Long, long ago, in a universe far far away, I was an Orthodox pop star, traveling all over the USA, lecturing, running seminars on things like “The Spiritual Warfare of the Church,” etc. One time, I was invited to do a week-long series in Cleveland. Arriving in the airport in Cleveland (can’t remember which airport that might be), debarking from the plane, in a waiting area or something, a middle-aged man collapsed right in front of me. He dropped on the floor at my feet. He looked dead.

From somewhere, two uniformed men (cops? security officers? EMT? what?) appeared. They began, in tandem, working on the man. One would press on his chest, the other would blow into his mouth. No response. They kept it up. On it went, push-blow, push-blow, push-blow. No response.
Then, after at least 15 or 20 minutes, maybe longer, the man jumped and became alive again! I was standing right there, sort of frozen, watching what was going on. The man’s family members were standing there, trembling, full of anxiety and then relief. The man was taken away, probably to an ambulance. I hope he survived.

I was totally taken with the efforts of those two officers. They did a good work, a mitzvah.
Later, after Father Alexander had picked me up and we went for dinner, where he very demonstrably figured a huge cross over the table, and we began to eat, I told him my airport story. We both praised God (and the two officers).

(I’ve been told that, in situations like that, it is no longer necessary to do the blowing bit.)