Tuesday, January 10, 2006


Tenth of Tevet, 5766
January 10, 2006

This was the last of Timora's poems, with which she ended "Principally Poems," the collection of her poetry that she edited and arranged during the last year of her life:

And why.
Why live.
Fight, struggle.
Why pull and pull like a wretched, miserable beast -
For what.
In loneliness, in darkness, in the cold.
How much have I asked, and how much will I ask
And I am not the only one
Not only when sorrow blinds the eyes like a veil of tears.
But within me I know
And sometimes, like a flame
The answer blazes before me -

Timora  (better)

Timora Avitzour
16 Tishrei 5742 - 10 Tevet 5761
October 3, 1982 - January 5, 2001

May Her Memory Be A Blessing.

Saturday, January 07, 2006


January 6, 2001
Timora passed away peacefully about an hour before candle-lighting on Friday.

The funeral will take place on Sunday, January 7, at 14:00 at the Beit Hesped* of the Giv'at Shaul cemetery. The shiv'a** will be at our apartment.

Thank you all for your kindness and love.

With love,

*Beit Hesped – funeral chapel.

**Shiv'a - the seven days of mourning prescribed by Jewish tradition.

January 7, 2006

Eulogy for Our Daughter Timora
Timora, many, many people had the privilege of loving you. We, your immediate family, your extended family, your friends, your teachers. You were a warm and loving daughter, sister, granddaughter, niece, cousin and friend to us. We have no words to describe our deep feelings, now that you have been taken from us and this world.

We have no words – and yet at the same time, we have only words, and we hope with all of our hearts that you hear us from your new world, which truly may not be described.

Timora, we not only loved you, we admired you.

We admired your independence – your independent and intelligent opinions, and your desire and success in being and remaining yourself and only yourself, at every age and in every period of your life.

We admired your principles, and especially your sense of justice, which guided your opinions and your deeds.

We admired your merciful nature, and the respect that you gave to every human being as a human being, and to all creatures; you were unable to kill even an insect, for you would say, “We can't know that it doesn't have feelings like ours.”

We admired your bravery, when you would stand up for justice, as you saw it, even when your stand went against the mainstream, and even against people who were in a position of authority and power over you.

And we admired your strong and deep intellect, your never-ending creativity, and the sense of humor that did not desert you up to the end.

Timora, you could have been almost anything.

You could have been a doctor,
You could have been a poet,
You could have been a singer or a pianist or a composer,
You could have been a psychologist,
You could have been an actress, playwright or director,
You could have been a spiritual healer –

The list is endless. Timora, it hurts us very, very much to know that these things will have to remain in the world of the “could have been.”

What will we do with this thing –
You, who were so independent, were in the end so helpless;
You, who so loved justice, received from life such an unjust portion;
You, who were unable to take the life of any living creature, had your life taken from you so cruelly.

Timora, we have no words for our sorrow.
We are sorrowful that you had to use all of your courage in order to live with your so very bitter fate;
We are sorrowful that you were not given the chance to express even a small part of your intellectual ability and your vast creativity;
And we are sorrowful that in the end, you had to serve as an inspiration to us through your struggle, instead of inspiring us through the endless areas that belong, for you, to the world of the “could have been.”

Timora, we were privileged to love you, and we will continue to love the Timora who was full of life, who has remained in the heart of each and every one of us, and may whose memory be blessed.

I will read to you, in conclusion, a poem that your youngest sister, Ayala, wrote about you and for you.

Everyone Loved Her
Everyone loved her, everyone cared about her,
Her family, the girls to whom she was a counselor, and her friends, who still admire her.
Yes, this is Timora, in whose company we always wanted to be,
A rose petal that flew away, a flower that was plucked.
Timora, I will say only six words: if only you would return tomorrow.
But the Blessed True Judge has placed you by his seat,
So that when you get to heaven,
It will be better for you than if you were here.

I will never forget you:
Your little sister, Ayala.

(Translated from the Hebrew)

Sara Avitzour

Written and delivered at Timora's funeral
January 7, 2001

Thursday, January 05, 2006


January 5, 2001
The contents of this message may be irrelevant by the time some of you get it; it is difficult to write an update under these circumstances, when things could change radically at any time.

Timora's blood pressure is extremely low, and her kidneys have failed. There is no longer any hope for her recovery, but we don't know how long she will go on living - it could end today, it could take a few more days. The state of being neither here nor there is very difficult for our family, but we are trying to go on with life as best we can. I still go once a day during the week to the hospital, and the other members of the family visit her when they can. She is now very heavily sedated - thank God, she is not suffering, and indeed suffering is over for her - and so chances are she doesn't know we're there, but still I believe that her soul can still feel a loving presence, and we want her to take that with her when she finally goes.

I feel now that death will be a release for Timora, and believe very strongly that when released, she will enter a mode of being that will be far happier for her than the life that she will have left behind.

Shabbat Shalom.


January 5, 2006

1. The Corridor

On one of Timora’s last days in this world, Edna, her Reiki teacher, came to the hospital to lay healing hands on her one more time. As Edna touched Timora and the energy flowed between them, Edna felt, through her fingertips and deep inside herself, that part of Timora’s soul was already on the way to the next world. But another part of Timora's spirit was lingering behind - hesitating to leave us because she was worried about us, did not want to cause us pain - but at the same time longing to be released.

As the energy between them intensified, Edna experienced herself as being together with Timora, in a corridor suffused with light unlike any she had ever seen or sensed. The corridor led toward an even stronger, more beautiful light, which could not then, and can not now, be depicted in words, but seemed to be the source, expression and richness of everything that is Good.

When Edna removed her hands and said her last farewell to Timora’s earthly form, she was left with a feeling that she can only describe as a kind of completeness, a fullness. This feeling, she says, has not entirely left her to this day, five years later. Timora gave her an incomparable gift: having experienced those few minutes of light together with Timora’s spirit, Edna now knows in the deepest sense possible that she has nothing to fear from the other side.

After her release (Edna tells me) Timora's spirit did not stay away for long, and soon returned to became a kind of spiritual guide and teacher for Edna. Every so often, she comes to Edna during Reiki sessions; Edna even sometimes asks her for help and guidance. When Timora comes to Edna, she adds her own spiritual energy to the currents of Reiki moving through Edna’s hands, making them that much more powerful agents of healing.

2. The Release

Six Wings*
With two you covered your face,
Which had bloated, then lost its flesh, then swelled again,
With a pencil you covered the eyebrows that had fallen with all your hair
Which grew back another color each time.
With a wig you covered the dent in your skull that was beautiful
To a small child.
And sometimes you didn’t know which was the real you,
Who had changed a thousand faces, her hair five times

And twice the marrow of her bones.
And with two you covered your legs,
Fragile from without and pressed ever more from within.
At night your legs moved of their own will and you found them no resting-place,
And in daytime they could no longer bear you.
In their place you grew wheels,
On which I wheeled and wheeled you, to the end
Of the universe, and up and down the hospital elevators, whistling and dancing,
Crazy Daddy. But to the end of terror

You rolled alone.
And with two you flew and collided, fell and flew again,
Bound with long and tangled tubes,
Embracing and withdrawing
Welcoming and chasing away
Cursing and blessing
And ascending, now without legs, and without a face,
And with one pair of wings.

(Translated from the Hebrew)

Daniel ("Don") Avitzour
Written for the second anniversary of Timora’s passing
10th of Tevet 5763

*See Isaiah 6:2.