How questions about the birth of a child open a doorway to understanding the power of prayer – from Chana’s prayer in the Bible to modern scientific research.
Can you choose your child’s gender?
Some couples secretly hope for a boy, others for a girl. Some prefer not to know until the moment of birth. For generations, it was clear to everyone that this was completely beyond human control. But a study conducted at Sheba Medical Center revealed that in the world of in-vitro fertilization (IVF), certain methods may influence the odds.
The research found that with standard IVF, there is a higher tendency for male embryos to develop. By contrast, with ICSI, there is a greater tendency toward female embryos.
The striking detail from the study was this: couples hoping for a boy had 2.5 times better odds with IVF, while those hoping for a girl fared better with ICSI. Even so, success rates were only around 35%.
Under Israeli law, couples are allowed to choose the gender of their child only in very specific situations—for example, if they already have four children of the same gender and wish for one of the opposite. In such cases, doctors remove several eggs, fertilize them, and then take one cell from each embryo to determine its sex. Only an embryo of the desired gender is then transferred to the uterus.
This fact raises a profound moral question: is a child a gift to be received as it comes—or a kind of product that can be “ordered to specification”? At this point, the discussion moves away from medicine and the lab, and into the realms of belief, values, and the enduring human search for meaning.
The Power of Chana’s Prayer
The Talmud (Rosh Hashanah 11a) teaches: “On Rosh Hashanah, Sarah, Rachel, and Chana were remembered.”
All three of these remarkable women prayed for the same thing: a child. Sarah’s prayer was answered with the birth of Isaac, Rachel’s with the birth of Joseph, and Chana’s with the birth of the prophet Samuel.
When we look closely at the High Holiday prayer book and the Torah and Haftorah readings chosen for these days, something striking emerges. On the first day of Rosh Hashanah, we read about Sarah. Yet the reading does not describe the long years of waiting, the struggles, or the heartbreak that came before. Instead, it opens directly with the words: “And the Lord remembered Sarah as He had said”—and immediately moves into the story of Isaac’s birth.
As for Rachel, we do not read on Rosh Hashanah about Joseph’s birth. What we do read, in the Haftorah portion for the second day, is the haunting verse: “A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping; Rachel weeping for her children.” But again, it is not the story of her child’s birth that is highlighted.
The one great story of birth that we do dwell on during Rosh Hashanah is Chana’s. The Haftorah reading for the first day is devoted entirely to her: her anguish over being childless, her tears and desperate prayers at the sanctuary, and the moment when Eli the priest mistook her silent prayer for drunkenness. When he realized she was a woman in deep pain, he blessed her that her prayer be fulfilled. Indeed, she returned home, conceived, and gave birth to a son—Samuel the prophet.
This leads to an important question: why do we focus so strongly on Chana’s story, and not on Sarah’s or Rachel’s? What makes Chana’s prayer the central one?
Usually, when someone without children prays for a child, the request is simple: Please give me a child. They don’t set conditions: not “I want a boy specifically,” nor “I want this color of eyes, or that personality.” It is simply a plea: Any child, however they come, just let me have one.
A Jew once came to the Rebbe. He brought the Rebbe a Torah book that he had edited, and then he turned to the Rebbe, pointed to his friend, and said: “He has not yet merited to have children. I ask that the Rebbe bless him to be granted children.”
The Rebbe blessed him that he should soon have good news. This individual then added, asking that the Rebbe bless him specifically with a son. The Rebbe paused for a moment, looked at him, and said: “Sometimes it is said that ‘a daughter first is a good sign for sons’—meaning, there is no need to insist.” And indeed, that man was blessed first with a daughter, and afterwards also with sons.
That’s what we see with the founders of our people. Abraham said, “You have given me no children, so a servant in my household will be my heir.” He asked simply for an heir. Isaac and Rebecca prayed for children. Rachel cried out to G-d for sons. Each of them prayed from a place of deep longing, but without stipulations.
The Rebbe explains that Chana, however, asked for something entirely unique—something we do not find anywhere else in the Bible. She prayed: “Grant your servant a child of men.” The sages explain this to mean: “A child equal to two men—Moses and Aaron.”
Chana did not simply ask for a child; she asked for a child of greatness. She prayed for a son who would be righteous, a spiritual leader, someone who would combine the qualities of both Moses and Aaron. Moses was the lawgiver, the one who brought Torah and commandments, establishing rules and boundaries. Aaron, by contrast, was the high priest, known for his kindness and love, always drawing people closer. These roles often pull in opposite directions—law and love, boundaries and embrace. Chana prayed for a son who would embody both.
This was an unprecedented request. It was not just for life—it was for a life of greatness, for a child who could hold together two opposite but essential forces. And that, perhaps, is why her prayer became the one we return to every Rosh Hashanah.
Wise or Foolish
The Talmud describes a striking scene: before a child is born, an angel in charge of pregnancy asks G-d, “What will become of this drop of life? Will this one be strong or weak? Wise or foolish? Wealthy or poor?” In other words, some qualities are set before birth. Some people are naturally strong, others weaker. Some are especially intelligent, others less so. Some seem to have a natural talent for business and wealth, while others struggle. These traits, the tradition teaches, are largely determined ahead of time.
But there is one thing not decided in advance: whether a person will be righteous or wicked. That choice is left to the individual. Every person is born with both positive and negative impulses, and each must decide which path to follow.
This is where Chana’s prayer stands out. She did not simply ask for a child; she prayed for something extraordinary: a son who would live a righteous life. She dedicated him in advance to a holy path, one who would live with discipline and spiritual devotion.
Samuel, the son born from her prayer, lived up to that vision. He became both a teacher of Torah and a spiritual leader who brought people closer to faith and morality. In her request, Chana asked for something unprecedented—and she received it.
In fact, the sages derived several fundamental principles of Jewish prayer from Chana’s example. For instance, the tradition of reciting the central prayer, the Amidah, quietly and with focus comes directly from her story.
Why, then, do we read this particular account on Rosh Hashanah? Because it teaches that when a person prays on these days, if they pray with the depth and sincerity of Chana, their prayer can accomplish much more.
Abraham prayed for children, but his first son, Ishmael, did not grow up to be righteous. Isaac and Rebecca prayed, and their twin sons included both Jacob and Esau, one righteous and one not. The Bible offers several examples where prayer brought a child, but not necessarily a righteous one.
Chana’s story is unique. She asked for a righteous son—and Samuel became exactly that. Although he, like everyone, had free will, he chose a life of holiness, serving in the sanctuary from a young age and remaining a faithful prophet his entire life, just as his mother had hoped and promised.
The power of Chana’s prayer was so profound that it not only brought her a child but influenced the very path he chose. That is why her story is read on Rosh Hashanah: to remind us that if we pray with the same selflessness and intensity—pouring out our soul as she did—our prayers too can bring about remarkable outcomes.
(Based on the talk of the Rebbe, 6 Tishrei 5730 (1970), second talk, Sichot Kodesh 5730, vol. 1, p. 25 and onward; see also Likkutei Sichot, vol. 29, p. 182.)
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