I t’s been 20 years now since I became the rav of Congregation Ahavas Israel in Passaic New Jersey. In those 20 years I have watched the shul grow from having one minyan a day to dozens of minyanim daily.

If there’s one lesson that became abundantly clear to me very early on it’s that you can never satisfy everyone.

Fictitious or hagiographic stories of angelic rabbinic leaders — who somehow answered all phone calls had all the time in the world to meet with anyone and everyone at any time of day or night who were always observed learning yet spent generous portions of their day with their wife and children and of course are the first to arrive in shul in the morning and the last to leave at night — are the most nefarious and formidable challenges in my personal struggle to be a rav.

The reality is that a rabbi can never answer all calls can never always meet limitlessly with everyone and cannot be expected to always be available. He cannot always be learning or even always be cheerful.

And a rabbi sometimes has to utter that unspeakable word: “No.”

It was 18 years ago when Harry Leibenstein (name changed) approached me with what he (and others) thought was “an offer I could not refuse.”

Back then there were very few members who could afford full dues let alone contribute anything extra. So when Harry called me I was duly excited. I was at that time attempting to build a substantial seforim library for the shul as unbelievable as it may sound when I first arrived the shul did not even own a full set of Shas.

Harry asked me to sit down and got right down to the point.

“Rabbi I heard you want to build a Torah library for the shul. I totally support such a move. I am prepared here and now to write you a check for $10 000!”

I was awestruck and overjoyed as I thought of how many seforim the shul could acquire for $10 000. I asked Harry if the library would be in memory of any of his loved ones. But he brushed aside my question and casually mentioned the following caveat attached to his offer.

“There is just one condition and since I know how desperately you need the funds I’m sure you will not refuse me. It’s difficult for me to wait until after davening for Kiddush. So with my offer of $10 000 for seforim I’m confident we can also institute a ‘Kiddush Club ’ which would meet during the reading of the haftarah. Don’t worry about finding sponsors; I’ll finance the Kiddush Club as well and of course I’ll monitor who will be there. After all I don’t intend to have just anyone partake of the single-malt scotch I’ll provide each week! So what do you say Rabbi? Do we have a deal? Can I write the check for $10 000?”

I really needed the library.

I also felt that if I refused Harry I would offend him and potentially lose the only person of means involved in the shul.

Maybe just let him write the check? He did say he would monitor who would attend and it would only be for a few people.

I closed my eyes for a moment and images of young teenage boys (including my own sons) observing and participating in the Kiddush Club appeared before me.

“Look Harry I’m really sorry but no. We have no deal. The shul will not have a Kiddush Club.”

Harry never returned to the shul and I never saw another penny from him; however I am eternally indebted to him.

For on that day when I said no I finally became a rav. (Originally featured in Mishpacha Issue 669)