In Dəvarim 20:8, we read: וְיָסְפ֣וּ הַשֹּׁטְרִים֮ לְדַבֵּ֣ר אֶל־הָעָם֒ וְאָמְר֗וּ מִי־הָאִ֤ישׁ הַיָּרֵא֙ וְרַ֣ךְ הַלֵּבָ֔ב יֵלֵ֖ךְ וְיָשֹׁ֣ב לְבֵית֑וֹ וְלֹ֥א יִמַּ֛ס אֶת־לְבַ֥ב אֶחָ֖יו כִּלְבָבֽוֹ׃ | Vəyasəfu hashotərim lədabeir el ha’am və’aməru mi ha’ish hayarei vərakh haleivav yeileikh vəyashov ləveito vəlo yimas et ləvav eḥav kilvavo. | “And [before battle] the officers will again talk to the people [gathered as an army] and say: ‘Whichever man is afraid and tender of heart, let him go and return to his home, and his brothers’ heart won’t melt like his heart.’”

Vərakh haleivav is often translated something like “fainthearted” or “cowardly”, but as an adjective, rakh primarily denotes softness, tenderness, delicacy. A child’s skin is said to be rakh, as are the words that Proverbs 15:1 says can defuse wrath. A soft heart is a vulnerable heart, a heart not walled off from the sorrows of the world, a heart that is marked by the humanity of those our governments tell us to hate, to disregard, to kill. A soft heart refuses to let “enemy” become a shorthand for “undeserving of moral reckoning”.

It is agonizing to live this way. There is so much anguish in the world, and to remain open to the indescribable mass of it invites an overwhelming tide of paralyzing despair. It is much easier to draw lines between groups — to share the sorrows of the people over here on the side of us while cutting off the sorrows of the people over there on the side of them. It is much easier to insist that only one grief matters, that only one grief can be real. Those other people, are they even really people, I mean, when you get right down to it?

This is not the first time in Torah we have placed hearts on a sliding scale of hardness. Pharaoh famously has his heart hardened when dealing with the Israelites of the Exodus generation. The Prince of Egypt isn’t exactly the literal text of Torah, but it captures the spirit of a hard heart when the older Pharaoh attempts to soothe Mosheh by reminding him that the babies he sees tossed to crocodiles “were only slaves”. Such a soldier would be well suited, apparently, to the army Deuteronomy wants to build.

A fourth consolation: Softness of heart is contagious. A hard heart is a brittle heart, a cold heart is susceptible to warmth. If you want a hard-hearted army, you have to banish the tenderhearted from your force, otherwise the illusion of the Other’s inhumanity will be shattered. If you are soft, stay soft, and lead others to share in softness. Let the whole fighting force melt away into air, let the circle of concern widen until it encompasses the entire world. Don’t mistake tenderness for weakness — as Proverbs 25:15 reminds us, וְלָשׁ֥וֹן רַ֝כָּ֗ה תִּשְׁבׇּר־גָּֽרֶם | vəlashon rakah tishbor gárem | “a tender tongue can shatter bones”.

When you draw near to war, keep your heart soft. Soften others, remember the humanity of those your government despises, and leave the battlefield to weep. If I am home grieving and you are home grieving, who’s firing the gun? G-d willing may the answer swiftly come: No one! The bullets are all unshot, the bombs defused, the swords beaten into ploughshares at last.

[This has been an installment of one-word Torah. You can read the full series here.]