For Rabbi Michael Matuson of Beth El, the Beaches Synagogue, the decision to retire came naturally — as naturally, perhaps, as his decision to become a rabbi in the first place.
“It was the right thing,” he said. “It was just time.”
On an afternoon not long ago, while meeting with a boy preparing for his bar mitzvah, Matuson was explaining the value of reciting the words of the Torah just as generations did before, and just as future generations will do.
And then, it occurred to him: the time had come to step aside.
“I thought to myself: We need a younger rabbi,” he said. “We’re growing. We need more energy.”
And so, in June, after 13 years serving the synagogue and 38 years since he began his career, Matuson will retire.
A chance discovery
Matuson’s choice of career is rooted in his childhood living in Brooklyn, New York.
“I was surrounded by Judaism,” he said. “It wasn’t anything that I thought about. I don’t think anybody else thought about it, either. It was just something that you learned. Something that you did. There was a naturalness about it.”
He always found comfort in the synagogue.
“I went to the synagogue as a child, obviously, and I found it a profoundly spiritual experience,” he said.
He also found rabbis to be extraordinarily accessible and willing to listen — even to a kid.
So, the seed of his future was planted early, and it took root in his youth. Then, something that happened quite by chance set him on the path to becoming a rabbi.
He was in Jerusalem and happened upon an application to Hebrew Union College, where every future rabbi must begin his post-graduate studies. The application was sitting on a library desk when Matuson found it. He filled it out and soon forgot about it.
Then, he received a letter saying that an interview had been set up for him. He went to his interview, and before long he received another letter. He had been accepted to the college.
Taking a stand
Matuson began his career in earnest in 1984 as assistant rabbi at Congregation Ahavath Chesed, The Temple in Mandarin. After two years, the Temple appointed him associate rabbi.
During his time in Duval County, he served as president of the Jacksonville Food Bank and was an active member of the Interfaith Council of Jacksonville, the Jacksonville Board of Rabbis and Habitat for Humanity.
Eventually, however, it was time to go out on his own. In 1989, he served as senior rabbi at B’nai Zion in Shreveport, Louisiana. He was also an adjunct professor at Louisiana State University and Centenary College and was awarded an honorary doctorate from LSU in 1991.
It was during this time that he was called upon to take a stand against hate.
David Duke, a member of the Louisiana House of Representatives who had been a neo-Nazi and grand wizard of the Ku Klux Klan, was running for governor.
“He was ahead in the polls, and we were seeing Duke signs everywhere,” said Matuson. “And the Klan was walking in front of the synagogue in full Klan regalia. Every Saturday morning, they’d be marching.”
The rabbi got involved in anti-Duke activities, but due to the synagogue’s tax-exempt status he was forbidden to mention any candidate by name.
That’s when the congregational president asked him to speak out, promising that the congregation would pay any IRS fines he incurred.
So, Matuson met this challenge head-on.
“It was a grueling experience,” he recalled. “You’re exposed to ugliness from people that really hated Jews. And not in a passive way. In an active way.”
He endured numerous threats, and the ATF and FBI had to post agents in the sanctuary to protect the congregation. At one point, the authorities arrested two youths from Dallas who were planning to drive to Shreveport with maps of the synagogue, Matuson’s home address and a collection of weapons.
For his courage in combatting racism, Matuson was awarded the Ralph Waldo Emerson Humanitarian Prize.
Back to Florida
When the senior rabbi at The Temple in Mandarin retired in the late 1990s, Matuson returned. But after several years there, he knew that he needed a smaller congregation where he could form real, genuine relationships with the individuals.
“I wanted to be able to look out at the faces in the sanctuary and know who they are,” he said.
So, in 2008, he came to Beth El, the Beaches Synagogue in Ponte Vedra, where he has served as the rabbi ever since.
He has found Beth El the kind of place where — as in the song for “Cheers” — everybody knows your name.
“If somebody were not at services, I would know that they were missing,” he said. “And other people would, too. And we would call, we would check: Are you OK?”
Over the years, Matuson said those relationships have enhanced his own sense of spiritual development.
“I think I’m a different man — I’m sure I’m a different rabbi — than I was,” he said. “The things that I thought really mattered when I was younger now don’t. And other things are priorities.”
One of the key lessons he said he has learned was the importance of listening.
“The other person isn’t a comma, just some delay until you think of the next important thing that’s got to be said,” he explained. “That all changed for me. It was the listening that I found lovely. It was what I received rather than dispensed that was more important to me.”
A few years ago, Matuson pledged $100,000 of his own money toward paying off the synagogue’s mortgage. This inspired others to contribute. Now, Matuson expects the building, constructed in 2004 at a cost of $1.8 million, to be paid off by the time he retires in June.
The rabbi of Beth El for the past 13 years doesn’t have a lot of plans for his retirement. He’s leaving that open-ended for now.
But he said he’d still be involved in the synagogue, where he has had a lasting impact, and where he continues to go to pray.
