When I think of the gift of life, I often return to the core principle of Judaism: pikuach nefesh — the preservation of life above any other rule or necessity.
It is a beautiful idea: that nothing is more sacred than protecting a human being. And it reminds me that life is not just about survival, but about responsibility. Responsibility to those we love, to our children and grandchildren, to our community, to the generations yet to come.
By preserving life — our own and that of those we love — we do more than protect the present; we safeguard the future. We ensure that our traditions, our stories, our very heritage have a chance to live on through others.
But today, we live in times when that responsibility feels heavier than ever. When difficult events break into our lives, they scatter countless changes, big and small, like beads slipping across the floor. Soon they are everywhere — in the corners of our thoughts, in the silence of our nights, in the very fabric of our bodies. The mind may say, “I am moving on,” but the body whispers — or sometimes screams — “I am not okay.”
I have seen this up close. My best friend’s mother suffered from acute intestinal pain for years. She went through surgeries, lost weight, endured endless tests. Yet the root of her illness was not in her gut, but in unresolved trauma — the loss of her father, the one she loved most, after her parents’ divorce. Her mind tried to forget but her body did not. It carried the wound until, at last, she met a doctor who was able to read the signals her body had been sending. Only then did healing begin.
And I ask myself — how many of us are doing the same today? How many of us feel exhausted, in pain, unwell — with no solution in sight?
This is why I believe that healthcare cannot mean only medical tests, check-ups, or screenings. It must also mean awareness: learning to hear the signals of our body, to notice when it is calling for help.
In my work, I have become convinced that cutting-edge technology and medical science are powerful allies — but they are tools, not solutions in themselves. What truly protects life is a holistic approach: learning to listen, to reflect, to honor the dialogue between body and soul.
Modern science now gives us ways to deepen that dialogue. Genetics, for example, can reveal hidden predispositions — risks of certain illnesses, or even clues about how we handle stress and mental health. Advanced systems, like the digital avatar developed at the startup I lead, go further: they bring together DNA, bloodwork, lifestyle, environment, and stress levels into a single dynamic model.
This model doesn’t just describe your current state — it evolves with you. It can simulate how your choices today might affect your health tomorrow. Imagine being able to see how your metabolism, mood, or resilience could shift if you changed your diet, adjusted your sleep, or reduced your stress. It is like a mirror that not only reflects but also anticipates.
Yet even the most advanced tools are only part of the picture. What we truly need is the courage to listen to ourselves — to stop following every trendy diet, every productivity hack, every promise that waking up at 5 a.m. will make us happier and more successful. Real health begins not with imitation, but with attention: noticing what our body and soul are quietly asking of us.
Science will keep giving us better tools, but the true revolution begins when we reclaim the ancient skill we were all born with: to hear ourselves. Perhaps hope lives there — in the quiet space where technology meets awareness, and where every choice to listen becomes an act of life preserved.
This article was written in cooperation with LADO OKHOTNIKOV