Extra Credit
Three years ago, my neighbor, Allie, died. She was six years old and killed in a horrible accident on a family farm. Rolled over by a truck, she was airlifted to Jackson where she lost her fight. Allie was a delightful little girl with blue eyes, brown ringlets, and a zest for life. I was hit hard by this tragic loss, and my whole community mourned. At the funeral, the family announced the decision to have sweet Allie’s organs donated to help others.
As I grieved, I became curious and inspired by organ donation. I stayed up late researching statistics, comparing organ recovery statistics against my hometown’s metrics. Meridian has a population of 35,000. The January 2019 stats showed 113,000 men, women, and children on the national transplant waiting list. That exceeds 3 times Meridian’s population. I knew I wanted to be an organ donor, but being Jewish made this decision not easy.
Judaism teaches that life is sacred, and the ancient laws prevent any procedures to take place on a Jewish body after death. Prohibited are: autopsies, cremation, and organ recovery. My sudden interest in organ donation moved me to question these religious laws. I believe that donating an organ to save a life is one of the most selfless acts a person can do. If life is sacred, why would Jewish law view posthumous organ donation as problematic? Jewish law makes a distinction between donating organs during your lifetime and organ donation after death. To donate an organ from one living person to another is accepted for parts that will replenish themselves, for example a kidney transplant or bone marrow or blood transplants. Judaism recognizes these examples as saving or improving another person’s life.
As selflessness goes, donating organs after death does not feel sinful to me. In fact, I see only positives. I debated with my rabbi that since saving lives overrides almost any other religious righteous concern, the opportunity to be an organ donor after death should be favorable and even obligatory. He identified the contrast: The Torah commands Jews to be buried whole; therefore, donating organs after death leaves a Jewish body incomplete. After the tragic loss of Allie, I wanted to advocate for organ recovery, a selfless act which can save another life, but my faith teaches against it. I wanted to resolve this conflict for myself, but how?
Exploring religious texts, I learned that consenting to organ removal after death presents serious problems for a practicing Jewish People. For example, to be viable in a transplant, most organs have to be removed while the heart is still beating, but authorities of Jewish law maintain that if the heart is still beating, the person is still alive. That said, Torah states that the moment of death is defined by when the heartbeat stops; therefore, removing organs from a patient whose brain is dead, but whose heart is still beating is murder.
It would be my choice to identify as an organ donor, and give my healthy organs to another person or possibly several people and save lives. I hope that donating my body to science could help cure cancer so others can live longer. In my opinion, because this good deed could never be reciprocated, it should be eligible for spiritual “extra credit.” I have found no validation within ancient Jewish law that suits my ideals, so I was torn between becoming an organ donor or staying within the bounds of my religion.
My wise grandmother has repeatedly told me that an advantage to being Jewish is that we can pick and choose which mitzvot, or good deed, to uphold. Some Jews fast on Yom Kippur, but allow themselves water. Some Jews celebrate Passover seven days while some celebrate for eight.
In my heart, I know my choice is right: Some Jews, like me, are future organ donors.