“The ploughers ploughed on my back, They made their furrows long.”
If you bind the wild ox in the furrow with ropes, would he plough the valleys behind you?
Our bones are scattered at the mouth of the grave, As when one ploughs and breaks up the earth.
I gave My back to those who struck Me, and My cheeks to those who plucked out the beard, I did not hide My face from humiliation and spitting.
“And I shall put it into the hand of those who afflict you, who have said to your being, ‘Bow down, and we pass over you.’ And you made your back like the ground, and as the street, to walk over.”