Al Qadar is a dramatic fiction series that aired on Shahid in 2024. Filmed between Lebanon and Syria, it weaves a powerful emotional story through the lives of three main characters – Tala (Dima Kandalaft), Zayd (Kosai Khauli), and Nour (Razane Jammal) – within the context of assisted reproductive technologies. While the plot is clearly heightened for dramatic effect and not intended to be an accurate or factual portrayal of surrogacy, it still manages to raise important questions about ethical boundaries, bodily autonomy, and the pressures placed on women in Middle Eastern society.
I was drawn to the show expecting family drama, but what I found was something far more meaningful. As someone who works in the fertility sector, I was especially struck by how the series reflected – albeit through a fictional lens – many of the ethical and legal gaps surrounding surrogacy and egg donation. The storyline centres on Nour, a young woman in financial difficulty, who agrees to be a surrogate for Tala and Zayd. But without her knowledge, her own eggs are used, making her the child's biological mother. This decision, orchestrated by Zayd's mother to secure a grandchild after discovering Tala had no follicles remaining, was hidden from everyone involved, including Zayd himself.
Zayd's situation is particularly tragic – he becomes the biological father of a child without ever giving his consent, and the emotional weight of that discovery breaks his marriage and leaves him torn between love, loyalty, and betrayal. It's a powerful reminder that in the absence of clear legal and ethical frameworks, such deeply personal decisions can have unintended consequences for everyone involved.
Egg donation and surrogacy remain complex and sensitive topics in many parts of the world, not just in the Middle East. Across different regions, cultural, religious, and societal beliefs shape how these practices are perceived and regulated – or sometimes, left unregulated. In Al Qadar, these arrangements unfold in the absence of clear legal frameworks, creating space – within the show's fictional narrative – for ethical grey zones, misunderstandings, and potential exploitation. While the story is dramatised and may not reflect real-life situations, it underscores the importance of having thoughtful regulations that can safeguard everyone involved. The series does not seek to educate on these technical aspects but succeeds in opening an important conversation about the need for supportive, well-defined systems that protect individuals from harm, wherever they may be.
What I found most compelling was how the show presented Nour's emotional journey. Her vulnerability was exploited, and yet she showed immense courage. Her decision to help her family by becoming a surrogate was rooted in love and self-sacrifice, yet she was afraid to tell her own family – highlighting the judgment women often face when making decisions about their bodies. The silence she maintained was not just personal – it reflected a broader societal reality where women are often denied the freedom to make choices without fear of shame.
Tala's character, too, undergoes a significant evolution. After the breakdown of her marriage, she rebuilds her life. What I appreciated was the message this conveyed: that divorce is not 'the end of a woman's life'. The series normalised the idea that women can start over and find happiness, even after personal and societal loss. It's a quietly progressive stance, especially within a region where divorced women often face harsh judgment and 'diminished status'.
What surprised me most was how subtly the series approached these themes. I didn't expect to see such a nuanced take on women's rights, societal expectations, and the emotional burden of fertility decisions in a mainstream drama. While the plot is, of course, sensationalised for dramatic effect, it prompted genuine reflection. As someone deeply involved in the fertility field, I couldn't help but think about the real-world implications – how similar stories could unfold in silence due to the absence of awareness, regulation, support, or open discussion.
The reactions of the characters also felt authentic. Nour's pain and confusion after discovering she is the child's biological mother were portrayed with restraint but depth. Her struggle wasn't just with the situation itself, but with how it redefined her relationship with Tala and Zayd, and ultimately with herself. Tala, too, was faced with the impossible – processing betrayal while also confronting the reality of motherhood not unfolding the way she expected.
This show doesn't try to resolve all these tensions. Instead, it leaves you with questions – about power, about consent, and about the ways women's bodies could be treated as negotiation points between family, tradition, and modern medicine.
In short, Al Qadar offers more than a dramatic escape. It's a fictional story rooted in real societal pressures and ethical dilemmas. I loved it not only for the performances or the storytelling, but because it dared to bring forward topics that are often whispered or avoided. It's not perfect and some issues could have been explored more deeply such as the need for supportive regulations that empower women to make informed reproductive choices. The show could also have taken the opportunity to explore the potential benefits of egg freezing for younger women, in light of Tala's struggle with diminished ovarian reserve (due to ageing), and highlighted the importance of sensitivity in the ways society talks about women who are unable to have children.
However, overall the series is a meaningful step in normalising conversations around women's rights, bodily autonomy, and the complexity of fertility decisions, particularly in regions where these topics are still considered sensitive or taboo.
The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Merck KGaA, Darmstadt, Germany. The author is employed by Merck Serono in the UK. The information provided is intended for educational purposes and should not be considered as medical advice.