Editor’s Note: The following remembrance first appeared in the Jewish Link of New Jersey last week. We share it now because Chaya Devorah Senft—born and bred in Queens, and an alumna of the Bais Yaakov Academy of Queens and Shevach High School—was one of our own. The beloved daughter of Ari and Sora Senft, and cherished granddaughter of Mrs. Miriam Senft, all of Kew Gardens Hills, her life and legacy are deeply intertwined with our community.
It is so hard to find the words to capture the essence of Morah Chaya Devorah a”h – to express the greatness of who she was, the impact she had, and the deep loss we all feel. Today, we are not just mourning a beloved teacher, colleague, and friend; we are mourning a woman who was truly exceptional and extraordinary.
What was it about Chaya Devorah that made her such a unique teacher and colleague?
Was it her expertise in curriculum? When it came to the limudei kodesh curriculum, she was the expert – the one who knew every aspect, who could train new teachers, who understood how and when to adapt or update it thoughtfully and effectively. Her knowledge of Tanach and limudei kodesh was vast. Yes, this was certainly true – but it wasn’t just these things.
Was it her mastery of pedagogy? Anyone who walked into her classroom and observed her teaching was watching an artist at work. She had a rare ability to engage every child, to reach each student emotionally and spiritually, to help each one feel confident, valued, and seen. This, too, was true – but it wasn’t just this.
Was it her care and devotion for every student, inside and outside the classroom? She thought deliberately about all of the children – what they needed, how to help them, and how to ensure that they felt loved and supported. Also true – but again, it wasn’t just this.
So what was it?
To answer that, I want to reflect on a maamar Chazal that has always challenged me. The Gemara in Chagigah 15b says: “If the teacher resembles an angel of Hashem Tz’vakos, seek Torah from his mouth; if not – do not.”
This Chazal is intimidating for any rav or morah. It raises the bar impossibly high: How can a human being be expected to reach the level of a mal’ach? We often feel a sense of imposter syndrome. I try my best to be an eved Hashem, but to reach the level of a mal’ach? We are all human. How can we ever be fit to be a teacher of Torah?
But Chaya Devorah was that mal’ach.
She was a mal’ach Hashem Tz’vakos in the truest sense. When she spoke to children, her words carried a purity and t’mimus that could only come from someone who lived her life with deep yir’as Shamayim, an unwavering sense of avodas ha’kodesh, and a profound understanding of the loftiness of her role. Her teaching came from the depths of her neshamah, and that’s why it reached the neshamos of her students so deeply. It’s why her lessons didn’t just inform – they transformed.
When speaking to Odelia Danishefsky – our Lower School principal and Chaya Devorah’s close colleague and friend – she was thinking about Rashi at the beginning of Parshas VaYeitzei:
Y’tzias tzadik min ha’olam oseh roshem. Bizman she’ha’tzadik ba’ir, hu hodo, hu zivo, hu hadaro. (The departure of a righteous person from a city makes an impression. When a righteous person is in a city, he is its magnificence, its splendor, its grandeur.)
When Chaya Devorah was in our school, she brought a unique ruach, a spirit that lifted the entire building. We all remember the chants at onegs and programs – “MCD! MCD!” – short for “Morah Chaya Devorah.” But it was more than a chant. It was a reflection of her ability to connect with every single student. She was the neshamah of the school.
She was the glue that connected everyone together as well. She cared deeply for every staff member, no matter their role, background, or age. So many of our teachers felt so close to her. It didn’t matter if they taught general studies or limudei kodesh; she saw the Tzelem Elokim in every person. She inspired others to step up, to give more of themselves. She volunteered for everything – not for recognition, but purely for the sake of the children.
Her impact wasn’t limited to the classroom; it extended to every family, every home, and every neshamah she touched.
And when she left us, we all felt it.
The school wasn’t the same. And it never will be.
We will all hold her memory in our hearts, inspired to continue to learn from her and to follow all the lessons that she taught us. Y’hi zichrah baruch and t’hei nishmasah tz’rurah bitzror ha’chayim.
