At the end of Shabbat services at Congregation Har Shalom in Potomac, Morris “Moe” Rosen could be counted on to do the same thing every Saturday. As the sanctuary emptied and children and congregants spilled into the aisles, he would press his way forward, hand already extended, and wait patiently until he reached Rabbi Adam Raskin. He would offer a firm handshake, wish him “Shabbat shalom,” and then slip back into the crowd. The brief exchange mattered to him, and he made sure it happened every time.
Rosen, a longtime Potomac resident and regular attendee at Har Shalom for decades, died Jan. 27. He was 91.
Rosen and his wife, Honey Rosen, were among the early members of Congregation Har Shalom, joining before the synagogue had a building of its own. The family moved into their Potomac home in 1968, when the area was still developing, and remained there for nearly six decades.
Rosen attended Shabbat services consistently and participated in Men’s Club programs, lectures and activities. After Honey’s death in 2020, synagogue attendance took on added meaning. “When he went to shul, he said he felt closer to her,” his son Nathan Rosen said.
Born on Long Island and raised in East Meadow, New York, Rosen grew up in a Jewish household shaped by his parents’ Polish roots. Yiddish was spoken at home, Jewish observance and kosher food were part of daily life, and he was bar mitzvahed. Those values carried into adulthood and informed the life he built with Honey.
“He was the kind of Jew who showed up,” his daughter Sharon Walsh said. “Shabbat, holidays, synagogue programs — it was all part of his life.”
Rosen’s academic training led to a career in defense, space and national security work. He earned a bachelor’s degree in mathematics from Hofstra University and went on to earn a doctorate in applied mathematics from Harvard University. He began his career in the defense industry, first in California and later in the Washington area after transferring with TRW in the late 1960s. The major American aerospace, defense, and technology company was best known during the Cold War for its work on missiles, space systems, and advanced computing. Rosen’s work, much of it classified, involved complex systems analysis and national security planning.
He later entered federal service within the intelligence community, working at a senior level on long-range planning and policy across all intelligence agencies. Family members said he rarely spoke about his work, but later shared that he was especially proud of his contributions to arms control during the Cold War and of his involvement in evaluating failures in decision-making following the Challenger disaster in 1986.
Despite the scope of his professional responsibilities, Rosen was modest by nature. “A lot of people didn’t realize how smart he was,” daughter Beth Rosen said. “He never tried to make anyone feel less than.”
Learning remained central to his life long after retirement. Rosen audited courses at the University of Maryland, completed assignments, and wrote papers well into his later years.
About 15 years ago, he developed a strong interest in artificial intelligence and studied it seriously, long before it became widely discussed. Professors encouraged him to publish his work, and he occasionally received inquiries about returning to professional roles even into his 70s and 80s.
That same sense of purpose shaped Rosen’s involvement in the community. He was deeply involved with Potomac Community Village, an organization that supports older adults who wish to remain in their homes. Through Potomac Community Village, Rosen and his wife, Honey, attended lunches, lectures and social events. After her death, his participation gave him structure. He volunteered as a driver, offering rides to fellow seniors, many of them younger, for medical appointments and errands. “Anyone could call him, and he would be glad to drive them,” Beth Rosen said. “He really valued the conversations.”
Tennis played a central role in Rosen’s life. He began playing as a teenager, competed in high school and college, and remained active on the court into his 90s. “He always called it a thinking man’s sport,” daughter Sharon Walsh said, comparing it to chess. He organized regular games, scheduled matches well in advance, and remained competitive. He last played only a few months before he died.
Bridge was another longtime passion. Rosen played competitively for many years and was a life master, but he also valued the social side of the game. Through Potomac Community Village, he joined a weekly bridge game that included a woman experiencing significant cognitive decline. The pace of play was slow, but Rosen remained committed to the group.
When illness prevented him from continuing, he asked the organization to find a replacement so the game could continue. Maintaining that weekly connection for the other players mattered to him.
Family remained central to Rosen’s life. At a gathering marking his 90th birthday, he organized one-on-one half-hour conversations with each of his 11 grandchildren during a weekend together, setting aside individual time rather than formal speeches or gifts. “He really wanted to know each of them,” Beth Rosen said.
Those same values showed up in daily habits. He kept lists, weighed decisions carefully, avoided procrastination and believed in preparation. He showed up — for synagogue, tennis, bridge and family events — without fail.
Near the end of his life, reflecting on the years he had lived, Rosen was clear about what mattered. As one family member recalled, he said simply, “Life is wild and wonderful.”
Ellen Braunstein is a freelance writer.
