What will you do with my son’s heart? The story of Yedidya Bloch z”l

Yedidya Bloch was not my closest friend. In fact, I had never even said a word to him until after the war broke out, when we were all kind of forced to spend time together. How could you not exchange a quick handshake and a hug with someone who was always walking around with a smile on his face? It was almost as if I didn’t have a choice but to be befriended by him.

At the beginning of the war we had barely known each other, yet he always took the time to ask me how I was—to throw me his patented smile and crack a joke. So we became friends. That was Yedidya. Always happy to be there, always happy to help and to do more, and always happy to see you. A truly beautiful soul.

He was shot in Lebanon in October 2024 while fending off a uniquely aggressive Hezbollah ambush, laying down cover fire so his injured friends could be extracted and treated. He held onto life for five more days, giving his wife and family the opportunity to see him and say their goodbyes. That was Yedidya. He passed away on October 29th, leaving behind an unborn son—his wife being nine months pregnant at the time. Afterward, his organs were donated and used to save the lives of at least six people, including a little boy with liver cancer named Eitan.

Yom HaZikaron has never been easy. We mourn as a country, as a nation, for those heroes who gave everything for us. Since October 7th, unfortunately, we have had many more reasons to grieve—too many. But we don’t just mourn; we celebrate the life that we have been given.

This year, I went to the cemetery right outside of Mevo Horon, where Yedidya was from. There we stood—most of the battalion—listening to the story of Yedidya’s sacrifice and honoring his memory. Soldiers stood tall, officers saluted, and friends wept as we sang Hatikva as one, the meaning of the moment being lost on no one.

The wail of the siren ceased, and we followed the Bloch family to their home for a less formal sit-down. The empty living room filled instantly, the door propped open by friends who came pouring in to listen. One by one, people spoke—sharing stories, memories, and thoughts. Yedidya’s father, his mother, his best friend, his commanding officer—even his eight-year-old niece.

Toward the end, a man appearing to be in his fifties that most of us did not recognize got up to speak.

“My name is Amos,” he said. “You don’t know who I am, but I, too, carry Yedidya with me.”

He continued, “You see, I’ve suffered from a terrible heart condition for years. But when your Yedidya passed, I was the one who received his heart.”

Our jaws hit the floor. Tears filled our eyes. Amos continued to speak.

“I feel like I have been born again,” he said. “Your Yedidya gave me a second chance at life.”

He explained how there were many hospitals in the country who were begging to receive Yedidya’s heart for specific patients they had, and it got to the point where Yedidya’s family had to choose who would get it.

One day, he got a call from Yedidya’s father, who told him the following:

“My son Yedidya has a big heart. He used it to spread joy to everyone around him. What are you going to do with my son’s heart?”

Amos didn’t tell us what his answer was, but what he said must have been profound to Yedidya’s family, who decided that he would be the lucky recipient of their hero son’s most sought-after organ.

“I am standing here today because of Yedidya,” he stated emotionally. “His heart beats inside of me, and I wake up every day with the goal of deserving it.”

In that crowded living room, listening to Amos, we realized that Yedidya’s sacrifice wasn’t only about defending the country or saving his fellow soldiers’ lives on the battlefield. It was also about giving something extremely special to the nation he loved so dearly. To Amos. To Eitan. To all of us who still have the chance to wake up each morning and choose what kind of people we want to be.

Yes, we mourn on Yom HaZikaron. There is loss. There is pain.
But this day is not only about what was taken—it’s about what was given. From our heroes, like Yedidya, we received the most sacred gift of all: life, and the opportunity to live it.
To love more deeply. To walk with meaning. To build with purpose.

Each of us chooses what to do with the life that has been handed to us through their sacrifice.
Who we become. What we stand for. How we carry their legacy forward.

May we emerge from this Yom HaZikaron—and this war—like Amos: transformed.
Transformed with new energy, with fire in our beating hearts, and with the strength to build something worthy of the sacrifice they made.

What will we do with the life we have been given?

Written and shared in memory of Yedidya Bloch z”l

Disclaimer: The final decision of which of Yedidya’s organs went to which patient was technically the decision of a specialized panel in the Ministry of Health, however the Bloch family was intent on hearing the individual stories of each candidate.