A Cup of Tea, a Life of Quiet Courage: Remembering Dr Beverley McNally’s Legacy

In a quiet town on New Zealand’s North Island, a life that had spanned continents, cultures, and causes was brought to a sudden and tragic end.

On a Saturday morning in July, Beverley McNally was killed in a two-vehicle crash at an intersection just outside Featherston. It was a road with no history of fatalities, and a moment that seemed almost absurd in its cruelty. Just as Beverley was stepping into retirement — into the freedom she had more than earned after years of relentless academic work — her journey ended.

But Beverley’s story does not. Her story — and her legacy — stretches far beyond Bidwills Cutting Road or even Featherston itself. It winds through the deserts of Saudi Arabia, along the streets of Belfast, through Palestinian refugee camps, and now, into the hearts of all those she inspired.

And for readers in Israel and the wider Jewish world, her life carries particular resonance — a call to notice those who build bridges when others build walls, and to honour the quiet architects of hope.

A Life of Service in Saudi Arabia

Beverley spent over a decade teaching business and leadership at Prince Mohammad Bin Fahd University in Saudi Arabia — on the women’s campus, in a country where many of her students were still grappling with newly granted freedoms. For years, she taught in an environment shaped by deep patriarchal constraints, helping a new generation of Saudi women imagine themselves not just as learners, but as leaders.

She taught under conditions few in the West can fully appreciate — navigating cultural sensitivities, bureaucratic hurdles, and social taboos. But she did it all with a no-nonsense style, a deep moral compass, and an Irish wit that left her students and colleagues in awe.

“She had a great brain and fierce mental energy,” her friend and former neighbour wrote, after news of Beverley’s passing. “She was only just beginning her freedom after all those years of full-time overload — summer school after summer school, grading MBA projects, researching, mentoring. Her stamina was unmatched.”

Beverley wasn’t content to just teach — she built community, even in the most transient and constrained places. She was often the unofficial “neighbourhood watch.” Anyone who had Beverley on their street didn’t need cameras — or the police. She had a firm eye and a soft heart.

When a colleague fell ill, Beverley didn’t wait for someone else to act. She ran to pharmacies, arranged medication, asked questions, and checked in daily. She kept it up for weeks. That was Beverley.

An Irish Heart in the Desert

Despite living abroad for much of her life, Beverley’s Irish roots never left her. She decorated her door for St. Patrick’s Day each year, stringing green lights and flags from her villa — often buying extra so that of a neighbour’s doorway could be decked out too.

“She loved everything Irish,” a close friend said. “We used to talk about the Falls Road, and she’d share stories about visiting Belfast during the Troubles. She loved mashed potatoes and stew and even and would cook up Irish meals regularly. She followed recipes, asked questions, always eager to get it right.”

Her home was a place of celebration. At Christmas, she would host full dinners for new staff members who had just arrived in Saudi. She was known for her pavlovas — “pavlova à l’excellence,” a beneficiary of them called them — and she always did everything herself, from decorating to washing up. Hosting, for Beverley, was not performance. It was service.

She carried that same ethic of care and action to everything she did. And that, perhaps, is the thread that runs through all the chapters of her life: she showed up, rolled up her sleeves, and got on with the work.

A Voice for the Voiceless

Among Beverley’s most enduring commitments was her support for the Palestinian people — a cause she championed quietly, consistently, and with rare depth. Throughout her career, she raised funds for Palestinian humanitarian organisations, kept in close contact with individuals and grassroots projects, and published work on LinkedIn highlighting both research and field experiences.

“She was very devoted to the Palestinian cause,” one colleague recalled. “I remember her sharing updates and sending support to people she had met. She didn’t just donate — she stayed in touch. She asked about their lives. She truly cared.”

What’s striking is that Beverley’s support for Palestinians was never rooted in ideology. It came from something older, deeper: a belief in justice, in dignity, in the fundamental worth of every human life. For her, the cause wasn’t anti-Israel — it was pro-humanity.

She lived that commitment without noise, but with great conviction. And in a world increasingly shaped by absolutes and binaries, Beverley stood for nuance. She refused to reduce people to categories. She saw people. She saw needs. And she acted.

From Global Vision to Local Action

When she retired and moved to Featherston, Beverley did not withdraw from the world — she re-entered it. She became a certified Dilmah tea master and launched 5 Senses of Tea, a business offering immersive tea workshops designed not just to educate, but to connect.

For Beverley, tea wasn’t a drink. It was a practice. A ritual. A chance to slow down and make space for others. Jasmine for reflection. Oolong for clarity. Mint for healing. With her workshops, she brought together strangers who left as friends — another bridge built, quietly.

She joined the board of the Pae Tū Mokai Trust, which ran the local foodbank and reuse centre. She pitched ideas for the Booktown literary festival. She donated books to the Dickensian Bookshop. And when she died, she was still preparing for the next round of contributions — prizes for a fundraiser, ideas for a festival, workshops for the months ahead.

She had just begun her retirement. And she was making it count.

A Tragic End — and Unfinished Work

The crash that took Beverley’s life is still under investigation. Some suspect a medical episode may have preceded it. Regardless of the cause, the result remains brutal: a life of rare generosity cut short by a random, avoidable event.

It’s tempting to turn that randomness into a metaphor. To say something about how life isn’t fair, or how the best among us go too soon. But Beverley would likely have had no patience for that. She was not sentimental. She was practical. She believed in showing up.

And so we should show up now — in her name.

A Legacy for Our Time

In Israel, we are in the midst of extraordinary uncertainty — politically, socially, and spiritually. The Palestinian question continues to divide the nation, even as it quietly erodes our collective moral vision. Just this month, news emerged that the UK may formally recognize a Palestinian state in September — a move too late for many, too little for others, and too symbolic for those who have lived the reality on both sides.

As a dear colleague texted in response to that news: “Al-hamdulillah. So little, so late. And doubt they [the Palestinians] care, given the UK provided the means to devastate their country and slaughter thousands.”

It’s a harsh truth. But in the quiet work of people like Beverley McNally, we find a different path — one not of blame, but of responsibility. She understood that peace does not come from pronouncements, but from presence. From consistency. From caring.

She educated Saudi women. She fed New Zealanders. She cooked Irish meals in the Gulf. She supported Palestinians. She brewed tea. She linked printers. She brought green lights and green flags to her desert neighbourhood. She lived as if all people mattered — because to her, they did.

Let Us Raise a Cup

So today, let us raise a cup — not in mourning only, but in recommitment.

To living lives of moral clarity without self-righteousness.
To recognising the humanity in people we are told to fear.
To slow conversations, deep listening, and steady hands.
To building neighbourhoods where cameras are unnecessary — because community is intact.
To justice pursued not in slogans, but in daily acts of care.

May Beverley’s memory be not only a blessing, but a blueprint.

And may God grant her soul eternal peace — for hers was a life poured out in service, and steeped in grace.