This Shabbos brings us to the conclusion of the weekly Torah readings describing the construction of the Mishkan – a holy sanctuary in the midst of a mundane world. What a fitting setting to mark the shloshim of a woman whose very essence was one of juxtapositions.
She was a mechaneches and a university professor, a scholar of Torah and an academic scholar of secular subjects. She spoke almost a dozen different languages fluently. She was a woman who had one foot planted in modern-day America, while the other remained firmly entrenched in prewar Poland, via her deep connection to her illustrious ancestry and rabbinical heritage. She was both a career woman and the ultimate homemaker. She was a person who was very demanding on herself, yet very forgiving of others. She was a fashion icon, but always tzenuah. She never pampered herself but always relished the opportunity to overexert herself to do for others. She was a person who thrived on deeply intellectual conversations but would engage in endless idle chatter with a person who was on that level. She carried herself with a regal presence, but she was never aloof.
In both last week’s parshah (31:6) and this week’s (35:10), we come across the intriguing “chacham lev” (“wise-hearted person”). Emotion is associated with the heart, but not wisdom, which is attributed to the brain. So, what is a “wise-hearted person,” and why did Hashem command them to be the ones to fabricate the Mishkan and its sacred contents?
The answer is actually quite simple: There are two kinds of wise people. Those who use their natural-born intellect and talents to sail through life without ever exerting themselves, and those who put their entire “heart” into all of their endeavors and take their natural-born intellect to a much higher level. As Rabbi Abahu teaches us in Maseches B’rachos (55a), HaKadosh Baruch Hu gives wisdom only to one who has wisdom, as it is written (Sh’mos 31:6): “In the hearts of all that are wise-hearted, I have put wisdom.” Hashem gives ultimate wisdom to the “wise-hearted” – those who were blessed with natural-born intellect and yet still put their heart into their studies and endeavors.
Prof. Sara M. Edelstein truly was a “wise-hearted” woman. She was a multifaceted woman who was endowed with an unusually powerful intellect, endless talents, charisma, and unparalleled warmth, but she still always put all of her heart and soul into everything she did. In her youth, she mastered the art of concealing how smart she was in order to blend in with the other girls. She could have sailed through school and earned top grades without ever opening a book. However, from elementary school through seminary and college, she privately studied harder than any of her classmates, waking up at 4:00 a.m. to pore over a long dining room table piled high with s’farim and books.
During her career as a mechaneches, she would spend hours preparing detailed class plans, written in her trademark perfect handwriting, only to ignore it all the moment she crossed the threshold of the classroom. Yet, she would keep doing it, “because a teacher needs to be prepared.” She was a legendary mechaneches, to the extent that new rebbeim were instructed to sit in the back of her class of girls to learn from her how to teach before they could start teaching in their respective yeshivos. During her time in college, she took such a wide array of courses that she ended up with two doctorates and a variety of other degrees. Later, as a university professor, she taught a multitude of completely unrelated subjects, committing to an unusually grueling schedule.
She was a master orator and was a highly sought-after public speaker. At the tender age of 16, she was already the keynote speaker for the women at the Agudah Convention. She spoke countless times, all over the United States and in over two dozen foreign countries. Yet she never ever repeated the same speech twice. She never spoke from her notes, but always wrote them regardless, because “a speaker needs to be prepared.”
She was a gourmet cook, who would effortlessly produce lavish meals for every day of the week. Yet she would take the time to research every new recipe, to the extent that she could tell you about the region it came from, how it evolved, and the different forms the recipe took on over the years. She would read a dozen different versions of the same recipe, then ignore them all and do her own thing, devoid of measuring tools or any guide, and it always was done to perfection.
She was a “people person” who could talk to anyone. Regardless of their background, ideology, or age, she could find something to talk to them about. She was a fascinating conversationalist, yet if she anticipated meeting someone, she would still take the time to think about what she could chat with them about.
Many titles were conferred upon her during her lifetime, including “professor,” “rebbetzin,” “lecturer,” “mechaneches,” “doctor,” “askanis,” “speech therapist,” “baalas chesed,” “diagnostician,” and of course the titles that she held most dear were: “devoted daughter, wife, and mother.” She was the host of a popular radio program and the director of a medical clinic devoted to the maladies of the speech and hearing mechanism. She wore many different hats, but that never diluted her focus, and she was always 100 percent devoted to the task at hand.
Like the walls of the Mishkan keeping out all that was mundane, she set impenetrable boundaries for what was inappropriate for the person she was. She always remained true to her ideals and was constantly cognizant of the person she ought to be.
When she was selected to be campus beauty queen in Brooklyn College, she obviously rejected it. Over the years, she turned down numerous honors from institutions that did not align with who she was. When Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin tried to pressure her to join the Knesset, she would not be tempted. When the Mossad tried to recruit her because of her sharp analytical prowess, she would not be swayed. When her theatrical abilities caught the eye of Broadway, she would not be coerced.
Perhaps her legacy is not the long litany of her accomplishments and abundant talents, but rather all of the alluring careers and opportunities she rejected.