Quality Control
Ten children dead to settle a wager
The sons of God presented themselves before the throne, and the Adversary came among them. God asked where he had been. He said the earth, walking it, watching. God smiled. The court waited. Light filled the hall, white as bone.
He was ha-satan. The Adversary. Not a name, a job. The definite article marked his function like a title on a door. He roamed the earth, observed, reported back. When the bene elohim gathered in the throne room, he took his place among them.
Divine bureaucrat. Quality control.
He tested the faithful, separated genuine worship from transaction. No rebellion in him. No pride. Just the work.
God said, "Have you considered my servant Job? Blameless, upright, fears God, shuns evil." The words hung in the bright air. The Adversary knew what came next. This was the pattern. God presented the righteous. He questioned their motives. The court watched.
"Does Job fear God for nothing? You hedge him with blessings. Flocks, children, wealth. Touch what he has. He will curse you to your face."
The wager formed in the space between them. God's eyes held no anger. "Very well. Everything he has is in your hands. Only spare the man himself."
The Adversary bowed. Permission granted. He left the throne room.
He went to the land of Uz. Job's estate spread across the desert fringe, seven thousand sheep grazing, three thousand camels in their pens, five hundred yoke of oxen plowing. The man's seven sons and three daughters moved between their houses, feasting in rotation. Job rose at dawn to offer burnt offerings for each child. Just in case they had sinned in their hearts. The smell of burning fat rose with the sun.
The Adversary watched from the edge of the property.
He began with the livestock. Chaldean raiders swept down on the camels, stolen, servants cut down with bronze blades. Fire fell on the sheep, wool and flesh smoking, shepherds dead in the char. Sabeans took the oxen and donkeys, killed the workers in the fields. Three separate catastrophes. Three messengers running to Job's house.
The old man stood in his doorway, listening. He tore his robe. He did not curse.
The Adversary saved the children for last.
Job's oldest son was hosting the feast. All ten children in one house, eating, drinking, laughing. The wind came from the desert, sudden and massive. It hit the four corners of the house at once. Cedar beams cracked. Stone walls buckled inward. The roof collapsed. Screaming cut short. Dust rose in a cloud.
The servants dug through the rubble. Ten bodies. Job's three daughters had no names. His seven sons were listed once, then gone.
The fourth messenger reached Job. "Your children are dead. All of them. The house fell."
Job shaved his head. He fell to the ground.
"Naked I came from my mother's womb, naked I will depart. The LORD gave, the LORD has taken away. Blessed be the name of the LORD."
The Adversary returned to the throne room.
He reported. Job had not cursed. The test had failed. God said, "He still maintains his integrity."
The Adversary stood in the bright hall. The other divine beings watched. He said, "Skin for skin. A man will give all he has for his life. Touch his bone and flesh. He will curse you."
God said, "Very well. He is in your hands. Only spare his life."
The boundary set. The permission given. The Adversary went back.
He afflicted Job with sores from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head. Painful boils, suppurating, crusted with pus. Job sat in the ash heap outside the city. Garbage rotting around him. Flies thick in the heat. He scraped his skin with a broken piece of pottery, rough ceramic edge against open wounds.
His wife stood over him. She had buried ten children in one day. Her voice cracked. "Curse God and die."
Job said, "Shall we accept good from God and not trouble?"
He did not curse.
The Adversary returned to the throne room. Job had passed. The wager was settled. God had been right. The man's worship was genuine, not transactional. The court saw it. The Adversary took his place among the bene elohim.
No punishment came. No casting out. He had done his job.
God later gave Job new children. Seven sons, three daughters. Their names were listed this time, the daughters beautiful. The dead ten were never mourned individually. Interchangeable. The new set replaced the old like restocking sheep.
Job lived one hundred and forty more years. Died old and full of days.
The Adversary continued his work. Roaming the earth. Watching. Testing. Reporting back.
Ten children crushed to settle a wager. Job's wife buried them all. The Adversary required permission for everything.
His job. That was all.
Job 1:6-12, 2:1-7