Proverbs 4:23 says, "Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it"—words etched deep into Jewish memory, radiating wisdom across centuries and continents. For English-speaking (olim chadashim) to Israel, the experience of this lesson might echo differently than it did in Melbourne, New York, London, or Johannesburg. Here, amid the turbulence and promise of the Jewish homeland, the heart remains the centre of what it means to live courageously and meaningfully as a Jew.
It's easy to forget, amid daily struggles—Hebrew classes, bureaucracy, trying to understand the news, forging new friendships, rebuilding routines—that we carry an imperative: to guard our hearts. For some, it's the inheritance of family Shabbat tables; for others, the solace of ancient texts studied in quiet Diaspora homes. Now Israel is home, but the call to preserve our resilience, hope, and Jewish identity is as urgent as ever.
This wisdom isn't exclusive; it binds Jews, Christians, and others who look to scripture's old stories for guidance. The Hebrew Bible's words became the bedrock for Christian teachings as well, and for many, the concept of the heart is a source of spiritual significance.
For olim beginning anew in Israel, the proverb gains even more meaning. Our actions here reverberate in a country shaped by constant renewal and challenge. In Australia or other Diaspora communities, Proverbs 4:23 offered a shield against rising tides of antisemitism—a reminder that, even as threats came close to home, hope and dignity could be guarded fiercely from within. Many new immigrants arrive with fresh memories of those worries: synagogues under threat, families hiding mezuzahs, men wondering if it's safe to wear a kippah in public, children concealing their school emblems.
The headlines are urgent, but the real work happens in the intimate space of the heart: returning to tradition, showing up bravely for one another. Immigrating to Israel is a leap toward promise and a test of spirit. There's bureaucracy, uncertainty, language gaps, and sometimes conflicting emotions—joy and loss in equal measure. To "guard your heart" here means staying open, vulnerable to beauty, and refusing to be hardened by the world's challenges. It means recommitting to values that transcend borders: compassion, dignity, and the restless pursuit of justice.
The Bible's call is not passive comfort. It demands action, proactivity, and a vibrant reckoning with our own moral fibre. Judaism teaches [tikkun olam]—the repair of the world—not just as a concept, but as a commitment. We are asked not only to survive but to build, to educate, to stand up for someone who's frightened or marginalised. In every minyan, WhatsApp group, or volunteer initiative, we tend to the heart—building courage and refusing to let bitterness take root.
This vision is woven throughout the Israeli experience. Life here can be raw and loud; headlines rage with politics, security, and ongoing conflict. Over and over, Jewish tradition reminds us to make our lives a conversation with hope. The stories of Joseph, Moses, Esther, the prophets—teach us how adversity can kindle not only grit, but generosity, creativity, and transformative love. We see this daily in Israel itself—in strangers offering help, grassroots activism, and the collective effort to create a society where every heart is guarded, valued, and allowed to flourish.
To make this ancient proverb breathe—to share it in ESRA's community magazine, in conversations, at Shabbat tables or memorials—is not only an act of personal resilience. It's a statement about the country we want to create. It says: we have not come to Israel simply to survive or seek refuge, but to contribute and fill our new home with possibility and compassion.
The responsibility is real. Every act of kindness, community event, or moment supporting another [oleh/olah] is an act of guarding your own heart, and strengthening the beating heart of Israel itself. Let the world rage; let headlines scream; let changes and new beginnings come. Our worth remains untouched.
To guard our hearts here is more than protection; it is staking our claim on hope.