The Tabernacle needed more than materials. It needed people who could work them — weave, embroider, sew, carve, cast, and then show others how to do the same. Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Exodus 35:35 records the divine solution: He filled them with wisdom of heart to make all the work of the carpenter and the embroiderer, in hyacinth, and in purple, and in crimson, and in fine linen; and of the sewer, to fashion all the work, and to teach the workmen.
The Targum's phrase chokhmat lev — wisdom of heart — is a signature biblical concept. It is not abstract intellectual knowledge. It is the kind of knowing that lives in the hands, in the intuition for how a thread should catch the light or how a beam should be joined to another beam. The rabbis identified it as the craftsman's equivalent of prophecy: a direct download from the divine into the practical skills of the body.
But notice the Targum's final phrase: to teach the workmen. The wisdom of heart was not given so that Bezalel and Oholiab could build the Tabernacle alone. It was given so they could instruct others. The gift came with a teaching obligation.
This is a deeply Jewish pattern. The Torah itself is given to Moses not to hoard but to transmit (Deuteronomy 6:7). The crafts of the Mishkan are given to Bezalel not to master but to mentor. A gift of wisdom that stops with its recipient is, in the Jewish view, incomplete.
The takeaway: every real skill in Jewish life has a second half — the passing of it forward. Chokhmat lev is not measured by what you can make. It is measured by how many others you have enabled to make it after you.