He Became the World’s First Muslim Chabad Shliach

After attorney R’ Motti Tzivin once found himself stranded in an unnamed Arab country without tefillin, he proposed an idea to his new Muslim acquaintance – an idea “only a Lubavitcher could conjure.” What happened next left even Tzivin at a loss for words.

By Anash.org reporter

When attorney and Lubavitcher R’ Mordechai (Moti) Tzivin travels the world, it’s often to navigate complex legal battles on behalf of Israelis detained abroad – sometimes over minor offenses, sometimes in matters of life and death. “He’s constantly on the move,” wrote his brother-in-law, journalist Kobi Arieli, in a column for Israel Hayom. “In and out of prisons and courtrooms in remote corners of the globe, forging connections and seeking justice – or at the very least, proportional punishment.”

Several years ago, Tzivin found himself on a whirlwind legal visit to an unnamed Arab capital that maintains unofficial ties with Israel. What was meant to be a quick day trip turned into an overnight stay due to changes in his meeting schedule. That posed a problem: Tzivin hadn’t brought his tefillin.

Tzivin spoke to his local contact, who took the matter seriously. Calls were made. Connections were activated. Eventually, after what Arieli describes as “a diplomatic subplot of its own,” a businessman helped locate a resident Israeli with a spare pair of tefillin. They were rushed to Tzivin’s hotel near the consulate. The next morning, with joy and emotion, he wrapped them around his arm and head.

The story might have ended there. But it didn’t.

The man who had helped – the local Muslim contact – had been moved by the urgency of the request and the deep spiritual need it represented. Tzivin, in turn, made an unusual proposal during a later meeting with the Muslim contact in his Tel Aviv office – an idea, Arieli writes, “only a Lubavitcher could conjure”: Why not leave a pair of tefillin with him, just in case another Jew visiting the Arab capital might ever need them? There are always Jews passing through here. Someday someone will need it.”

Even more daring was the second part of the suggestion: “If someone looks like a Jew, or if he’s Israeli, offer him to put them on. They’ll be too surprised by the fact that a Muslim is offering them tefillin to say no.” The local man, whom we’ll call Khaled, loved the idea. He agreed on the spot. Just like that, a devout Muslim became what Arieli calls “the world’s first Muslim Chabad shliach.”

Fast forward several years.

An Israeli diplomat found himself stuck in the same Arab capital over Shabbos due to an unexpected delay. Observant and caught off guard, he needed tefillin. He posted urgent messages in every WhatsApp group he could find.

One of the recipients remembered a strange but compelling tale about an Arab man who kept tefillin on hand, thanks to a Jewish lawyer named Tzivin. Word got back to Tzivin, who was overwhelmed with excitement at the opportunity. 

He gave the diplomat Khaled’s number and waited anxiously. “He’s been waiting for this call for years,” he told him.

After Shabbos, eager for an update, Tzivin followed up. Had the diplomat received the tefillin?

The response was hesitant. Something had gone wrong.

The diplomat explained that Khaled had been responsive and eager to help. They met, and Khaled proudly handed over… the head tefillin. No arm tefillin. Confused, the diplomat accepted it, but the matter nagged at Tzivin. Why would Khaled – with all his passion for the project – only give half of the set?

After some effort, he reached Khaled to ask.

The answer? “A year ago,” Khaled explained, “I told a muslim friend of mine in another city in the country about this project. He got excited and said, ‘Why should your city have all the merit?’ There are two parts of the holy item, so we split the set – one tefillin each. This way, we’re both partners in the mitzvah…” Needless to say, Tzivin was left at a loss for words.

“There’s no one like the Chabadnikim,” Arieli concludes his column.