How a centuries-old Jewish fire brigade processes the grief about the war

When news broke on October 7 that Hamas had attacked Israel, members of the Ner Tamid Society, a fraternal organization for Jewish employees of the New York Fire Department, immediately contacted each other to process the news.

“Our small private group chats started going off almost non-stop,” said deputy chief Yonatan Klein, the association’s president.

The leadership of Ner Tamid (which translates to “eternal light” or “eternal flame”) met repeatedly in the week after the attack to discuss how best to serve the group and the broader Jewish community. Until now, that has meant connecting members with organizations that raised money and supplies to send to Israel, said Chief Klein, 37, a paramedic in Manhattan who lives on Long Island. He added that many members had expressed a desire to go abroad to help. The group’s leaders also coach members to have difficult conversations about the war.

“History has shown us that there are things people are going to say about Israel, and it is our responsibility to be ambassadors,” he said.

Ner Tamid includes approximately 200 Jewish firefighters, paramedics, dispatchers, inspectors and other fire department employees, both active and retired. Founded in 1926 as a brotherhood for a minority group in a dangerous field, the organization experienced a decline in membership from the 1980s through 2010. But it is now growing in size and visibility, thanks to efforts in recent years to recruit younger recruits, raise money and become more active.

Members support each other’s career development, celebrate holidays together, represent the department at public events such as the annual Celebration Israel Parade, and offer advice and camaraderie when it’s needed – like now.

“Community is everything in the fire service,” said Fire Commissioner Laura Kavanagh. “You get a tough job, and you have to come back and sit around the table and talk about how you feel about it.”

Noting New York’s significant Jewish population, the commissioner said Ner Tamid members “help us reach these communities.”

The fire brigade has almost two dozen ethnic, religious and cultural organizations that serve its more than 17,000 employees. There are associations for Muslims, Catholics, military veterans, LGBTQ members and people of African, Caribbean, Greek, Irish and Italian descent, among others. (Although some are known as fraternal organizations, they include women; the Ner Tamid Society has ten female members. There are also women-oriented groups.)

“It’s good to know you have people you work with who are there for you,” said Jeremy Griffel, 36, captain of the Lower Manhattan EMS Division, who lives in Rockland County and joined a year and a half ago the Union. “They know what you’re going through.”

Rabbi Joseph Potasnik, a fire department chaplain who works with Ner Tamid, said that even for members who are not particularly observant, joining the association can be an affirmation of their identity.

He added that seeing groups of Jewish firefighters gathering is especially powerful in the current political climate. “It is a very visible reminder that Jews are welcome and that Jews can proudly serve among all communities,” he said.

Ner Tamid is one of the oldest fraternities in the fire service and used to be one of the most robust, said Lt. Abe Englard, 43, a former president of the group who lives in Yonkers. In the years after World War II, he said, the association hosted an annual dinner at the Waldorf Astoria, with hundreds of members in attendance.

But a broader decline in firefighter recruitment negatively impacted firefighter numbers. When Chief Klein took over leadership of the group last year, he made it his priority to attract new Jewish recruits to the department. The association created an Instagram page and held outreach events at Jewish high schools and synagogues. Members, who pay $40 a year in dues, have also worked with the New York Board of Rabbis to spread the word.

“When I took over the presidency, at the first meeting I said, ‘I want all of you to bring someone back,’” Chief Klein said.

The efforts have paid off. The group added 12 members this year, he said, doubling last year’s growth.

Another goal of Ner Tamid is to raise money to fund more internal and community programming. Members begin a weekly Torah study conducted over the phone, and there is talk of a Shabbat weekend in the Catskills. Chief Klein said he wants to revive a fire safety event around Hanukkah, when members would hand out smoke detectors in Crown Heights, which has a large Jewish population. He is also registering the group as a nonprofit organization so that membership dues can be tax deductible.

Members meet once a month over a meal and talk about what’s on their minds, such as possible career moves, planning services around the Sabbath and Jewish holidays, and keeping kosher while living in a firehouse. The board then presents their concerns to the department leaders.

Some meetings take place around holidays. In early October, the association held a Sukkot celebration at a member’s home in Hewlett, Long Island. About 25 people, ranging in age from 20 to 60, sat around tables in the traditional outdoor hut and shared six-foot pastrami and turkey sandwiches. They talked about an upcoming Hanukkah event and an exam some paramedics wanted to take to qualify for promotion.

Like other Jewish organizations, Ner Tamid has been a source of mutual support for members reeling from the war between Israel and Hamas. Chief Klein recalled that after the first attack, one member texted a group chat he had not yet heard from relatives living in a certain part of Israel. “Someone else said, ‘I have family a few towns over. I can send someone there. ”

And with anti-Semitic incidents on the rise across the country, members said the group also serves as a safe space to discuss disturbing experiences closer to home.

“Many of our members wear yarmulkes and when they work on the streets they can get comments,” Lt. Englard said. “I remember once walking into a patient’s house, and I was wearing a yarmulke and he said, ‘Don’t touch me.’”

“It is our job as a society to support people in whatever way we can,” he added. “Sometimes people just want to talk about it.”