by Steve Hyatt

Over a century ago, a relative of mine purchased a volume of Mishna published in Zurich, Switzerland in 1814. Printed in vivid colors and bound in a grand cover, it must have sparkled when it first rolled off the state-of-the-art Gutenberg Press.

At some point, the book came into the possession of my great-uncle Ben. My great-uncle worked myriad jobs including: a poultry farmer, a master mechanic and a sales person. Life was difficult and challenging, so Uncle Ben never pursued Jewish study. This heirloom that may have been studied by countless individuals was stored away in a dark, dusty closet in Uncle Ben's home.

Wars were fought, American presidents were elected, the State of Israel was established, children were born, boys and girls had bar and bat mitzvas, all while the book sat lonely but patiently in the dark gathering dust.

Uncle Ben passed away at 89, leaving behind his wife of 69 years and a modest home. My Uncle Mel and my dad lovingly assisted their aunt with pressing matters and helped her find a nice place to live in a nearby assisted living community. Helping her get her affairs in order, they found the majestic old book in back of the closet. Literally blowing the dust off the book, Dad examined the old pages, but could not decipher the Hebrew words.

My great-aunt's medical condition precluded Dad from questioning her about the book, so he carefully packed it up and sent it to me, asking me to show it to my Rabbi Mendel Cunin in Reno.

When I first saw the book, I thought it was a Chumash (Five Books of Moses), but after closer examination I realized it looked like the text we use in shul when we study Talmud. Given the age of the book, I looked forward to bringing it to the rabbi for a closer inspection.

A day later I received an e-mail from the rabbi informing our small but growing congregation that someone's mother passed away and he needed to say “Kaddish.” I took this opportunity to share it before the service.

Rabbi Cunin told me that the book was a Mishna published at least 191 years earlier. He pointed out that the pages were actually made from cloth, not paper, and that it was in remarkable shape for such an old book.

A few minutes later the service began and we joined in to support our friend and neighbor in his time of need. At the end of the service the rabbi shared with us that it is a tradition to study from the Mishna when a member of a minyan is saying Kaddish.

Catching my eye, the rabbi said, "Let's use the Mishna that Steve brought with him." He picked up the book written just a few years after the signing of the American Declaration of Independence and discussed a passage about searching for chametz before Passover.

After compelting the portion of Mishna, Rabbi Cunin tenderly handed it back to me. The next morning we met again so our friend could once again say Kaddish. Before we started we talked about how wonderful it was that after all these years in seclusion this book once again became a source of learning and inspiration.

The rabbi explained that the Hebrew letters of the word "Mishna" are the same letters of the word "neshama" – soul, and both the Torah and the soul are eternal.

The words we read today are the same that our people studied under Moses' tutelage in the Sinai desert. Handed down from generation to generation, these words that bring light to the world are a constant that united the Jewish people for centuries. Now, decades after it was first printed, and at least three decades after it was stored away in a dark storage closet, the words of wisdom once again had an opportunity to illuminate the minds and souls of a congregation in the "Biggest Little City in the World" - Reno, Nevada.

This exquisite book has impacted many souls since a family member first acquired it so many years ago. It passed from hand to hand, from relative to relative, was transported thousands of miles, has resided in many cities from Zurich all the way to Reno. And yet, almost 200 years after the ink first caressed the pages of this special book, it arrived just in the nick of time to comfort a grieving son and his friends in a little shul in Reno, almost as if it had a pre-destined appointment to join a minyan.