time for conception from a man? Now is not a time for conception from a man. And had she been a niddah, it would have been forbidden for him to draw near to her and there would have been no conception - and what a tragedy that it was not so.
הַיּוֹם הַהוּא יְהִי־חֹשֶׁךְ אַל־יִדְרְשֵׁהוּ אֱלוֹהַּ מִמַּעַל וְאַל־תּוֹפַע עָלָיו נְהָרָה׃ - "Let that day be darkness; let God above not seek it, nor let light shine upon it."
Iyov asks that that day be darkness - but not a darkness governed by Divine Providence for the good. There is darkness that serves a good purpose, such as the plague of darkness in Egypt, which was for the benefit of Israel: at that time retribution was exacted from the wicked, and at that time Israel saw what the Egyptians had in their hidden treasures. Concerning this he says, "let God above not seek it" - that the Holy One, blessed be He, should not do anything good through this darkness, but rather that it be purely negative darkness. And even that ray of light that sometimes peeks through the clouds on an overcast day - "nor let light shine upon it," so that it remains absolute darkness. A day so evil and damaging deserves utter darkness.
And what is "neharah"? The Malbim explains that neharah is light that breaks through a narrow aperture, related to the word minharot (tunnels): in a tunnel, they would make a hole through which light could enter. It is on this basis that people say "there was a radiance (neharah) upon his face" - light descending through a narrow opening.
יִגְאָלֻהוּ חֹשֶׁךְ וְצַלְמָוֶת תִּשְׁכָּן־עָלָיו עֲנָנָה יְבַעֲתֻהוּ כִּמְרִירֵי יוֹם׃ - "Let darkness and the shadow of death defile it; let a cloud dwell upon it; let the scorching heat of the day terrify it."
Iyov continues and asks that this not be merely a darkness of the absence of light, but an actual, substantive darkness, such that the darkness, as it were, soils the day - a darkness with substance, which, if spread, fouls the day. This is "let darkness defile it (yig'aluhu)," an expression of soiling as Rashi notes, like "defiled bread (lechem mego'al)," soiled and filthy.
Not only this, but "let a cloud dwell upon it" - that the cloud should darken it even further. Yet clouds sometimes bring a benefit, for on a hot day they provide shade; therefore he asks that these be clouds without benefit, and this is "let the scorchings of the day terrify it." The Malbim explains that the kaf is not the kaf of comparison, but part of the word's root, from the expression "our skin grew hot (nikhmaru) like an oven" - meaning heated up, and like "his compassion was stirred (nikhmaru rachamav)," that compassion warmed in his heart, and like a "heap (kumer) of olives," where olives are placed in a vessel and heat up until they soften and yield their oil. Here too, "kimrirei yom" is an expression of heat: let the day burn like an oven, a scorching heat like the heat of midday, and the clouds will not avail to dispel the heat.
הַלַּיְלָה הַהוּא יִקָּחֵהוּ אֹפֶל אַל־יִחַדְּ בִּימֵי שָׁנָה בְּמִסְפַּר יְרָחִים אַל־יָבֹא׃ - "As for that night, let thick darkness seize it; let it not be joined to the days of the year, let it not come into the count of the months."
Having finished addressing the day, he now turns to the night - that night of conception. "Let thick darkness seize it": ofel is harsher than ordinary darkness, for darkness exists on all nights, whereas ofel is a tangible and far more severe gloom. "Let it not be joined to the days of the year" - let it not unite with the days of the year; out of the 365 days, let them not count it, but skip over it on the calendar. And not only this, but "let it not come into the count of the months": nights are also counted toward the months, thirty nights in a month or twenty-nine, and he asks that this night not be counted in the number of nights in the lunar cycle. A night that has such a negative impact - would that it never appear on the calendar at all.
הִנֵּה הַלַּיְלָה הַהוּא יְהִי גַלְמוּד אַל־תָּבוֹא רְנָנָה בוֹ׃ - Behold, let that night be desolate; let no joyful song enter it.
Since, according to the celestial alignment, any conception taking place on this night was bound to produce a man who would endure afflictions and suffering like mine - and those born from it would ultimately curse the day of their birth - I therefore ask that that night be galmud, solitary and desolate. Let there be no union between husband and wife upon it, for whatever is born of such a union will turn out so terribly. Nor should there be any wedding on it, "let no joyful song enter it" - for this night's influence is so malign that no human being should ever be born through it.
יִקְּבֻהוּ אֹרְרֵי־יוֹם הָעֲתִידִים עֹרֵר לִוְיָתָן׃ - Let those who curse the day damn it, those destined to arouse Leviathan.
And why do I make this request regarding that night? Because ultimately "those who curse the day" will denounce and curse it - the children born from this night are destined to curse their day. "Those destined to rouse Leviathan" - livyatan stems from levayah, companionship and union, as in "This time my husband will be joined (yilaveh) to me." Parenthetically, this is also the true meaning of the banquet of the Leviathan: people imagine there will be Leviathan steak served there, but that is not the intention; rather, it refers to a feast where Hashem joins with us, and likewise the "sukkah made from the skin of Leviathan." According to this, Iyov is saying: those who unite on this night, their companionship and union are destined to end in childlessness and ruin (orer related to ariri). Therefore, I ask, Master of the Universe, that this night remain desolate, with no union and no joining taking place upon it, for those born of it will ultimately curse that very night.
יֶחְשְׁכוּ כּוֹכְבֵי נִשְׁפּוֹ יְקַו־לְאוֹר וָאַיִן וְאַל־יִרְאֶה בְּעַפְעַפֵּי־שָׁחַר׃ - Let the stars of its twilight grow dark; let it hope for light and find none, nor look upon the eyelids of dawn.
Having cursed the day on its own and the night on its own, he now comes to curse the transition between day and night and night and day. He proceeds systematically, leaving no corner untouched: he cursed the day, he cursed the night, and now he curses twilight and dawn - so that no one might say, "This is not entirely day nor entirely night"; all of them are included. Twilight (neshef) and dawn (shachar) are the times of transition and connection. "Let the stars of its twilight grow dark" - the stars that appear at nightfall, at dusk, should be darkened. "Let it hope for light and find none" - as though the night waits and longs for the dawn at its end, yet there is none; dawn must not break. "Nor look upon the eyelids of dawn" - as if the dawn provides the night with eyelids with which to see, and I ask that even dawn, which is merely the onset of day, should not exist.
כִּי לֹא סָגַר דַּלְתֵי בִטְנִי וַיַּסְתֵּר עָמָל מֵעֵינָי׃ - Because it did not shut the doors of my womb, nor hide misery from my eyes.
What is my entire grievance about? Why do I curse the night of conception? I have a complaint against that night: why did it not shut the doors of my mother's womb so that she would not conceive? Once it was clear that whoever would emerge from this pregnancy was destined to suffer so intensely, why was the womb not closed? Through that, "nor hide misery from my eyes" - it would have concealed misery and agony from my sight, and I would not have had to endure such torment in my lifetime. And he calls it "the doors of my womb" rather than "my mother's womb" because he himself was inside that womb.
לָמָּה לֹּא מֵרֶחֶם אָמוּת מִבֶּטֶן יָצָאתִי וְאֶגְוָע׃ - Why did I not die from the womb, perish as I came forth from the belly?
Until now, he cursed the night of conception; now he turns to the day of birth. If it was decreed that my mother should conceive - so be it; but could I not have been taken while still in the womb, dying there so that birth would never take place? And if you should say that according to the astrological order it was decreed that I must also be born - at the very least, "perish as I came forth from the belly," why was I not taken immediately upon emerging? Why bring me into the world merely to suffer? And as mentioned, he levels this complaint not directly at Hashem, but at the celestial system, as if it had wronged him.
מַדּוּעַ קִדְּמוּנִי בִרְכָּיִם וּמַה־שָּׁדַיִם כִּי אִינָק׃ - Why did the knees receive me, and why breasts that I should nurse?
And if you argue that according to the celestial alignment it was not inevitable for me to perish upon emerging from the womb, since I was healthy and everything about me was intact, so that life was decreed upon me - I still have a question: Why did my father's knees receive me, taking me and placing me upon them? And why were breasts prepared for my mother to nurse me? Master of the Universe, why did You grant my mother the strength to nurse? For even if it was decreed that I be born, had You withheld milk from my mother, or had my father's knees not received me as I emerged into the world, the same outcome would have been reached - I would not have lived, and that would have been far better for me than my present state.
כִּי־עַתָּה שָׁכַבְתִּי וְאֶשְׁקוֹט יָשַׁנְתִּי אָז יָנוּחַ לִי׃ - For now I would have lain down and been quiet; I would have slept, then I would be at rest.
For had that been so, had I been born stillborn, I would ultimately be lying quiet and tranquil, and I would not be enduring what I suffer today. All my present suffering is solely because I did not enter the world as a stillborn child; had that been the case - "I would have lain down and been quiet; I would have slept, then I would be at rest," and I would have found repose.
It is related that the Vilna Gaon used to sleep only four hours in a twenty-four-hour period, and even that was not consecutive, but rather half an hour at a time, rising and sleeping in half-hour intervals, totaling four hours. Once, people asked the Dubno Maggid, who visited the Gaon frequently, to persuade him to sleep more, fearing that this regimen was harming his health. The Maggid came and began to persuade him: It is written, "I would have slept, then (*az*) I would be at rest" - the numerical value of *az* (aleph, zayin) is eight. From this we learn that a person needs eight hours of sleep, and only then will he have rest; if he sleeps less than that, he harms his body.
The Vilna Gaon answered him: On the contrary, I prove from this very verse that I am correct. For over two days, in forty-eight hours, I accumulate eight hours of sleep and forty hours awake. This is how I read the verse: "I slept *az*" - once I have slept eight hours, then afterwards "I will be at rest," meaning I have forty hours to sit and occupy myself with Torah study. Go argue with the Gaon, or try to cite a verse to him!
It is further related that the Dubno Maggid remarked to him on that same occasion: Listen, if you learn twenty hours a day, it is no great feat (*kuntz*) that you are a genius (*gaon*). The Vilna Gaon replied: The Holy One, blessed be He, is not looking for clever feats. I did not come into this world to perform feats; I did not come to demonstrate that I can sleep sixteen hours and still be a genius. I came to learn Torah and fulfill the will of Hashem, and one of the ways through which Torah is acquired is minimizing sleep - and that is why I sleep so little.
Chapter 3 opens Iyov's first response, and all his words follow a single thread: Iyov adopts the view of the astrologers, that everything is predetermined by the celestial configurations at the moments of conception and birth. Therefore, he systematically curses the night of conception, the day of birth, and even the transitions between day and night - twilight and dawn. His contention is that it would have been better had he never entered the world at all, like the claim of that philosopher who maintained that most of human life is evil, as demonstrated by the vicissitudes of time. From this he arrives at the denial of free will, and at an ostensible exoneration of the Creator of the world by consigning providence to the "system" - an exoneration that does not truly exonerate, since ultimately its appointment originates from Him, blessed be He. From these verses we also learned fine linguistic nuances: *neharah* as light piercing through an aperture, *yig'aluhu* as an expression of defilement, *kimrirei* denoting heat, *galmud* meaning solitary, and *livyatan* as an expression of accompaniment and connection.