Howard S. Cohen, a longtime lay leader and past president of Congregation Tifereth Israel in Bensalem whose life centered on synagogue, service and community, died suddenly on Dec. 3. He was 73.
For decades, Cohen was a constant presence at Tifereth Israel — on the bimah, in the boardroom and behind the scenes — known for stepping in wherever he was needed, often before anyone asked. Rabbi Jeff Schnitzer, who has worked closely with Cohen since the late 1990s, said the two developed an almost wordless partnership.
“He and I could read each other’s minds,” Schnitzer said. “If I needed something, I didn’t even have to say anything. He would just be there.” With Cohen, he added, it felt less like rabbi and congregant than two people working side by side.
That instinct to show up — reliably and without fanfare — defined Cohen’s life not only at synagogue but also in his long career as a school psychologist in the Upper Moreland School District and in the many volunteer roles he took on in the Jewish and broader community.
Cohen grew up in the Oxford Circle neighborhood of Northeast Philadelphia and attended Northeast High School. He was raised in a Jewish household by his parents and grandmother, alongside his younger sister. His father died about a month before Cohen’s 12th birthday, and he was thereafter raised primarily by his mother and grandmother, his family said.
As a teenager, Cohen declared his independence from synagogue life shortly after his bar mitzvah — a story his family would later recount with irony and affection.
“When he was 13 and bar mitzvahed, he said goodbye — ‘I’ll see you later,’” recalled his wife, Jacki Cohen. “He didn’t want to continue being in synagogue after that, which became the biggest joke later on when he got so deeply involved.”
He attended Temple University, earning a master’s degree in school psychology. He began working in 1978 in the Upper Darby School District before moving to Upper Moreland several years later. Hired in 1981, he remained there for the rest of his career, serving as a school psychologist across multiple schools and grade levels.
“He wanted to help people,” said Jacki Cohen, who met her husband at an AZA/BBG mixer when they were 16. Psychology had been his academic focus throughout college, she said, and school psychology offered a practical way to put that interest into action.
In school settings, Cohen became known for both his clinical skill and his ability to connect with students.
“He was an extremely good diagnostician,” his wife said. “He knew what was wrong — and he usually knew it quickly.” Colleagues and families also remembered him as warm, approachable and keenly observant.
“He noticed everything, remembered everything, retained everything,” his daughter Julie Miller said. “And kids felt that.”
One story his family often told involved his creation of a “lunch club” for first graders who were struggling. Good behavior earned them lunch with Mr. Cohen — and soon, his wife said, “Everybody wanted to be with Mr. Cohen.”
Beyond his formal role, Cohen devoted enormous energy to student service programs. He served for many years as adviser to Upper Moreland’s Key Club, guiding students in community service projects throughout the district. Later, he became adviser to the district’s Minithon, a student-run fundraiser supporting pediatric cancer care, modeled on Penn State’s THON.
Cohen retired from his school psychologist position, but not from school life. Jacki Cohen said he went on to coach golf and bowling at Upper Moreland High School and continued advising Key Club.
“He never really retired,” his wife said. “He was like the Energizer Bunny. He never sat still.”
It was through synagogue life that Cohen’s Jewish commitments fully came into focus. He and his wife joined Congregation Tifereth Israel in 1989, and it soon became central to the family’s identity.
“Tifereth Israel is just like a second home,” Jacki Cohen said. “It’s where we feel comfortable, where we feel loved.”
Cohen’s involvement deepened steadily. He served multiple terms as congregation president, sat on numerous committees, supervised the synagogue office, helped organize High Holiday honors and became known as the congregation’s informal parliamentarian. He also led services regularly as a prayer leader, read Torah and stepped in whenever a minyan or service leader was needed. When the congregation’s cantor moved away, Cohen took it upon himself to learn the High Holiday Musaf service.
“He was always learning something new,” Rabbi Schnitzer said. During the COVID-19 pandemic, Cohen played a key role in setting up and maintaining the congregation’s Zoom and livestream systems.
At home, Cohen insisted on synagogue participation and Jewish education for his children.
“He didn’t really give us an option,” said his son, Matthew Cohen. “We were going to services.”
Family members and colleagues described Cohen as intense, opinionated and deeply loyal.
“He could be cranky and cantankerous,” his wife said. “But he was kind, generous and caring.” He spoke his mind plainly, his children said, but he also stood by people without hesitation.
“If you needed him, he was always there,” Miller said. “Family, synagogue, school — it didn’t matter. He showed up.”
His commitment to service extended beyond the synagogue and schools. Miller said he volunteered regularly with the Jewish Relief Agency, packing and delivering food to families in need, and he brought his students into that Jewish community work.
Cohen was physically active and rarely still. His family said he loved biking, working out and, in recent years, golf. The day before he died, Jacki Cohen said, he completed an hourlong spinning class.
He died from a pulmonary embolism after collapsing at Upper Moreland High School, where he had gone to pick up students for a bowling match. He had not been ill, his family said.
Schnitzer said Cohen’s absence is felt in synagogue life. “It feels less like losing a congregant,” he said, “and more like losing someone who stood beside me for decades.”
“He showed up,” Julie Miller said. “That’s who he was.”
Ellen Braunstein is a freelance writer.
