What happens when a man who spent most of his life believing God had turned His back on him discovers, through his daughter, that his most important prayer may have been answered after all?
There was a time when I hated God.
For most of my life, I lived in darkness and blamed Him for everything that was wrong with my life: for wasting my years, for decades of pathetic loneliness, for hating myself, for never managing to earn more than my salary as an employee, for failing to get the jobs I wanted, for being a loser, and for not even being able to win at PlayStation.
It was convenient. It allowed me to avoid taking responsibility for the emptiness and futility that defined my life and place the blame on the easiest target imaginable—the One who was supposedly meant to protect me, handle life’s challenges for me, and provide everything I wanted.
It isn’t easy to live when you hate yourself, and when you resent the very Being you were taught to love because He created you and the rest of the universe. That kind of bitterness drains every ounce of positive energy from your life.
I suppose that’s why, whenever a new opportunity appeared or a spark of hope flickered somewhere in the distance, I rushed to reconnect with God. Maybe this time, if I prayed hard enough, if I found exactly the right words, things would finally change.
I tried. I begged. And once again, I was left empty-handed. That was the pattern of my life for many years: special prayers followed by bitter disappointments.
Conversations with God
Religion once played a different role in my life.
I put on tefillin every morning and attended synagogue on Saturdays. That was how I had been raised, and for many years it felt completely natural.
By the beginning of my forties, it felt like an empty ritual rather than an act of faith. I saw no reason to continue reciting prayers that never seemed to be answered. I abandoned traditional prayer and replaced it with personal conversations with God.
Every day, I held the same one-sided conversation. I laid out my problems, my dreams, and my frustrations, hoping for guidance or relief that never arrived. My despair grew steadily. I thought that if I couldn’t find comfort in other people, perhaps I could find it with God. Instead, He always seemed too busy for me, and I never received an answer.
A Father Before the Birth
Everything changed when I began the surrogacy process.
For the first time, my responsibility was no longer only toward myself. It was toward a small, innocent, helpless child who would one day depend on me completely.
Long before Sara was born, I already felt like a father. My priorities changed, and so did my prayers.
During the four years I waited for the most important moment of my life, I prayed that the pregnancy and delivery would go smoothly, that my child would be healthy, that I would be a good father, that I would be able to provide for her, and that we would become a happy family together.
Because of several highly publicized cases in Israel involving babies being given to the wrong parents, I added one more prayer: that my child would truly be mine biologically.
That mattered to me enormously. I cannot honestly say how I would have reacted if Sara had not been my biological daughter, and thankfully I never had to find out.
When Sara was finally born, God answered my prayer. For the first time since childhood, it felt as if He had actually listened.
She arrived healthy, beautiful, and so unmistakably my daughter that no one could possibly miss the resemblance between us.
The Prayer That Was Answered
At the most important moment of my life, when I needed Him more than ever, God listened. After a lifetime of silence and disappointment, He listened. The experience was both powerful and healing.
For the first time, I no longer felt like a lesser child of God.
More importantly, it was the first time in my life that I wasn’t asking for something for myself. Every part of me was focused on what I already knew would become the most meaningful thing that had ever happened—or ever would happen—to me: Sara, my daughter, and my lifelong commitment.
That realization filled my sails with fresh wind. It made me feel connected—to other people, to the world around me, and, strangely enough, to God Himself.
The prayer I repeated every day throughout the surrogacy journey opened something inside me. Since then, prayer has become a central part of my life and an inseparable part of my daily routine.
My Evening Prayer
Every evening, as Sara lies in my arms drinking her final bottle before bed, I look at this tiny miracle and recite the same prayer:
“Thank You, Almighty God, for my wonderful daughter, whom I love with all my heart. Please grant that my daughter, Sara Shoshana Ovadia, will always be healthy, beautiful, intelligent, talented, kind, fortunate, and happy. Let her grow strong and confident. Let her always be loved, respected, and successful in everything she chooses to do. May her dreams come true.
Help me be the father she deserves. Help me raise her with wisdom, love, and integrity. Help her achieve greatness and fulfillment in life.
Help me provide for her abundantly and secure her future.
And please keep me healthy, strong, and clear-minded so that I can raise my daughter properly.”
I also pray for the health and well-being of the family members, who help me raise Sara.
No Longer Alone
I say these words out loud.
Sara, now seven months old, is usually far more interested in her bottle than in my prayer. Still, she watches me, trying to make sense of the sounds coming from her father’s mouth.
She already knows how much I love her, and she trusts me completely. As I look into those small eyes, filled with limitless affection, I realize something I never thought possible: for the first time in my life, I am whole. For the first time in my life, I am capable of loving and being loved.
I am no longer a lesser child of god.
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