Satan.

This installment of Turning the Diamond turns the diamond on a familiar character in the text—Ha-Satan. Human evil is everywhere. You cannot live a day without feeling the pain of your own evil or your neighbor’s. But what if there is redemption and hope even there? Is there? Let us turn and see.

The simplicity of bloodshed,

the bottomless pit of betrayal,

the lust for war,

the swiftness of lust,

the emptiness of haughtiness,

the destruction caused by greed,

wrath that obliterates intimacy,

envy—longing for separation,

sloth’s absence of humanity,

and the insecurity of gluttony—

These I have brought to the front,

These I have tasted.

These I have danced in.

These I intimately know.

For I see that man is conceived in evil. From conception I am there. Man passes on to man all the memories, traumas, and anger of his father even before he is born. He is bound, tied up, muzzled—and he will choose this even as he grows. Sons repeat the evil of their fathers upon their sons and daughters, and then upon other sons and daughters, until everyone dwells together in this same womb of wickedness. Until the world is taken from what is beloved, beautiful, and good—until there is no animal and no plant- nothing left for humans to rule. Because they long only to rule over other humans.

But let me not forget the “good".

If a man repents, he does so only after many years. Can a baby repent? No. It is only in fear, and only after he has done all the evil his hands can do before him, that he turns—after the damage and destruction are complete. If he returns to his vomit, I am proven right. Yet if he continues in his “righteousness,” how can he make white what has been stained black? If he covers it over, is it not still there? Any evil he has done—the blood has already been spilled. G-d may forget and forgive, but what of the blood of the one spilled? No.

G-d has made it so that on the day a man is married, his iniquities are forgiven. Yet even at a marriage, if given the opportunity, will he not choose the first evil? Even on the day of their wedding, if you show a man a golden calf, will his heart not falter? When they see G-d intimately, will they not turn at any second? Is it not true they accepted Him only under fear, beneath the mountain? As I said—would anyone turn to G-d without fear?

No one else understands what I understand. A heavenly cloud of witnesses watches and sees and tells a different story. If only I could see what they see. If only I could see what He sees.

Are they worth it?

I ask Him, “What is man that You are mindful of him, the son of man that You care for him?” He placed them below me, yet in all their iniquity He clothed them with glory and honor. My heart is heavy with the burden of how they always turn—always returning to their vomit like dogs.

I have never made anyone do what was not already within them. I bring it to the forefront. I descend and entice; I ascend and accuse.

This I do all my days. I must please Him, yet I reveal to Him at all times what displeases Him. I may never rebel against Hashem. When I was created, G-d made me to oppose—not Him, but His immediate will: to oppose humanity. And yet this, too, is His will. So I look—for every fault I may find. I need not look hard. What a curse G-d has placed upon me. Everywhere, even where “good” may be found, I am there—ready to accuse. Some need to be accused. Their sins lie bare before G-d. Justice I understand. But intimacy with His creation? This He has made a foreign language to me.

He grants me rest once a year—on Yom Kippur. He has told me that without me, that day would not be possible. Every ounce of goodness on that day is because of my work. This confounds me. He sees goodness everywhere, yet not once has He allowed my eyes to see it. By His choice I may stop—but even when I do not speak, He may still ask me, “Have you seen My servant Job?”

Though I long to do His will, and though I—unlike any human—may not and would not turn from it, He has cursed me with this burden. For if one man saw for a single second what I see every second of every day, he would be unable to see any goodness for the rest of his life.

Yet He has ordained a day. I do not know the day. No one knows the day. A day when I may rest. When He silences me. When I may lift up my voice—not in accusation, but to sing: Holy, holy, holy is the LORD God Almighty. A day when heaven and earth come together. When there is no accusation. When He opens my eyes to see as He sees, as all others see. When I am no longer alone.

For I long for His righteousness. Everything the LORD does is good. The LORD made me. So I stand and accuse. The LORD hears my voice.

And when He frees me from these shackles and says that I may enter Your Sabbath rest, LORD, there will be no need to accuse or question the human heart.

Maybe
He will allow me
to see the goodness.