A personal reflection from a man who spent most of his life disconnected from love—until fatherhood forced him to confront what it truly means—
One of the most universal and absolute truths about human life is that everyone needs love. It is a basic, primal human need. Even if you try—like I did—to deny it for fifty-two years, at some point along the road that remains ahead of you, you will eventually realize that you were never truly whole without it.
We all want to give love, and we all want to receive it in return. But if you ask ten different people to define love, you will probably receive ten completely different answers. Each of us carries our own idea of what love should look like—and with it, our own expectations.
A Man With No Experience of Love
When I began the surrogacy process, I was forty-eight years old with absolutely no experience of love of any kind. Decades of near-complete withdrawal from the world—living mostly within the four walls of my small apartment—had gradually disconnected me from almost my entire emotional spectrum.
Almost.
One emotion remained very much alive: an intense and persistent sense of self-loathing that occupied every corner of my subconscious.
I had many reasons not to like myself. Most of them had to do with what I saw as a criminal waste of life and a cycle of loneliness that I could never break. Social anxiety and deep feelings of inferiority kept me isolated for years. Eventually I even learned to appreciate the solitude—to the point where I felt comfortable only when I was completely alone.
Yet when I reached a moment in my life where something felt painfully incomplete, I found myself willing to sacrifice four difficult years—filled with crises, uncertainty, and nearly all of my savings—to pursue something new. At that crossroads I was forced to confront a terrifying question: Am I even capable of love?
The Responsibility of a Helpless Child
Babies need love more than almost any other creature on Earth. And here I was, daring to take responsibility for the life of another human being—a tiny, helpless one who, from the moment she entered the world, would depend on me entirely. Not just on me, but on my love.
Especially because I would be the only parent she would ever have.
I am far too complicated—perhaps the more accurate word is troubled—to explain how such a dramatic shift suddenly occurred inside me so late in life. But for the first time, I found myself thinking not about how this decision would affect my own life, but about the life of the person who would become my daughter: Sara.
The Great Doubt
I still don’t fully understand how I reached the conclusion that even someone like me might be capable—notice I did not say worthy, because that is entirely subjective—of flooding a baby with the endless love she deserves.
During the four exhausting years of the surrogacy process, doubt followed me constantly and robbed me of sleep. Until the moment my surrogate became pregnant, I could have canceled everything and returned to the familiar fortress of solitude—my small apartment in Holon—at any time.
The question that haunted me most was simple: could someone who had spent his entire life emotionally detached truly provide a child with the love she needed?
The logical answer seemed obvious—walk away. I had already ruined my own life; why risk ruining the life of an innocent child as well?
The Voice I Had Ignored for Years
But during that time, I discovered something new inside myself—something that had apparently been hiding there for decades. A quiet inner voice.
At first it barely whispered, but slowly, as I allowed it to speak, it grew stronger. That voice contradicted every rational argument telling me to stop the surrogacy process and return to the safe familiarity of my lonely life.
Eventually I realized that what I was hearing was a genuine human need buried deep inside me—so deep that perhaps only archaeologists like Indiana Jones or Lara Croft could have unearthed it.
When I finally acknowledged that voice, I shared it with the person closest to me: my mother. Her joyful reaction left no doubt. The excitement of the woman who had been the most important person in my life until that moment convinced me that I had chosen the right path—and that when difficulties came, I would somehow find a way to face them.
The Moment I Became a Father
I will not lie—the fear was just as real as the anticipation of the birth itself. But as I gradually shared the news with family, friends, and colleagues, my confidence slowly grew thanks to their encouragement.
When the moment finally arrived and I became Sara’s father, I accepted the greatest responsibility of my life instantly and willingly. It was not easy, but surprisingly it felt like the most natural thing that had ever happened to me.
Alongside the responsibility, the constant care, and the endless devotion, something unfamiliar began to grow inside me. A new emotion—one that intensified with every passing day as my bond with Sara deepened.
Without therapy, without careful preparation, and without years of inner work, I suddenly felt something I had never felt before: whole. Like a human being among other human beings.
What My Mother Taught Me About Love
Naturally, my model for parenthood came from the person I admired most as a parent: my mother. To me she has always been the undisputed master of self-sacrifice for her children. Throughout her life she denied herself many things—some of them essential—so that her children could have more.
Ironically, I spent much of my life urging her to think more about herself. And now I find myself behaving in exactly the same way toward my daughter.
One of the most powerful cinematic examples of this kind of parental love appears in Roberto Benigni’s film Life Is Beautiful. In the film, a father repeatedly risks his life to protect his young son from the horrifying reality surrounding them. In the end he saves his child—but pays for it with his own life.
Complete self-sacrifice.
The Reality of Single Fatherhood
Next week Sara will be six months old. If I had to summarize my experience of fatherhood so far, I would say that alongside the overwhelming joy, there are also many hardships—especially when you are raising a baby as a single parent.
You wake up in the middle of the night every time she drops her pacifier and silently expects you to put it back before she decides to cry. You rock her to sleep in your arms even when your body is aching and exhaustion has taken over. Your daily routine suddenly includes levels of cleaning and laundry that you previously assumed belonged only in a daycare center.
At the same time, you gradually leave behind many of the things that once filled your life as a solitary bachelor—music, movies, TV shows, PlayStation, and all the little comforts that used to define your evenings.
Eventually the exhaustion becomes so profound that your only remaining fantasy is sleep. Not luxurious sleep—just a few hours, enough to survive another day.
The Hardest Moment So Far
I am writing this post during the most difficult period I have experienced as a father. Shortly after returning to work, I got sick in a way that made everyday life extremely difficult—both at work and at home with Sara.
Then she caught the same illness.
Suddenly I was exhausted and running on empty while my sick daughter needed me more than ever.
In situations like that, you somehow draw strength from unknown reserves. Even in a state of exhaustion and illness, you find patience and endurance from places you did not know existed. This has been the greatest challenge I have faced since becoming a father—a high hurdle for a man who is no longer young.
But when there is no alternative, you do what seems impossible.
Fortunately—if such a word can be used—we moved temporarily to my parents’ home during the recent conflict with Iran because they have a safe room. My mother stepped in to help more than usual—until she too became sick.
Now the three of us are hoping for a quick recovery for one another.
So What Is Love?
Perhaps I allow myself too much freedom in saying this. But after everything I have experienced during these past months, I finally feel that I belong among those who can speak about love from personal experience.
And if you ask me today what love is, I will answer with a single word.
A simple one.
But a decisive one.
Sacrifice.
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