Tag Archives: #congregationshalomaleichem

A pianist debuts her talents at Rosh HaShanah services

On a June morning in my tiny town in New York’s North Country, Mrs. Ryan’s kindergarten class was preparing for our upcoming graduation. Parents had gotten invitations; our caps and gowns were on order.We practiced the songs and poems we were to sing together. In my eyes, a few fortunate children had solos, which they had brought home to memorize. 

Eager, But For What?

Two days before the morning event, one of my classmates announced to Mrs. Ryan that she didn’t want to recite the poem to  which  she had been assigned. The teacher asked if anyone else would like to do it. My hand shot up like a rocket. “Me! Me!” I shouted from my tiny chair.

For the next two days, my mother patiently worked with me to memorize the piece. I honestly don’t remember the name of the poem or the words, but the short verse talked about being ‘little’ and ‘big’ and ‘growing up.’ (If any of you have a  copy of this poem, please send my way!)

Wrong Lesson

That graduation morning, our class, donned in white caps and gowns, marched into the Keeseville Central School auditorium proudly marched. We recited the pledge of allegiance and sang some songs. It was soon time my big moment.  I walked to the center of the stage, recited half the poem, and then  —gulp!— forgot the rest. The principal, Edward Long, gracefully ended my performance. But I never forgot my first time on stage and how I blew it.

Recently, I felt I was reliving my first public performance 66 years ago when I  volunteered again to fill in with a mere 48 hours to learn my part.

A few days before Rosh Hashanah, Larry and I had run into Susan and Jonathan Shopiro, fellow members of Congregation Shalom Aleichem. Both talented musicians,  they both had sung in both secular and synagogue choirs. Jonathan, a competent flute player,  had regularly played with our previous rabbi at temple services. Susan is an accomplished violinist who had recently inherited her grandfather’s fine century old violin. 

In the course of our conversation that afternoon, I shared with them how I had reconnected with my piano after almost a year of a shuttered keyboard. What didn’t feel right during the pandemic felt almost necessary for me now that we were in the New Normal. Despite several years of lessons and countless hours of practice on the Yamaha upright that we purchased in 1982, I never considered myself as an accomplished pianist.

As Larry and I were driving home from the beach the Friday night before Rosh Hashanah, we got a phone call from Jonathan. 

“Did you see the email about Rosh Hashanah services?” he asked. 

“No, we have been on the beach all day. What is happening?”

Our rabbi’s wife serves as our cantor. Sadly, her father had passed away the previous day, and she needed to fly to Long Island to be with her family. Marilyn Glaser, our shul’s president, asked the Shopiros to step in to provide the music in her place. Remembering our recent conversation but obviously ignoring my personal assessment of my skill level, Jonathan asked me if I would be interested in accompanying him on the piano. 

Ain’t No Stopping Her

Larry quickly weighed in. “I think she needs to pass on this,” he told Jonathan on our car’s speakerphone. “She doesn’t play in public.”

With the same bravado I had demonstrated at my kindergarten graduation, I ignored my husband’s words and expressions and plowed ahead. 

“Email the music to me,” I told Jonathan. “I’ll look it over and call you later this evening. “

Once we got home, I printed out familiar songs I recognized from my years of synagogue attendance: Ki Mitziyon, Rom’mu, Shalom Rav, Avinu Malkeinu,  and Debbie Friedman’s beautiful rendition of the Mi Shebeirach prayer. Most of the sheet music consisted of just the melody line. 

Pinch Hitter Again

Never mind that despite years of childhood lessons, I was not an accomplished musician. Never mind that I had never played in public, preferring an empty room with only a close family member near by. But with the help of Dan Coates, who had published many easy-to-intermediate level sheet music collections, I had been banging away on the ivories with happy abandon for years. Just a week before,  I had bravely played for a friend while she perused my ridiculously large stack of sheet music that dated back to my sister’s lessons in the 1950s. Her praise regarding my playing  gave me the needed boost of confidence. After a couple of run-through with the music on my piano, I called Jonathan back and told him I would give it the old congregational try.

The Way to Carnegie Hall

The next day, with a couple more of hours of practice under my belt, I met with the Shopiros and we practiced together.“Do you think we can do this?” I asked Jonathan and Susan.

“Yes, we can do this!”  they reassured me. 

As I was already having three people for Rosh Hashanah, I extended the invitation to the Shopiros as well. Over the next twenty-four hours before the scheduled 7 p.m. Sunday service, I practiced my parts in between preparing dinner: chicken, potatoes, green beans, fresh challah, and my chocolate chip cookies.

Larry stepped right up to the task as well, serving as  my last-minute sous chef, table setter, pot washer, and last minute supermarket runner

Larry and I met the Shopiros an hour before services for one last practice session.  Due to some health concerns, Susan was unable to play the violin, but she would be the lead vocalist as needed. Thanks to Jonathan’s expertise and great job of covering up my mistakes, we left that evening feeling that, while no one would mistake us for professionals, we had contributed to and enhanced the service. 

Monday morning’s “performance” went even smoother. I had gained confidence. I was—after all— not exactly playing Chopin’s “Etude in G Sharp minor.” I was playing a melody line in easy keys, Jonathan played harmony on the flute; the congregation readily sang along. It was—for this reluctant recitalist—pure joy. 

That afternoon, as seven of us sat around our dining room table, Larry made a toast to my “first and last” public piano performance. 

Or maybe not. Jonathan would love to continue contributing his talents to future services. I certainly won’t mind accompanying him  on a couple of songs, especially my personal favorite,  the Mi Shebeirach prayer. These fingers are itching for another congregational try. 

First published in (Capital Region, New York) The Jewish World November 11, 2022.

A Jewish neshama shining bright in Alaska

As Betty M. E. “Liz” Ross joined the other women at Congregation Shalom Aleichem on the bima to bless the Sabbath candles, she put the hood of her kuspuk, her traditional Native Alaskan snow dress, over her head. And on her neck, her gold Star of David caught the light of the flickering flames. A business woman, a college professor, and a black belt in karate, Liz also carries with her the love and respect of her double heritage: Judaism and Native Alaskan.

Liz’s great-grandparents had fled their native Kyrgyzstan in the late 19th century to escape the pogroms. A fur-trapping family, they were nomads who lived throughout the then-Russian territory. Out of fear of discrimination, they rarely spoke about their Jewish heritage to their only child, Ola. “it was a taboo subject,” said Liz. “We were told there are some doors that should not be opened.”

In the 1920s, Ola married Joe Nashoalook, a Native Alaskan who served as the chief of the Inupiaq village of Unalakleet in the Bering Strait region. Their daughter Anna, the oldest of the Nashoalook children, met her husband Arthur Ellis when he was stationed in Nome, Alaska, during World War II. He continued in the Army for just under thirty years, a career that took Anna and seven of their children, including Liz, to military bases throughout the United States, Europe, and Asia.

After graduating from high school in Colorado Springs, Liz began her post-secondary education in a community college before enrolling in the University of West Florida. During this time, Liz often visited her older sister Nancy, who had been raised by a childless aunt and uncle from Nome, Alaska, who were observant Jews. Experiencing this “taboo” subject for a first time sparked in Liz an interest in learning about Judaism that has lasted a lifetime. 

In 1979, Liz met her husband, Jeff, and they were married in 1980. Over the next several years, they had four children. All the children attended private schools through eighth grade. Their oldest son attended public school from eighth grade through his graduation. The other three of the children were home schooled, where they received an “eclectic” education, which gave them the flexibility to join Liz on her trips to Alaska as well to travel around the world as a family. “I wanted them to understand all backgrounds,” said Liz. “There was so much prejudice, and I wanted them to be open-minded.” They are proud that all four attended college or trade schools.

A self-confessed “Type A” personality, Liz continued with her education despite her arduous schedule. She completed her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in business administration in New Hampshire and a doctorate in finance and management from the Nova Southeastern University in Fort Lauderdale.

In addition, the time spent with her observant relatives led Liz to study for eight years with a rabbi to reconnect with her Jewish roots, opening a door that her mother had kept closed. Her learning culminated in her formal conversion, complete with the mikvah, or ritual bath, in 2003. “The rabbi said that since my mother was Jewish, it was unnecessary,” said  Liz “As I wasn’t brought up with a traditional Jewish education, however, it was important for me to undergo a formal conversion.” She chose Leah as her Hebrew name, which is as important to her as her Inupiaq name, Kanuk (snow goose).

While the family established their home base in New Hampshire, Liz split her time between New England and Alaska. She worked as a board member of the Thirteenth Regional Corporation, where responsibilities included procuring and implementing government contracts to invest in local business ventures. She also volunteered as the CEO of the Native Village of Unalakleet Corporation, her way of giving back to her grandparent’s home. 

Being the only practicing Jew in this remote rural area of Alaska provided challenges. Liz often observed the holidays and festivals on her own—baking challah, lighting Shabbat candles, and drinking grape juice—the best alternative to wine in a “damp” community that set limits on the amount of alcohol a person may fly in per month. Determining the Sabbath candle lighting time was difficult, as sunset happened as early as 3:30 in the winter and 1 a.m. in the summer. When  Liz was in Alaska during the High Holy Days, she would travel to Fairbanks, the closest place with a synagogue. 

In 2005, Liz took a position as the program director of the master of business program and professor at the University of Alaska in Fairbanks. She also was the business and karate instructor for Rural Alaska Honors Institute during the summers, mentored the Native Alaskan Business Leaders, a student organization, and founded a martial arts class.

 Liz also became the first Native Alaskan to teach the business class for the Rural Alaska Honors Institute. The University of Alaska Fairbanks developed the six-week summer program at the request of the Alaska Federation of Natives. Its purpose was to encourage Native Alaskan high school students to finish college so they could bring back new ideas and business expertise to their villages. “You need to use your time here so you can grow, and then give back to your own communities.” Liz told her students.

 Liz stated that most participants had grown up in small remote villages that could only be accessed by air taxis, boats, or dog sleds. “Many had never left their home villages,” said Liz. In addition, some students having grown up in a subsistence lifestyle where their families had gotten their food supply through planting, hunting, and fishing. “The students experienced culture shock when they found they could buy meat and vegetables in a supermarket.”

While in Fairbanks, Liz established her first official membership in a synagogue when she joined Congregation Or HaTzafon. Rabbinical students/cantors lead services during the summer months, while an ordained rabbi oversees the High Holy Day services. During the rest of the year, members of the Ritual Committee plan and oversee the Sabbath including, including the weekly oneg, the after-service refreshments. 

The congregation has established that candle lighting time was 7:30 pm, no matter when sundown officially occurred. Long, cold Alaska winters, however, affected many Jewish holidays. Liz remembers building a Sukkot in several inches of snow and eating the traditional meals with heavy coats and snow boots.

In 2015, Liz took a position as executive director of the Small Business Development Center at Fort Lewis College in Durango, Colorado. Similar to her position in Alaska, she mentored members of Native American tribes in Southwest Colorado through business education classes and entrepreneurial support. The move was, in part, driven by the need to be closer to her widowed mother, who was living in Colorado Springs.

After contracting an infection during a trip to Vietnam in 2017, Liz retired and moved to the home in Florida that she and her husband had purchased several years earlier. Her mother and her sister Karin live nearby. As a member of Congregation Shalom Aleichem in Kissimmee, Florida, Liz taught classes in Jewish ritual to its congregants.  

Liz has returned to Fairbanks, where she continues to give back to the Alaskan Native Community by working at the Tanana Chiefs Conference as the Deputy Director of Tribal Government and Client Services. She is expanding her Jewish heritage by studying and learning from Rabbi Heshy Wolf and his wife Chani at the newly opened Fairbanks Jewish Center – Chabad Lubavitch, what is the northernmost Chabad House in the world.

 Liz strives to keep kosher, satisfying much of the requirements by keeping to a fish and vegetarian diet. Jeff, who is Catholic, follows his wife’s dietary restrictions up to a point. “After almost 45 years together, we both have found a middle ground,” said Liz. “Our values are conservative with a strong faith in God.”

Meanwhile, Liz keeps learning about both her Native Alaskan and Jewish heritages. A Chinese quote, “Learning is a treasure that follows its owner everywhere” is embedded in Liz’s email signature—and in her heart.

Originally published March 7, 2019. Updated May 25, 2025.

Liz Ross In Alaska