In contrast to Job’s previous state at the top of society, he is now below the bottom. The first few verses artistically blend the image of social outcasts with jackals. He starts by suggesting the best of such folks are not qualified to serve as sheepdogs. The phrases are euphemisms for both jackals and lowlife scum. However, it is not simply that these people consider him a joke, and his name a byword for “has-been,” but even the kids from this bunch are rude to him. We have a very difficult time imagining how radical this statement is, since our modern entertainment actively encourages youthful sauciness. In Job’s world, high birth did not excuse youth from the social duty of respect for any adult male. Job suffers the taunts of those he could have legally killed without anyone so much as raising an eyebrow.
Their treatment of him is a proxy for God’s apparent regard. Again, this is parabolic speech, by no means literal. God has removed from Job every last vestige of protection. It’s open season and Job finds himself in the free fire zone. It’s not just a loss of social standing but diseases and poverty have taken from him everything that any man would value. How could anyone argue that he’s not suffering? He describes what it’s like in terms of being tied over the saddle to ride the most violent storms. God ignores his cries for mercy.
Yet Job himself never treated anyone that way. He insists he was always full of compassion for others. When people suffered it so disturbed Job that it felt he suffered with them. We should imagine he contrasts that with how the trio has been with him in his sorrows. He stood ready to claim as his brothers those very jackals that he described at the beginning of the chapter. He ends by remarking he was more familiar with dirges than dance music because he could not bear to watch others suffer alone.
