I was at a turning point in my life in 2003, navigating a new marriage, caring for my young son with significant physical and intellectual disabilities, and looking for work that aligned with both my professional experience and my personal purpose. With so much on my plate, I found myself sitting at lunch at Shady Grove in Shadyside, across the table from Judy Roscow, one of the co-founders of a new organization called the Jewish Women’s Foundation of Greater Pittsburgh. She was looking for someone to work for a brand new foundation where women would come together not just to give, but to lead.
Was I ready, with so much going on, to take on such a role? Before looking forward, I took a moment to look back.
The grandmothers who shaped me
My paternal grandmother, Hannah Greenwald, was sharp, independent and strong. A widow who was involved in the family business first in Warren, Pennsylvania, and then in Hagerstown, Maryland, she helped manage the regional newspaper and magazine distribution company Hagerstown News Distributors, and later traveled the world solo.
She was an extraordinary cook, prone to whimsical creations like her chocolate cake with a layer of grape jelly inside. In Hagerstown, where I worked in the family business, I’d skip out to join her for lunch whenever I could. Sometimes, it’d just be a meal. Other times, we’d dive into her closet of stylish dresses, each of which seemed to have a story attached to it.
My maternal grandmother, Pauline Reinkraut, was a quiet trailblazer whose journey included peril and remarkable achievements.
In 1939, a year after Nazi Germany annexed Austria, she fled Vienna with her husband and two young daughters, including my mother. They managed to escape just in time, leaving family behind. After spending a year in England, they immigrated to the U.S. My mother told me that she grew up detecting an undertone of sadness for all of the loss suffered by the family and so many others, but it did not prevent their immersion in music, education and love.
Unusual at the time, Pauline had earned a Ph.D. from the University of Vienna and became a professor of German at Duquesne University — a remarkable achievement for a woman of her generation.
One thing Pauline did not master: driving. Back then, my parents would put me and my brothers on a bus in Hagerstown, Grandma Pauline would be waiting at the station in Pittsburgh, and we’d ride the streetcars together to her home in Stanton Heights and throughout Pittsburgh. She was proud to show off her adopted city to us and we loved going to the museums and the zoo during our visits. But even as a young girl, I understood that she and my grandfather had been through something terrible. I wrote her a letter when I was 10 years old about how sad I was about what happened to her family and the challenges she experienced in leaving her home country.
“I’m very interested in hearing more of your story,” I wrote. “I’m very sad [about] what happened to your parents and [how hard] your earlier life was. It really is too bad that all girls don’t or can’t have a life like me.”
Channeling Pauline and Hannah
Pauline passed in 1978 and Hannah in 1990, so I couldn’t consult them after that 2003 lunch I so vividly recall.
Judy Roscow shared the new foundation’s vision: women collaborating on funding decisions, empowering one another and focusing on the unique challenges facing women and girls in our community. The idea of building something from the ground up — something that could change lives — called to me. That lunch felt less like an invitation to join an organization, and more like a quiet homecoming to the values I had been raised with; a reminder of the strength of the women who shaped me.
It felt, in a Yiddish word, beshert. Destined to be.
But I was at a turning point in my life in so many other ways. Was this the right thing for me, and my family, now?
I thought back to my grandmothers. Neither of them had it easy. They lived through war, upheaval, personal loss and the silent, daily weight of expectations placed on women in their time. But they didn’t just survive: They shaped their world, quietly, confidently and with resolve.
I said yes.
When I joined the Jewish Women’s Foundation as executive director, there was no playbook, bylaws or strategy — just the energy and ambition of Judy Roscow, cofounder Pat Siger and 40 women who believed in the power of collective giving. That first year, we granted just $13,100, but we’re now at 188 trustees, and $2 million distributed to organizations working to change the lives of women and girls across our region.
Our trustees come to us with no formal background in philanthropy, but gain real experience in grantmaking, nonprofit evaluation and advocacy. They work together to support programs that help women gain economic independence, escape domestic violence and build new skills. Among many other things, we’ve funded:
- A young Girl Scout’s idea to create a Holocaust education patch that will be used to teach middle and high school girls across Western Pennsylvania
- A push to help Latina women become certified home health aides through Casa San Jose
- Team G.R.O.W.’s Women’s Power Program, which teaches women home repair skills to promote economic security and housing stability
- The Women’s Center & Shelter, ensuring that survivors of domestic violence have access to safety, healing and resources to rebuild their lives.
Our focus is always on social change — not just addressing immediate needs, but working toward long-term solutions.
Every time I sit in a room of JWF members, I feel echoes of my grandmothers. Their legacy lives in the fierce, thoughtful women I work with every day. It lives in the young professionals just beginning their philanthropic journey, and in the retirees who bring wisdom, time and energy to every committee, grant review and site visit. It lives in the mothers, daughters and daughters-in-law who join together, generation to generation, to build a more just and equitable world.
My own journey has not been without hardship. I raised my son, Josh, largely on my own, and being his advocate, caregiver and mother has shaped everything I do. In 2014, when he became gravely ill, I didn’t think he would survive. In those dark moments, I drew on the quiet strength of Hannah and Pauline. Josh never got to meet them, but their inspiration helped us to get through tough times and to his adult life, which is medically complicated, but stable.
We live in complex times. The challenges our communities face — from rising antisemitism to growing inequality — can feel overwhelming. I find strength in the women beside me, at JWF and elsewhere. And I find guidance, always, in the memory of the women who built me.
They taught me that leadership is not about titles. It’s about showing up, staying present and doing the work. I never heard either of them complain. My grandmothers knew that everyone has been through something, and what differentiates you is how you choose to respond to the adversity that you’re dealt.
Judy Cohen is the founding executive director of the Jewish Women’s Foundation of Greater Pittsburgh, the region’s first foundation addressing women’s and girls’ needs in Jewish and general communities. She is an active member of the National Council of Jewish Women, Pittsburgh Section since 1988. A graduate of Pennsylvania State University, Cohen lives in Pittsburgh with her son, Joshua, and can be reached at jcohen@jwfpgh.org.
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