Rabbi Mark G. Loeb’s sudden passing on Wednesday night is a shock for all of us who knew this incredible man and respected him. Everyone knows that Rabbi Loeb was brilliant and a powerful speaker to boot. He was also capable of enormous compassion and empathy, and could be quite acerbic and straightforward at times. That’s what we all loved about him. You knew you were getting it straight from Mark.

Everyone has a favorite Rabbi Loeb story or two. Let me share two of mine.

When I first came to the Jewish Times, my old boss, Gary Rosenblatt, suggested that I make appointments with local rabbis and learn about their congregations. One of the first rabbis I touched base with was Mark Loeb. I remember meeting him at his office at Beth El. We schmoozed for a little while, and then I asked him if I could take him to lunch. He said sure.

We got into his big, shiny car – which had a car phone, the first time I’d ever seen one of those – and started driving. “Where do you want to go?” he asked me. I suggested a couple of kosher establishments, since I figured he was a rabbi and kept kashrut.

Rabbi Loeb studied me for a moment and asked if I keep kosher. “No sir,” I replied. In not terribly gentle language, he chided me for assuming that he kept kosher and insisted that we would dine that afternoon at Linwood’s, and that “it’s on me.” We proceeded to have a great meal, and all of the staff at one point or another dropped by to say hello to the rabbi.

That was my initiation.

My other story: my mother had an old friend who passed away suddenly about a dozen years ago. The woman had a fleeting, peripheral relationship with Beth El.

While sitting with my mother at Sol Levinson & Bros. shortly before the funeral service, I heard someone going, “Psssst, psssst!” Looking around, I spotted a frantic Rabbi Loeb, who was gesturing for me to come over to the doorway where he was standing. I said hello to him, shook his hand and asked how he was doing, but he simply waved off all pleasantries.

“Look,” he said, staring hard into my eyes, “did you know this woman – the deceased—at all?!” I responded that I did know her a little bit, that she was a family friend, and he explained that getting the woman’s family to give him biographical and personal information about her for the eulogy was like extracting molars. He didn’t know her at all, and they didn’t seem to either, he said, exasperated.

I offered a few pieces of general, seemingly worthless information – that she liked to shop, she loved her grandkids, she was a bit of an eccentric, she enjoyed playing the slots in Atlantic City – and then the good rabbi said, “OK, OK,” and basically told me to beat it. I couldn’t imagine what kind of eulogy he could proffer from my scant tidbits.

Of course, he gave an absolutely stunning eulogy in which you felt that he knew the deceased quite well and made you feel the loss of this unique human being. It was a mesmerizing performance, one that made my jaw drop, and you felt you were in the presence of a master rabbi, one who could always rise to the occasion and comfort those in need. That’s a gift.

Rabbi Loeb was a no-nonsense guy who didn’t suffer fools or foolish behavior and thinking well, but he always had a smile and a kind word for me (unless I was being foolish, of course). He said what he thought, in his own inimitable style, and didn’t worry about how he would be judged by others.

There aren’t many like Mark Loeb, and I know there will be many of us who will miss him a great deal. As my friend Gilbert Sandler said to me today, after learning of Rabbi Loeb’s passing, “He was a commanding presence.”

I think we can all say Amen to that.