Mordechai Baron is one individual who takes this invitation seriously. An Israeli jack-of-all-trades, with the outgoing assertiveness that characterizes his countrymen, he always carries an extra pair of tefillin with him, and often puts them on with others.

One summer, as he drove from his home in Kfar Chabad, he would often pass a new housing development in Ramat Gan. Apartments were being constructed, as well as a commercial center, but not a synagogue. Each time Mordechai passed the project, it became more and more obvious that the complex must contain a shul.

One day, he pulled over at the development, put his tefillin in his briefcase, and went to speak to the owner about the importance of adding a synagogue.

“May I speak to the owner?” he inquired at the rental office.

“Who shall I say is calling?” answered the receptionist.

“Mr. Baron,” Mordechai answered. “I have an important offer regarding the development of this property.”

And so Mordechai went from secretary to secretary until he reached the project manager.

“I need to speak to the owner,” Mordechai told the manager.

“That’s impossible,” the manager said. “He’s overseas. Listen, tell me about your offer. If it’s attractive, I’ll tell the owner.”

“I want to build a synagogue here,” Mordechai replied.

“You must be a Lubavitcher,” the manager smiled.

“That’s right,” responded Mordechai. “How can you tell?”

“That’s not important,” the manager told him. “Come to my office. I have to ask you about writing a letter to the Rebbe.”

As Mordechai entered the manager’s office, he reached into his briefcase for his tefillin. The manager could not protest; after all, he had invited Mordechai in!

After performing the mitzvah , he told Mordechai his story. He and his wife had been childless for 12 years, and had gone to the most renowned fertility specialists in Eretz Yisrael, but to no avail. After hearing that with the Rebbe’s blessings, many childless couples were able to conceive, he and his wife had decided several months earlier to write the Rebbe, but did not know any Lubavitchers.

“You came at the right time,” he told Mordechai. “We had almost despaired of getting the message to him.”

“I’ll gladly help you write the Rebbe,” Mordechai replied. “But if you want something from him, you have to give something in return.”

“How much?” asked the manager, reaching for his checkbook.

“No. I’m not speaking about money. What the Rebbe is most interested in,” explained Mordechai, “is mitzvos. Make a commitment to observe a mitzvah. Tell the Rebbe that, and ask for a blessing.”

“Which mitzvah should I chose?” asked the manager.

“Have you ever kept a Shabbos? ” asked Mordechai. “Tell the Rebbe that you will observe one Shabbos: no driving, no cooking, no electricity, you’ll go to shul. And then ask for your blessing. Put in your name, your mother’s name, your wife’s name and her mother’s name. That’s all you have to do.

“Write the letter now. I’ll wait here and mail it for you.”

The manager wrote the letter, and within two months his wife was pregnant. He invited Mordechai to the bris, and there, among all the leading real estate figures in Tel Aviv, he told the story.

Mordechai and his tefillin were very busy that afternoon.