May the Song of BJ Never Cease

As I sit down to write this final Toward Shabbat, my heart is filled with gratitude.

Over these past weeks and months, many of you have reached out with letters and emails, stories and memories, reflections and blessings, recalling moments we shared in joy and in sorrow, in classes and retreats, in pastoral conversations, or in passing encounters that neither of us may have imagined would be remembered years later. The events in my honor, especially the concert and the special Shabbat, were extraordinary expressions of love and generosity that moved me far more than I can say. 

All of this has brought into sharp focus the great blessing of my rabbinate: the privilege of living a life of service, of accompanying generations of people through the full range of human life, and of being part of a community that seeks authentic prayer and a Torah that confronts us, challenges us to grow, and calls upon us to do our part in healing the world. 

I leave with enduring relationships, beautiful memories, a deeper understanding of Torah, prayer, and the human soul, and an abiding sense of gratitude. Above all, I leave with love—for this community, for the rabbinate, for my colleagues, and for the sacred journey we have shared.

These months of reflection have also turned my sight toward the future, and I find myself filled with hope.

Our tradition has always understood that no sacred task belongs to any single person. We receive what has been entrusted to us, seek to care for it and unfold it as faithfully as we can, leaving our own imprint upon it, and then pass it on to those who follow. That is the rhythm of communal life, and that is the moment I now find myself in. 

Felicia has been my rabbinic partner, friend, and closest colleague for many years, and I hold her with deep admiration and trust. As Rosh Kehillah, together with Becca, Alex, and Ari, they will lead this community with spiritual depth, moral clarity, compassion, and a deep love for this community and the world it serves. Each of them brings distinctive gifts, and together they form a spiritual leadership rooted in wisdom, care, and devotion. BJ’s future is in great hands.

As I searched for what I wanted to leave you with in this final Toward Shabbat, I found myself drawn to a verse near the end of the Torah:

וְעַתָּ֗ה כִּתְב֤וּ לָכֶם֙ אֶת־הַשִּׁירָ֣ה הַזֹּ֔את וְלַמְּדָ֥הּ אֶת־בְּנֵֽי־יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל שִׂימָ֣הּ בְּפִיהֶ֑ם לְמַ֨עַן תִּֽהְיֶה־לִּ֜י הַשִּׁירָ֥ה הַזֹּ֛את לְעֵ֖ד בִּבְנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃

“And now, write down this poem and teach it to the people of Israel; put it in their mouths, in order that this song may be My witness among the people of Israel.” (Deut. 32:9)

The Torah does not say, “write this teaching” or “write this law.” It says: write this poem, this song.

Why a song?

Perhaps because a teaching can be preserved on a page, but a song must live in people. It must be learned and carried, remembered and re-sung. No one generation owns it. Each receives it, adds its own voice, interpretation, and breath, and carries it forward to those who follow.

And more than that: the song is described as a witness. It holds memory. It calls people back to themselves. It stands before God and across generations as testimony to what we have heard and what we must not forget. 

That, I believe, is also a profound truth of communal life.

We are all inheritors of a song we did not begin. We learn its melodies from those who came before us, and we add our own harmonies through the lives we live together in prayer, study, and service, in moments of joy and heartbreak, in acts of kindness and courage, in the ordinary and extraordinary work of building holy community.

For forty years, it has been my privilege to sing a portion of that song with you.

And now the song continues.

My prayer for this extraordinary community, at the door of its third century, is that you continue to sing the song of the soul. That you continue to learn and search, to pray and to question, to hold one another with care, and to remain open to new melodies even as you hold fast to the ones that have sustained you.

May the song of BJ never cease.

Shabbat shalom,

Rabbi Roly Matalon