The girls suffered, but men suffer more': Shira Albag speaks about Liri's time in captivity & Hitler’s Photographer And The Strange Case Of His ‘Jewish Daughter’ By Saul Jay Singer & A New But Familiar Column By Irwin Cohen & Rabbi Schwartz jokes & Jack Benny & with those we have lost
Yehuda Lave is an author, journalist, psychologist, rabbi, spiritual teacher, and coach, with degrees in business, psychology and Jewish Law. He works with people from all walks of life and helps them in their search for greater happiness, meaning, business advice on saving money, and spiritual engagement.
The Three are Rabbi Yehuda Glick, famous temple mount activist, and former Israel Mk, and then Robert Weinger, the world's greatest shofar blower and seller of Shofars, and myself after we had gone to the 12 gates of the Temple Mount in 2020 to blow the shofar to ask G-d to heal the world from the Pandemic. It was a highlight to my experience in living in Israel and I put it on my blog each day to remember.
The articles that I include each day are those that I find interesting, so I feel you will find them interesting as well. I don't always agree with all the points of each article but found them interesting or important to share with you, my readers, and friends. It is cathartic for me to share my thoughts and frustrations with you about life in general and in Israel. As a Rabbi, I try to teach and share the Torah of the G-d of Israel as a modern Orthodox Rabbi. I never intend to offend anyone but sometimes people are offended and I apologize in advance for any mistakes. The most important psychological principle I have learned is that once someone's mind is made up, they don't want to be bothered with the facts, so, like Rabbi Akiva, I drip water (Torah is compared to water) on their made-up minds and hope that some of what I have share sinks in. Love Rabbi Yehuda Lave.
The girls suffered, but men suffer more': Shira Albag speaks about Liri's time in captivity
Shira Albag, mother to hostage Liri, speaks at a demonstration demanding a hostage release deal, one week after her daughter appeared in a Hamas propaganda video, January 11, 2025. (photo credit: Paulina Patimer)
After 477 days of uncertainty, endless prayers, and relentless struggle, Shira Albag wakes up from a dream—only this time, it is not a nightmare. She is finally waking up next to her daughter, Liri.
"You know, waking up with your daughter after so long, feeling her presence—it's overwhelming," she says. "I keep telling myself, I'm in a dream."
Liri Albag, the IDF lookout soldier kidnapped from the Nahal Oz outpost on October 7, has not returned to the life she once knew. She is no longer the same girl who enlisted a year and a half ago. Despite the smiles and reunions with friends, something in her has changed.
"Yes and no," Shira says when asked if her daughter is starting to return to herself. "The moment I saw Liri and she shouted at us, 'Liri Number 1'—our private joke at home—I thought, that's my daughter. I was afraid of what I would get back, but it's her. It's my Liri."
Yet for every joyful moment, there are silent ones—the realization that the road ahead is long.
RELEASED HOSTAGE Liri Albag is reunited with loved ones at Bellinson Hospital in Petah Tikva on Saturday. (credit: HAIM ZACH/GPO)
"She's grown up a lot," Shira says, her voice heavy. "She understands so much, but she's also very quiet at times. On one hand, she talks a lot, but on the other, it's like everything is mixed together."
It turns out Liri did not just survive—she found a way to navigate through hell.
"The moment she was taken, she realized her reality. She was now a hostage in Gaza, and she would learn to survive."
Survival was not a choice; it was instinct.
"'I'll play their game, but I'll outsmart them,' she told me," Shira recalls.
Liri learned Arabic, studied her captors' psychology, and knew when to speak and when to stay silent. She did not resist, did not rebel—she survived.
"They used psychological terror, making them believe they would never leave, that they would be forced to convert to Islam, that they would be there forever."
Despite her resilience, Liri was not immune to the horrors.
"She told us, 'Mom, we were in hell, and we have to get everyone out. We must, we must get everyone out.'"
But what shook her the most was an undeniable truth.
"We, the girls, suffered. But the boys and men suffered even more."
October 7: A trauma yet to be processed
When Shira remembers the day her daughter was taken, anger fills her voice.
"There's so much anger about October 7," she admits. "Not toward the soldiers who fought bravely, but toward the fact that no one was there who knew what to do. They sat there for hours—nearly four hours—watching their friends… some were still alive. If someone had come, they could have been saved."
Liri, new to the base, did not know the procedures. But even the experienced soldiers were left unprepared. And so, they sat and waited.
"October 7 was a break, a trauma she has not even begun to process," Shira says. Then she adds a sentence that underscores the depth of that day's impact: "She told me it was just as hard as captivity—if not worse."
Liri has not returned to the life she had before October 7, but to something entirely different. Now, the entire country knows her name. Everyone follows her story.
"She can't walk down the street without being recognized," Shira says. "And she still doesn't fully grasp that."
Meetups with friends happen mostly at home. Solo outings are not even a consideration yet. The family surrounds her, giving her space to process—one step at a time.
Returning to reality is not just about hugs and relief—it is also about facing the pain of those still in captivity.
"Liri saw the footage of Ohad, Eli being released from captivity," Shira recounts. "And she froze. It was like her brain just shut down, like she wasn't with us anymore. We had to turn off the TV and bring her back to reality."
Every conversation with Shira weaves personal grief with national pain.
"We have to get everyone out now," she says firmly. "There's no time."
She looks at the numbers, at the situation on the ground, and she knows:
"Unfortunately, there are two million terrorists in Gaza. Two million terrorists. Liri was kept in civilian homes, and even the little children—they're part of it. It's not just the ones in uniforms with green headbands. The so-called uninvolved civilians are deeply involved."
Then she delivers a statement that seems to define the entire conversation:
"When we talk about dismantling Hamas, we're talking about dismantling two million civilians right now. We can't do that—not yet. First, we must bring all the hostages home," Shira says, before repeating with conviction:
"Unfortunately, there are two million terrorists in Gaza. Two million. Liri was in their homes, and the children—yes, even the children—are part of this. It's not just those carrying rifles and wearing green headbands. The so-called uninvolved civilians are not uninvolved at all. And, unfortunately, we're going to have to fight them all."
In the end, everything Shira says boils down to one key message: the people of Israel must not stop fighting.
"What kept Liri going was knowing we weren't giving up on her," she says. "But she never imagined that the entire public wouldn't give up either. That's what kept her alive. We can't stop now."
When asked about the country's leadership, she refuses to name names, but her message is clear:
"Liri won't truly heal, we won't heal as a family, and Israel won't heal—until they're all back."
In her darkest moments, deep in the tunnels of Gaza, Liri believed her people would not abandon her. Now, as she stands back in Israel, she faces a new battle—the fight for those still waiting, for the moment when they too will wake up from the nightmare and realize they are home.
