Tom Berger got his minyan Thursday, and then some.

Berger, who was in his 50s, died this week after living 34 years at the Denton State School. He could not walk or speak and had profound mental disabilities. Did he know he was Jewish? Did he know that a minyan is a quorum for many Jewish rituals?

Who knows? But his family surely knew, and they made sure he was part of regular Jewish activities at the facility. When Berger died, however, his family was gone. His mother and brother had died several years ago.

They had made financial arrangements for a Jewish funeral in Dallas. But what of the spiritual arrangements? The funeral home called Jewish Family Service of Greater Dallas where the chaplain, Rabbi Howard Wolk, knew he had a challenge.

Jewish tradition places such a premium on community that most major rituals require at least 10 Jews to be present – a minyan. But how to assemble a minyan for a man with no direct community ties? This doesn't happen often, Rabbi Wolk said.

It being 2009, the rabbi sent out an e-mail on Wednesday asking for Jews to come to the cemetery Thursday morning. When he left for the graveside, he knew of only six replies.

People trickled in. Men and women, young and old, some were observant of many Jewish rituals and some less so. Some knew each other, but many were as much strangers to each other as they were to the man whose remains rested in the unadorned wooden casket.

When Rabbi Wolk started to speak, his voice rising over the buzz of cicadas and the roar of passing jets, the crowd easily doubled the ritual requirement.

Why did they come?

"I'd want someone to do it for me," said Saul Meyer.

"It's the final action we can do for somebody. God took care of burying Moses," said Paltiel Brodsky. "We try to emulate God."

Another Jewish tradition holds that care for the dead is the highest mitzvah – commandment – because it cannot be reciprocated, Rabbi Wolk said.

"Here I was worried that we wouldn't even have a minyan and we far outshined that," Rabbi Wolk told the group. "Even someone who could not communicate verbally to another individual was able to bring people together."

A representative from the school – now called the Denton State Supported Living Center – read a short remembrance of a man who smiled but could not talk.

Then Rabbi Wolk and his small, instant congregation asked a God of justice and mercy to care for the soul of Tom Berger.

And they prayed for their community that embraced Berger for a first and final time:

"May he who creates peace in heaven also create peace for us, and for all Israel. And let us say: Amen."