Ketura zichronah livrachah

Shalom l'kulam,

It is with deep sadness that I must stop with the updates and wedding memories to tell you that Keturah, a friend of ours and fellow student at the yeshivah, whom many will have met at the wedding, and will remember because that was the kind of person she was, died on Monday morning. She had been struggling with illness all year, although that would not show to anyone who spoke with her, but it seemed as if she was over the worst. Then last week, she went in for what was supposed to be a technicality, but became complicated - she had surgery, developed an infection which turned out to be meningitis and she passed away on Monday. For those who knew her this was such a shock - we saw her energy, her positiveness, her smile, her taking on any and every task with vigour, and we never thought that she could possibly be in anything like life danger.

Our community, those who studied at the yeshivah over the year, have been, since our term ended in June, scattered all over the world, but everyday someone sends in another e-mail letter, filled with tributes, memories, grief…she connected with so many people in her modest, unassuming way. Andi and I want to pass on our love and memory of Keturah in this e-mail and to share some of what people have written in the hope that we can all learn something from her memory. Keturah was a light for so many people and we are only finding out how much now that the stories are coming. And she was for us too, not only at our wedding, but that is what is closest to us now - we have photo's of this smiling Keturah in so many dances and group shots, a video of her dancing and celebrating, and most pertinently, our memories of her helping prepare, of her enthusiasm and anticipation for the day, and of her energy at the simchah. What energy! All the more amazing considering that she was still struggling with her illness - that, we didn't know.

I (Greg) met Keturah the first week of yeshivah when we davenned (prayed) together in Rabbi Lebeau's learner's minyan (service). We swapped the usual "why are you here" stories and Keturah wanted to know how to lay t'fillin. We shared mine, but I told her that I had my grandfather's set at home and would bring them in for her to use, which I did and she did and then the next day she came to me with a sympathetic face and said that she wanted to thank me for lending her the t'fillin, and hoped that I wouldn't be offended as she had found out that they probably weren't kosher anymore and she would prefer to wait for a set of her own. She said it with such concern for my feelings, I was so moved - how could I have been offended in front of such caring and dignity?

I want to include some of what people have written, though there is so much more and I presume more coming, but this is just some idea of how special she was. Here is what Josh Fine, another student, wrote:
"I first got to know Ketura at the Shabbaton on Har Gilo (back in the very recent past when Har Gilo was a peaceful retreat). We chatted for a while and I peppered her with questions about her unusual background -- her homeschooling, life in the Arab village, her journey towards Conservative Judaism, her roots in Indiana. It didn't take long for me to realize I was talking to an extraordinary person. Every story she told she related with a bright, wide smile. She told me that after the first Intifada started, when her family was still living in the arab village, her family brought arba minim into the house on sukkot and the neighbors began questioning the family about it. "We soon had to leave," she laughed. "You know with everything going on, it was time to leave the village." Then another chuckle. Here Ketura was telling me how she and her family were being forced out of their home because of religious hatred and with no place to go -- and somehow Ketura managed the story without the slightest tinge of resentment or judgment. There was no anger against her former village. There was no taking sides, there was not even controversy in her story; just a laugh, a big smile and zehu.
Later that week, Rabbi Goldfarb delivered the devastating news of Ketura's illness. He said she had felt the headaches even as she was chanting the haftara that shabbat (which means she must not have felt 100% at lunch during our long chat). This was Ketura: whether suffering from sleepless nights of shooting by her house or what must have been an intensely terrifying illness, to everyone around her she was boundless warmth.
One mitzva we can all learn from Ketura is guarding our tongues from lashon hara. (Although I will not even pretend that I can ever fulfill that mitzva as amazingly as did Ketura.) In the year that I was blessed to know her I do not remember Ketura ever saying anything even slightly uncomplimentary about anyone. This was the amazing thing -- she talked to me about the village she had to leave, the rabbanut that rejected her family's desire to convert, the difficulty in obtaining medical care before Haddassah took her on. It wasn't as though she didn't talk about these things. For it is one thing simply not to talk about these things. It is another thing completely to talk about these things without saying anything judgmental or unkind. To simply not talk about one's oppressors in order to avoid slandering them is a praiseworthy thing. But Keturah's example is even greater. For in Ketura's stories there was a level of forgivemess and understanding of people's shortcomings that was truly inspirational."

This is what Marc, my chavrutah, and one of the few people who was still in Israel when she died, wrote:
"Ketura's parents are such good, loving people and hearing them talk about their daughter was so moving. They described, in detail, the development of her condition leading right up to Monday morning when her short, precious life was snatched away from her. Netanya, Ketura's mother, told us how, from age 4 or 5 upwards, Ketura was always helping out with her younger brothers and sisters and running of the home, never complaining, never resenting it for a moment, simply doing what was needed with that big, infectious smile of hers that we all remember and miss. Her mother also told us that every time there was a chag, Ketura would tell her parents that it had to be that extra bit special, and she would take money from her savings to give to her parents so that they could buy nuts, or extra fruit in honour of yomtov. Half of Ketura's earnings went to the family and the household as a matter of course and her parents told her she had to save the rest - "one day you'll go to America!". Yet she was always, without any grudging, taking money out of this other half to buy extra treats or clothes for her siblings. Always giving, never complaining. There is so much we can continue to learn from Ketura, whose life was so hard in so many ways, yet she saw beauty and love everywhere and never showed any of her suffering to the world."

And finally, this is what Sam Andorsky, another student wrote:

"Ketura and I were often chevruta for Menachem's halacha class, and while I was always peripherally aware of it, I now realize how truly amazing it was that she was never in a bad mood! Now and then I would come to chevruta
tired or cranky for some trivial reason that I have long forgotten, and there she was--with all the difficulties she had to face in life-- with that beaming, contagious smile of hers. How did she do it? Occasionally I would try to ask her how things were, or say something like "I heard the fighting in Gilo last night, how is everyone doing?" and she would sigh and say "It's rough, but Mah La'asot?" and then we'd go on learning."

Keturah touched many people and I know that her memory will go on to inspire others to pursue their dreams with the same energy that she pursued hers.

Zichronah livrachah
May her memory be a blessing
Greg