A humorous reflection on early parenthood, hospital nights, and the unexpected moments that come with caring for a newborn—
I know in advance that this post will probably drive away a fair number of readers. Some might even stop reading as soon as they see the title.
Unfortunately, we live in a time when silencing people over political or social disagreement has become almost routine. It’s an ugly norm that has taken root in everyday life, pushing many people to express their opinions quietly—if at all—for fear of consequences.
But I promised myself, and my loyal readers, that this blog would have no filters and no brakes. I trust the judgment of the more level-headed among you, and I believe that even if something you read here doesn’t automatically align with your worldview, you’ll know how to let it slide and move on. And if not—feel free to skip to the next post. All good.
The First Night
I believe it all started on Sara’s very first day on earth—
her first night in the free world, and my first night as a father.
It happened in the maternity ward at Rambam Hospital in Haifa. It was Sara’s first night outside the womb and my first real hours as a dad. To this day, I’m not sure how I found the courage to take my own flesh and blood out of the nursery—where she was under the watchful eyes of a skilled medical staff—and assume responsibility for her myself, even within the controlled environment of the ward.
After feeding her a tiny portion of formula, Sara wasted no time and fell asleep in her bassinet. I stared at this miniature miracle for quite a while, until I began to suspect I’d crossed the line from love into something bordering on creepiness.
A TV in a Maternity Room
As I wondered how a brand-new father is supposed to pass the time alone in a private maternity room, my eyes landed on the television mounted on the wall—surprisingly large for a room like that.
I flopped onto the bed and started channel-surfing, until I landed on a late-night political panel show called The Patriots, a highly opinionated program on Israeli television, just in time to hear its outspoken host deliver his trademark, exaggerated “oy, oy, oy.”
I don’t usually watch this show. I’m not much of a news or current-affairs guy. Most of the time I’d much rather watch a good episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm, Seinfeld, or Married with Children.
But that night, I couldn’t find any of the comedies I like on TV, so I stayed on this show—and was reminded that I actually enjoy it.
I can’t say for sure, but one reason I enjoyed it so much may have been the fact that Rambam Hospital had officially announced a ban on watching this particular channel within its walls.
Apparently, someone there is worried that the political views of one-day-old babies might be shaped forever,
and that this could eventually cut him off from the way of life he’s grown accustomed to.
He’s entitled to think that.
The Youngest Viewer in TV History
As I watched the screen, half-expecting the night nurse to burst in and demand I turn off the TV—or at least change the channel—and rehearsing my defensive response about my right to watch whatever I please, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Sara’s eyes, lying in the bassinet beside me, were wide open and aimed straight at the television on the opposite wall.
Without any expert needing to tell me otherwise, I knew there was no chance Sara was actually watching the show. One-day-old babies don’t really see anything of substance. And yet—perhaps due to thirty hours of exhaustion in the delivery room (yes, Sara refused to come out without a serious fight that exhausted everyone, especially her surrogate)—it seemed to me that my daughter’s ears were tuned in to the familiar segment that closes the show.
I could have sworn I even saw the hint of a smile forming on her tiny, not-yet-defined face, right as the host twisted his expression into a final punchline, as if words were no longer necessary.
Could it be that Sara laughed along with the studio audience?
Before I had time to fully process the absurdity of the moment, my phone alarm went off, announcing that it was time to feed the youngest viewer in the history of television.
Babies, Screens, and Expert Advice
In her first days of life, Sara was cared for by many professionals: doctors, nurses, midwives, and others who showed genuine concern for her well-being. Their shared advice was unequivocal:
Babies should not be exposed to screens at least until the age of two.
Yeah. Right.
Without conducting a comprehensive survey of new parents, I’d wager that most don’t actually follow this recommendation. I do my best to keep Sara from falling under the spell of screens, in accordance with expert advice. But it’s not easy. In every situation, she tries to sneak a glance at the screen, hoping to catch even a single second of forbidden screen time.
The Daily Dance
When it’s time for our daily dance—usually in the late afternoon, after Sara wakes up refreshed from a satisfying nap—I turn on YouTube. Within seconds, the hits of beloved children’s entertainers start playing, and I dance around the living room with Sara in my arms.
She’s cradled against me, facing away, in what could best be described as a human rocking-chair position. Despite all my efforts to block her line of sight to the screen, Sara refuses to give up and searches for an opening, curious to locate the source of the sounds she knows so well.
And so the dance turns into a quiet war of attrition. For now, at least, I have the upper hand.
A True Patriot
As the days go by, I begin to notice that Sara shows a particular fondness for current-affairs programs—especially one specific show, airing on one very specific channel.
Even when the TV volume is turned way down, barely audible to the human ear, it seems to me (and it’s entirely possible this is a hallucination brought on by an aging single father who hasn’t enjoyed proper sleep in three months) that Sara can pick up on it again—the same familiar segment that closes the show—even from her bassinet on the other side of the living room, without any direct or indirect line of sight to the screen.
When I feed Sara on the couch, I have no choice but to turn off the television across from us. Experience has taught me that no matter how hungry she is, Sara will always prefer sneaking glances at the forbidden, hypnotic device over taking another sip from the warm, inviting bottle of formula calling out to her.
Like most members of the human race, her ideal scenario is, of course, eating while watching TV. Not on my watch.
I try to explain to her the dangers of screen exposure at her age, as if she understands a word I’m saying. But Sara, a true “Patriot,” is not intimidated by the warnings of well-educated experts and doomsayers. On the contrary—like a sharp panelist on a TV show, she challenges them, argues back, and takes them on head-to-head, to the roaring applause of the studio audience.
A Warning to Parents
And then it hits me.
Maybe those people who warn against early screen exposure are right after all. Like them, I too begin to experience the dangers of watching such a “dangerous” channel.
Especially for three-month-old babies.
Parents—consider yourselves warned.
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Read Next
If you’d like to read more about Sara and our life together, here are two more posts you might enjoy:
Beyond the Blog
Alongside this blog, I also give talks about late fatherhood, surrogacy, and the emotional journey of becoming a parent later in life.
Sara and Me 