The path to Ilene Rosen’s office is easy to navigate, as long as you shuffle to avoid the line of wagons filled from the latest Costco haul: Bubbie’s pickles, condiments, plastic cups, hot dog buns — all essentials for a carnival. Purim was on the horizon when we met.
Peer into Rosen’s office, and there are stacks of papers surrounding her desk. A plaque titled “Chaos Coordinator” suffices as a welcome sign, and make no mistake, the executive director at BMH-BJ has things under control.
“My office is a mess,” admits Rosen, “but I can tell you where everything is. So I try to make sure that there’s nothing new that isn’t on the desk.”
Rosen, in fact, is a model of efficiency. The inherent job description of a synagogue executive director is to know a little bit about something, and something about everything, and Ilene is the efficient delegator.
Should a pipe burst at midnight?
“Not me. That’s why I have a facility manager.”
A new twist in the search for a new rabbi?
“We have a committee for that. They have a procedure and protocol, which has been great.”
After a pause, Rosen adds:
“That’s because my husband (Mike) is running the committee.”
The path leading to an executive directorship was not quite part of Rosen’s plan. A lifelong member of BMH-BJ (counting on 53 years) and former board president 18 years ago and seemingly a full-time volunteer, synagogue leadership asked Rosen whether she would serve as executive director.
“We had an executive director who got ill and was told to go back to California,” says Rosen. “They asked me to step in for about six months, ‘you know, until we find somebody.’
“That was nine years ago.”
The recollection of that timeline comes absolutely without a whisp of weariness. Rosen smiles, as if the unplanned tenure is a badge of honor. She appears delighted that there is no apparent expiration date to this job.
“I’m planning on being here for a while,” Rosen says.
“This is my sandbox, what my husband calls it. He knows that it’s always been in my heart. It’s actually been a passion, and that’s why I’m still here. If I were a normal person, I would not be.”
“Normal,” even after our discussion, is undefined.
“My goal is to help sustain this place,” Rosen says. “I want my kids to have that feeling. I want my grandkids to walk in here and want to be here, hopefully, and want to keep it going.”
Sitting at a small table in the temple foyer, Rosen is asked what she does when the rigors demand a time out. She points toward the chapel.
“I leave my office and go to the chapel, just by myself,” says Rosen, the daughter of Holocaust survivors, and whose mother passed away two years ago. “I’ll go and sit in thee for three or four minutes, and I’m fine.”
Rosen, who often goes by “Bubbie” at BMH-BJ and to her five grandchildren, knows the respite can only last for a short moment.
“I don’t need a lot of time,” she says, “and then I’m right back to doing what I’m doing.
“I never know what each day is going to bring. Each day is different, and I guess that’s what makes this job interesting.
“I learn something new all the time. There are changing faces in the congregation, and I like to think that I know most of them.
“I like to talk to the congregants. That’s my best, most fun part of my job.”
But there is an aside. There always is an aside.
“The congregants are who keep me here, actually. But they have their moments too . . .”
Rosen’s voice trails. She smiles. Time to return to the office with those endless, organized stacks of paper. Before you know it, it will be time to plan yet another Purim carnival, and more Bubbie’s pickles for Bubbie to order.
© IJN 2026
