view from central park: tehilla goldberg

Donating blood — it’s something personal

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When you think of blood, you think of the most visceral thing. For example, the adage, “blood is thicker than water,” implying that family ties rise above all else; or the phrase “shedding blood,” meaning a life taken violently. But more than anything, when you think of blood, you think of life.

Last Sunday, Congregation Ohab Zedek on the Upper West Side hosted its annual blood drive. It was dedicated in memory of a dear friend’s mother who only recently died, so I felt connected and it was important to me to participate and donate blood.

It had been a while.

Over 20 years ago I came upon a scrapbook-like booklet of inspiration comprised of writings of a young Lone Soldier, Alex from Ohio, who tragically fell in battle. One of the topics he wrote about was donating blood. The way he expressed it, a contrast between donating blood as an Israeli versus an American, was poignant. 

It went something like this: In America you feel like a hero for donating blood, you are plied with an “I gave blood today” sticker, your presence communicating the good deed you did that day. In Israel there’s no sticker, there are no special snacks afterward, it’s just what you do, and then the next in line steps forward.

When I moved to Israel and one day was walking home from downtown Jerusalem, I encountered an ambulance parked in front of the Mashbir department store. It was there for a blood drive. I immediately thought of Alex, and donated. I wanted to be the kind of person who was a blood donor, the kind of person he had written about.

As I said, this past Sunday had been quite a while since I had donated blood. So I was actually looking forward to it. It’s such a beautiful way, such an easy way, to make a difference in someone’s life.

I used to think about it too much. I would ask myself, what if my blood goes to help a bad person live longer? What if the person lives to commit evil, if it’s done with my blood, then I have a part in that. Then one day, I just let go, mentally embracing the opportunity to use my body, my gift of health, in helping a perfect stranger, and leaving the rest to G-d.

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